All Chapters of THE PRICE OF THEIR NAME : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Leo VanceSaturday felt less like a day of the week and more like a countdown to execution. I spent the afternoon pacing my studio, my suit bag hanging untouched on the easel. Dmitri’s midnight command, his casual dismissal of my pain as "emotional calibration," had cemented my humiliation. I hated them, but what was worse was the cold, paralyzing dread that settled in whenever I thought about not going. My life was compromised, and my mother’s happiness was the heavy chain around my neck.I was fighting a losing battle against myself. I told myself I hated the submission, the loss of control, the way they stripped me bare with their eyes. But every time I saw my reflection, I saw the fatigue mixed with a desperate, unwelcome light—the anticipation of their presence. I felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap, ready to run, and ready to break all over again.When the cab dropped me off at the base of Volkov Tower, the sheer height of the structure seemed to mock my small, pathetic att

Leo VanceIt had been an agonizing week of silence, a period of supposed autonomy that felt exactly like waiting for the executioner to arrive. Four days had passed since I was forced to collapse in that guest suite, allowing my mother to believe my tears were over ethical allocation of resources instead of my own shattered self-control. The silence from Dmitri and Ivan was a tactical decision, a way to let my own paranoia build the cage for them. I checked the lock on my studio door three times before leaving, even though I knew a physical lock meant nothing to them.I tried to work. I tried to forget the weight of Dmitri’s body and the surgical precision of Ivan’s words. But every single brushstroke was haunted. The worst betrayal was my own body’s relentless, humiliating anticipation. I hated the twins, hated their ownership, but I couldn't stop wondering when the key card would slide, when the next command would drop. That insidious craving for the overwhelming authority they repr

Leo VanceI don't know how long I stayed collapsed against Dmitri, my face buried in his expensive coat, my entire body convulsing with tears of shame and a terrifying, sick relief. The weight of his arm around my waist, holding me up, felt like the anchor of the world. I had said the words. I had given them the command: Make me forget. Stop me from having a choice. The surrender was complete.Ivan stood over us, his hand resting lightly on the back of Dmitri’s shoulder, a gesture that was both fraternal and proprietary—a claim over both of us. His voice was soft, devoid of the previous interrogation edge.“You’ve made the correct calculation, Leo,” Ivan murmured, his voice sounding tired, almost relieved. “The resistance was unsustainable. Now we move into a period of dedicated stabilization. The public phase is over for tonight.”Dmitri shifted, his grip tightening as he lifted me gently away from his chest. He held my face between his large, warm hands, wiping the wet streaks from

Leo VanceThe moment the dining room doors closed behind Arthur, the air in the Volkov Residence felt heavy with anticipation. I was left standing in the vast, silent hall, my body still humming with the residue of their calculated, hidden touches. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a devastating, raw clarity: my resistance was officially hollow, and they knew it.Ivan, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to move. He walked over to a small, ornate side table and picked up a crystal glass of water.“Hydration, Leo,” Ivan said, holding the glass out to me. His voice was no longer commanding, but softly insistent, tinged with a strange kind of weary care. “You were hyperventilating through the entire valuation section. It was necessary to keep you stable.”I took the glass, my hand shaking slightly, and drank the cool water gratefully. “You knew I would break,” I accused, my voice thin. “You planned those touches. You used Arthur to trap me.”Dmitri, who had been watching the end of

Leo VanceThe hour of "quiet reflection" was a descent into a private hell. I lay on the massive, impersonal bed, staring at the high, vaulted ceiling of the Volkov Residence room. The shame of pushing Sasha away—my last lifeline—was a cold, burning weight in my chest. I threw her away for money. I chose the cage for comfort.But the emotional cost was immediately followed by the terrifying, insidious voice of relief: I don't have to worry about the rent. I don't have to pretend I'm strong.When the door finally opened, I didn't flinch. I was ready. I was spent.They walked in together. Dmitri and Ivan. They didn’t wear the suits they’d worn at lunch; they wore the quiet, dark clothes of men who were home, yet their presence was more dominant than any executive uniform. They stood side-by-side at the foot of the bed, a unified silhouette against the fading evening light.Dmitri was the one who broke the silence, his voice deep and measured, completely shedding the detached tone of the