Chapter 34
Elise's POV
When I emerged from the shower, I felt as though I had finally come back to life.
The hot water had washed away every trace—the marks from the gag, the red welts from the cuffs, the scents that didn't belong to me. In the bathroom cabinet, a complete set of women's clothing was neatly folded: underwear, a T-shirt, pants, socks. Everything was new, tags still attached.
I hesitated for a moment, then put them on anyway. Better than being wrapped in a man's coat.
The clothes fit perfectly—which meant these things hadn't been prepared on short notice. This house had always had a stock of women's clothing.
The realization stirred an odd discomfort in me.
It surprised me—I had never felt uncomfortable about Liam's interactions with other women before.
When I came downstairs, the living room lights had been dimmed. Victor sat at the far end of the sofa, two glasses of water on the table before him—one near his hand, one placed where I had been sitting earlier.
I had already changed positions.
He heard my footsteps and looked up.
His gaze swept over me—clean hair, loose T-shirt, bare legs—then moved away without any excess expression.
"Sit."
I sat down without touching the water.
"First," Victor began, his voice returning to that businesslike calm, "I need to clarify something."
"I didn't come here tonight to watch a spectacle."
"Nor to take revenge for your previous rejection."
"I came because I don't like seeing—"
He paused for a second, as if weighing his words.
"—I don't like seeing someone who works for me treated like a dirty rag by someone else."
Dirty rag.
The phrase stung me.
But immediately after, his next sentence made my blood run cold:
"You tattooed me, so you're mine."
His tone was as flat as if he were stating a law of physics.
"I don't allow my things to be abused by others. It's that simple."
My fingers froze at the edge of the glass.
Mine.
He had said "mine."
Not "someone I care about." Not "my friend." Not any term with warmth.
Mine.
Just like when Liam said "you're my person"—that same objectifying, possessive tone that reduced another human being to property—
Exactly the same inflection.
I jerked my head up to look at him.
Victor's expression hadn't changed. He even raised an eyebrow slightly, as if asking what my problem was.
"You—" I started, realizing my voice was trembling, "How are you any different from Liam?"
Victor looked at me, silent for two seconds.
Then he smiled too.
Unlike that brief, cold laugh from before—this time, the corner of his mouth curved upward, extremely faint, but unmistakably a smile.
"There's a world of difference," he said.
"He tied you to a wall, then went outside to smoke—"
"I took you down from that wall and brought you to my place."
"He enjoys your fear."
"I don't like seeing my things reduced to that state."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced, chin resting on the back of his hands.
Those gray-blue eyes locked onto mine.
"And my reason is simple."
"I'm not pleased."
Three words.
I'm not pleased.
Just that simple.
Because I'm not pleased, you must comply.
Because I don't allow it, you cannot.
No explanation. No negotiation. No "I hope you'll consider" or "this is for your own good."
Just a command.
Pure, undisguised command from someone in a position of power.
I sat there, feeling all the blood in my body rushing to my head.
Anger? Fear? Or something more chaotic—
I couldn't tell anymore.
I only knew one thing.
Before tonight, I had thought Liam was the limit.
I had thought no one could be more arrogant, more controlling, more dismissive of my will than Liam.
But now I understood.
Liam was just a spoiled child using money and control to mask his insecurities.
And the man sitting before me—
He was a true predator.
---
He didn't speak again.
That conclusion about the "true predator" was still hanging in my mind when Victor stood up and walked toward me.
The sound of his leather shoes on the floor—one step, two steps, three steps.
He stopped in front of me.
He didn't sit down. Didn't lean over either.
Just stood there, eyes lowered, looking down at me. Those gray-blue eyes appeared especially deep in the dimmed light, like two wells that could swallow anything.
"What were you just thinking?"
His voice was soft. Not asking—stating that he knew I was thinking something.
I didn't answer.
"You think I'm more dangerous than Liam." He said it for me, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "That judgment isn't entirely stupid."
My fingers tightened on the leather of the sofa armrest.
"But you don't understand one thing." He continued, bending down, hands braced on either side of the sofa back, trapping me between him and the cushions.
A cage.
Another cage.
Except this time there were no cuffs or blindfolds—only his arms bracketing my body on both sides, and his face mere inches away.
I could smell him. Cedar, with a faint trace of tobacco—he didn't smoke often, but always carried that elusive scent, as if he had just walked out of some smoke-filled room.
"I'm not pleased, Elise."
He repeated those three words again.
The same tone as before—flat, businesslike, as if saying today's temperature is seventy-five degrees.
"Do you know what that means?"
I looked up at him. My neck was taut from the angle, my pulse beating visibly within his line of sight.
"Does it mean... you're going to punish me?" I tried to keep my voice steady.
Victor made a sound—short, from his nose.
"Punish?" He repeated the word as if savoring some childish concept. "Elise, I'm not your kindergarten teacher. I won't make you stand in the corner because you 'misbehaved.'"
His hand lifted.
Fingertips landed on my chin, thumb pressing against the edge of my jawbone—the exact same position as last night in the cocoon room. The exact same pressure. The exact same sense of control.
The difference was: last night I was bound, unable to do anything.
Now I was free.
But I still didn't move.
"My method is simple." He said, his voice dropping lower, low enough that only the two of us could hear. "I need to confirm one thing—"
His thumb slid slowly along my jawline to the corner of my lips, the pad grazing the softest part of my mouth.
"—Whether you've truly taken in the command I gave you."
My breathing stopped for an instant.
"How will you confirm it?"
The moment I asked, I regretted it.
Because it gave him an opening.
And Victor never needed anyone to give him an opening—he took them himself.
"Like before," he said.
Two words.
Like before.
I knew what he meant.
Those nights after tattooing sessions ended. Those nights when I thought I was "using" him, when in reality he had seen through me all along. Those nights when I initiated, unbuttoning his shirt.