Chapter 6 LA PRESCELTA
JASMINE’S POV:
He took another step closer.
I felt it before I saw it. The subtle shift in the air, the heat of him closing in until there was nowhere left to run to. My back brushed the wall as the cool marble walls bit through the thin fabric of my nightgown, a striking difference from the warmth radiating from him.
“If you want me so desperately,” he murmured, his breath brushing my cheek and his voice low and careful, “you can simply ask and stop pretending.”
His mouth was near my ear now. Too close, but I wasn’t sure if I felt uncomfortable by it.
“It’s that simple,” he whispered, nearer this time. So near that his lips brushed my ears.
Alright. That was enough.
I snapped back to myself and shoved my hands against his chest. It was not hard enough to move him, but it sure was hard enough to make my intent unmistakable. Then I glared up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Moretti.”
The amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by something more intense.
“I want nothing from you,” I continued, my voice steady despite how my heart pounded furiously. “Nothing. And you will let me out of this place. Because if you don’t, I swear to you, I will never stop trying to escape. And don’t test my verdict, I can be ruthless.”
He scanned my face, steady and evaluating, as if he was measuring the truth of what I said.
“You should choose your threats carefully,” he said quietly.
“They’re not threats,” I shot back. “They’re promises.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. The tension hung heavy between us, like tightly coiled wire stretched to its limit.
Then he stepped back. Just like that.
The sudden absence of his closeness felt almost… disorienting. He turned to a nearby dresser and picked something up. The way he moved was far too calm, given how defiant I was.
“Since you insist on leaving,” he said, holding out a bundle of clothing, “you’ll need a change of clothes.”
I hesitated before taking it.
I unfolded the fabric, and my breath hitched.
Metal.
A metal-like bra and pants, with thin chains binding the pieces together at the sides and hips. It barely covered anything!
It was decorative, restrictive, and most of all… shameless.
My stomach twisted.
“You can’t be serious,” I said, holding it up in disbelief.
His lips curved slowly. How infuriating.
“That’s the kind of clothing you’ll be wearing as long as you’re in my mansion,” he replied. Then he said, almost lazily, “And call me Nikolai.”
I shoved the clothes back into his chest. “You’re disgusting.”
He didn’t flinch.
“I’m honest,” he corrected.
I didn’t give him another word. I just turned and stormed out of the room, stamping my bare feet against the floor as I moved through the corridors of his mansion.
He followed behind me, wordless.
The halls seemed to go on forever, meant to confuse and remind anyone passing through who was in charge. Artworks seemed to stare down at me from the walls, while his men stood watch at far corners, following my every move with their eyes without intervening.
Soon, the exit appeared ahead.
As I reached for the doors, one of his men blocked my path.
“Stop.”
I lifted my chin. “Get out of my way.”
The guard didn’t move.
Then his voice echoed from behind me.
“Let her pass.”
I didn’t turn. I didn’t give Moretti the satisfaction.
When the doors opened, I walked out of his mansion. A few minutes later, I got to the gates, and it opened without question.
Freedom.
The road beyond was empty. It was endless. There were no cars, no lights. Just silence.
The cold night air bit at my skin. I had no shoes on, no coat, and no direction. But I didn’t stop.
“Help!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Please, someone!”
But nothing happened.
So I kept walking. Minutes turned into hours, but I kept walking. My feet ached, and my sole burnt. The night became colder, and my legs couldn’t take the burning pain anymore. So I gave in.
I collapsed on the bare road.
The cloud darkened and soon, small droplets of water poured down.
I searched for cover but only empty roads and bare, dried trees filled the entire path.
It began raining heavily, soaking my hair and my clothes, washing the dirt and sweat into the road beneath me.
Despite the heaviness, I collapsed to the ground, staring at the dark sky, now too tired to move.
I sighed as the painful truth began to surface. I now understand why that bastard let me go.
Just as I was about to shut my eyes to get some rest, I saw headlights.
A car slowed beside me. Someone came out of it and opened an umbrella above my head, shielding me from the downpour. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Let’s go,” he said.
That was all.
I couldn’t argue. I just let him help me up and into the car, my body numb with cold and fatigue.
The drive back was silent.
The heavy iron gates to my luxury prison soon loomed before us. It opened again, and when we got to the driveway, we stopped.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked quietly. “Why keep me here?”
He didn’t look at me at first. Then he turned.
“Because,” he said calmly, “I chose you to be my La Prescelta.”