All Chapters of She's Viktor Romanov’s: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

ANYA POV.The darkness was thick, suffocating and inescapable. My head lolled to the side, the world around me shifting, warping. My limbs were heavy, as if I were sinking into the ground, trapped in a body that refused to listen. What’s happening? Where am I?A sharp, pungent scent filled my nose—expensive cologne mixed with the stale tang of cigar smoke. Voices surrounded me, some near, some distant, speaking in Russian. The words blurred together and my mind struggling to grasp onto anything solid. “How much did you give her?” a man asked, his voice sharp, impatient. “Enough to keep her quiet, but she's waking up.”My stomach twisted. Drugs. They drugged me.I tried to move, but my arms wouldn’t obey. A harsh tug on my wrist sent cold metal biting into my skin. Handcuffs. My breath hitched. No. No, no, no.The blindfold over my eyes was tight, pressing into my skin, sealing me in this nightmare. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, as each beat was a deafening drum of pan

ANYA POV.I woke up to silence. My body ached. My throat was dry. For a brief, stupid moment, I thought maybe it had been a nightmare. Then I saw him. Viktor. Sitting in the chair across the room. Waiting. He wasn’t on his phone. He wasn't looking at the time. He wasn't doing anything except watching me. Like he had all the time in the world.The room was dark, but the city lights outside cast long shadows over his face. He didn’t look angry. He looked… patient.I swallowed. My pulse pounded in my ears. Say something. Anything.The words stuck in my throat. He let me sit there in silence, letting the tension coil tight. He wanted me to break it first. To squirm under his gaze. I clenched the sheets instead. Finally, he spoke. “How far did you think you’d get?” His voice was low, smooth, almost amused. I didn’t answer. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hmm?” I stayed quiet. My body was still sluggish, my thoughts sluggish, but my mind was rac

VIKTOR POV.The scent of burning tobacco filled the air as I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling like a ghost of the past.The crystal glass in my other hand was half-filled with whiskey, the golden liquid catching the dim glow of the office lamp.A gun rested on the table beside me, freshly cleaned, its weight familiar—almost comforting.I had lived with the scent of blood and gunpowder for two decades. It was in my bones, in my breath. There was no escaping it.A knock at the door.“Enter.”Yuvi stepped in, dressed in all black as usual, his sharp gaze scanning the room before settling on me.“We have a problem,” he said.“When don’t we?” I flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, rolling my shoulders. “Talk.”“The shipment from Istanbul—it’s gone. Our men were ambushed before securing the goods. Word is, Boris is making moves again.”My fingers tightened around

VIKTOR POV.The scalding water ran down my back, washing away the scent of cigarettes and frustration. I braced my hands against the cool marble wall, letting the heat soak into my muscles.Isabella’s voice still echoed in my mind, but I shut it out. She was a distraction—nothing more.Finishing up, I dried off and dressed in black sweatpants and a fitted shirt, leaving my feet bare as I walked to the library.Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and aged paper. Dim chandelier light cast long shadows over the mahogany shelves, and a half-smoked cigar rested in the ashtray beside me.I leaned back in the leather chair, flipping through a thick medical textbook, the pages crisp under my fingers.A sharp knock sounded. “Come in,” I said without looking up.The door creaked open, and Nikolai stepped inside. “You called for me?”I finally lifted my gaze. Nikolai stood tall in the doorway, dark hair nea

ANYA POV.I could still hear the soldier’s screams.The sickening crunch of bone. The wet, gurgled pleas as Viktor—calm, merciless—drove the spear into his eye. He didn't know I had gone back to witness it, before running back inside.I had seen men killed before. Back in my old life, before I was dragged into Viktor Romanov’s world, I had read about brutality in the news, seen it sensationalized in films.But watching it unfold before me, so sudden and visceral, was something else entirely. I didn't even know how to feel.It wasn't pity—I knew better than to waste sympathy on men who willingly served in this life.And it wasn’t horror, not really. I should have been horrified, should have screamed, should have felt something stronger than the cold weight settling in my stomach.But I had stood there, frozen, my hands trembling as Viktor turned his bloodied gaze on me.“Get in your room.”The command ha