All Chapters of His Sinful Empire : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Nina’s POV “Then why didn’t you let them take me?” His face was so close to mine now that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His breathing was hard and ragged, like he’d been fighting something inside himself and was losing. His eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees weak and my chest tight. I could feel everything… the warmth of his breath, the way his hands held my shoulders just tightly enough to remind me he could crush me if he chose to, and the pulse pounding in his throat that synchronized with my own. “Because I can’t,” he said finally, his voice rough and low. “I can’t let them have you.” Before I could respond, before I could process what that meant, his expression changed. The vulnerability I’d glimpsed vanished, replaced by something cold and dangerous. “Do you want to know what happens when you disobey me?” My stomach dropped. “What?” He grabbed my wrist and started dragging me toward the door. “Wait, what are you doing?” I trie

I made it back to my room somehow, my vision still blurred with tears, my wrist throbbing where the metal had cut into my skin. I locked the door and stumbled to the bathroom, running cold water over the wound. I wrapped my wrist in a towel and sank down onto the bathroom floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I should have felt only disgust. Only horror and revulsion at what I’d just witnessed. And I did feel those things. But there was something else underneath it all. Something I didn’t want to understand. Something that made my chest feel tight and my skin feel too hot. I’d watched him with that woman and yes, I’d been terrified. Yes, I’d wanted to look away. But I hadn’t been able to. I’d seen the way he controlled her with just his voice. The way she’d obeyed without question and the way his hand had fisted in her hair, guiding her exactly how he wanted. The power in it. The absolute dominance. And some sick, twisted part of me had wondered what it would feel l

The studio smelled faintly of polish and sunlight, that clean, almost sacred scent every real dancer knows, the kind that settles into your bones before you even move, and I hated how instantly my body recognized it, how it softened me without permission. I walked farther in, slow, careful, my steps soundless on the sprung floor, every muscle alert as if this room might vanish the moment I trusted it too much. This wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t indulgent. It was intentional, built by someone who understood the difference between space and sanctuary. I touched the barre, fingers gliding over smooth wood, and my chest tightened before I could stop it. Then I saw the shoes. Pointe shoes lined neatly on the shelf, new, untouched, ribbons still crisp, different brands, different shapes, all arranged with a precision that made my throat close. I picked one pair

As if her father’s name wasn’t carved into every decision I’d made since the moment I’d seen her face in that file. “I haven’t,” I said quietly. “You’re building her studios,” Bruno said, moving closer. “Giving her space. Letting her look at you like you’re her friend. That’s not revenge, Enzo. That’s something else.” “She’s still here,” I said, my voice harder than it needed to be. “Isn’t she.” “She’s here, yes. But you’re not treating her like the enemy, which… is actually good.” “She is the enemy.” The words came out sharp, final, like I could make them true just by saying them. “She’s his daughter,” Bruno corrected. “Not him.” “That didn’t save my mother.” The silence that followed was thick and loaded, heavy with everything we both knew but never said. My mother had been in

“What cost?” The words came out breathless. “You don’t get to play games with me. You don’t get to test me. You don’t get to walk in here dressed like that and touch me unless you’re prepared for me to touch you back.” His hands left my breasts and I almost whimpered at the loss. He stepped back, putting distance between us. His eyes raked over me one more time, dark and hungry and angry. “Stay in your place,” he said coldly. “Or next time, I’ll make you beg.” Then he walked past me and out of the office. Leaving me there. Against the wall. Breathing hard. Body on fire. And completely, utterly confused about what I’d just done. What I’d just started. **** Three weeks. Three weeks of the same routine. Wake up. Eat breakfast alone in my room. Dance in the studio until my feet bled. Eat lunch. Read in the library. Walk the gardens. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. Enzo had been… absent. I saw him sometimes. Across hallways. Through windows. Always at a distance. Al