جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

The 'Sculpture' stood finished, cold and beautiful, but the studio felt heavier than ever. After Ivan left to handle the logistics of the unveiling, Dmitri lingered. He didn't speak of work or duty. He simply looked at me—ragged, covered in fine marble dust, and emotionally empty."You are a ghost, Leo," Dmitri said, his voice low, lacking any hard edge of command. "You poured everything into that marble, and now you have nothing left."He walked over to me and took the dry, dusty tools from my hands, laying them down on the workbench. "The stabilization Ivan mentioned is not a luxury, it is a necessity. You cannot function on pure emptiness."I pulled back slightly, exhausted but resistant. "I don't need your 'stabilization,' Dmitri. I just need to breathe air that you don't own."He didn't argue. He just studied me with an intense, unsettling depth. "Your breath is the most valuable asset we possess. I won't risk it. Come."Dmitri didn't take me to his bedroom, or even the opulent l

After the tailor left and the marble dust was washed from my skin, I felt unnervingly clean, like a piece of art prepared for display. I stood in my new rooms—which felt more like a temporary exhibit than a home—wearing a suit that fit too perfectly, a cold, expensive armor Ivan insisted I wear for the charity gala tonight.The 'Sculpture' was gone, moved by a crew that worked while I slept. Its absence left the studio feeling enormous and empty. My silence was now less about defiance and more about a deep, paralyzing understanding of the men who owned me.I was staring at my reflection—the newly controlled image of the Volkov foundation—when Dmitri entered. He was dressed in black tie, impeccable, his presence filling the room with the heavy scent of power and expensive cologne.He walked over to me, adjusting the cuff of my jacket with a critical, focused hand."The fit is correct," Dmitri approved, his voice low. "You look like you belong here. You look like you belong to us."I tu

The morning after was quieter than I expected, but heavier. The physical exhaustion from the night before was nothing compared to the weight of my own actions. I had sought comfort in the hands that held the keys to my cage, and the shame of that self-betrayal was profound.I was sitting in the empty living room, staring blindly at a financial news channel, when Dmitri appeared. He was impeccably dressed, but the slight shadows under his eyes betrayed the intensity of the previous hours. He didn't approach for a kiss or a touch; the demand had shifted from the physical to the structural."The work is done," Dmitri stated, his voice professional, yet possessing an undeniable edge of ownership. "The 'Sculpture' is being prepared for installation. Now, we secure the artist."He didn't wait for me to move. He simply turned and walked toward the study—the same room where I had declared my ultimatum and been brutally defeated. The choice of location was deliberate; it was where my will had

After signing the legal noose, a deep, pervasive quiet settled over me. The fury was exhausted, the resistance was futile, and the only path left was acceptance. I needed something simple, something that belonged only to me—something that wasn't designed to be a monument to my despair.My mind turned to art, not the cold marble of the 'Sculpture,' but the small, messy chaos of my previous life. The freedom of a charcoal smudge on cheap newsprint.I walked back to my rooms, ignoring the pristine, expensive reality of the penthouse. I looked through my meager original possessions—the few boxes that had been moved here from my old apartment. I was searching for the worn, beat-up sketchbook I used for quick, ugly drawings that only I ever saw. It wasn't there.I went to the large, north-facing studio where the 'Sculpture' had stood. It had been scrubbed clean, sanitized of my sweat and marble dust. It was now just a large, empty chamber, waiting for the next grand, controlled project. It

I was sitting on the edge of the bed when Dmitri entered. Ivan’s words—the brutal, twisted permission to exist as myself only within their cage—had left me raw and shaking. I felt like a patient who had just been handed a terrible diagnosis that was, ironically, the only path to survival. Ivan had cracked the psychological shell; now I was exposed.I was curled inward, my arms wrapped around my chest, trying to hold the pieces of my sanity together. I didn't even hear Dmitri approach, but suddenly the air changed, becoming thicker, heavier, charged with that undeniable, focused gravity that only he possessed.He didn't speak. He didn't ask how Ivan's "therapy" went, or if I had signed the contract, or if I had finally accepted my place. He simply saw the wreckage I had become—the despair, the guilt, the exhaustion—and reacted.Dmitri walked across the room, shedding his clothes with impatient speed. His movements were swift, efficient, and entirely focused on one goal. There was no se