Chapter 19 Shame
❦ Rosalind ❦
Not wanting to be caught dead in Viktor’s room when he returned, I left the room minutes after him, and out in the hall, just as he’d said, were guest rooms with the tags flipped to unoccupied.
I left the tag on my door unflipped. I did not want him knowing what room I was in. He probably had cameras and would find out eventually, if he was into that kind of thing.
My ears still tingled with the heat of shame. I’d totally forgotten myself, alcohol wasn’t even an excuse. I’d humped him so crassly, like a whore.
Fingers trembling, I slid down the door, wrapping my arms around my knees.
“Come on, baby, you know I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me make you feel good again.”
I pressed my palms to my ears, desperate to keep the memory at bay.
“Stop acting so prude. You know you want it.”
He’d hurt me. Didn’t stop when I’d asked him to.
The day I’d decided to have my first time with Orlov, he’d taken it roughly.
Torn off the lingerie I’d dressed up in without so much as a glance.
That was the day I knew. There was no love. I was just a placeholder.
The tears streamed down my cheeks, my eyes pinched shut, as I remembered the disappointment, the emptiness I’d felt when he looked down at me after coming and pronounced me weird.
Dahlia must not have been weird. She welcomed him with legs spread wide after I’d stopped letting him touch me, laughing to my face and hooking up with my abuser while I thought she was my friend.
A coil of revenge slithered around my chest, crushing me with the urge to sic a hit on them. Torture them. Punish them for what they did. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t feel the same sinking betrayal I’d had to live with.
I hated the way my body betrayed me around Viktor, and the way he’d looked at me after we were interrupted, as if he hadn’t felt anything I’d felt. He’d had that same look of empty lust in his eyes.
How would he see me now, after I’d thrown myself at him like some desperate tramp? I clenched my fists in embarrassment.
After I’d calmed down, my stomach grumbled loudly, reminding me that my last meal was over ten hours ago.
I took a quick shower, trashed my ruined dress and my panties, which had soaked up my treacherous arousal.
In the wardrobe, I found neatly stacked brand-new tees. It was bigger than me and felt comfy, stopping low enough to cover my naked body and thighs.
Remembering Viktor’s order about ringing up Enza, the housekeeper or cook, I guessed, I decided to find the kitchen myself. I didn’t want to inconvenience her at the odd hour.
I opened the door quietly, looked left and right, and seeing no one, ventured out. The walk down the winding stairs was eerie… the house was completely silent, though I heard distant echoes of what sounded like a ballad coming from somewhere below.
“I’ll just find a fridge… get a quick snack, and that’s it.” I whispered in encouragement.
I did find a fridge, a large walk-in one, and when I pulled the doors open, a paradise of savory and sweet greeted me.
I picked out a yogurt and some cake, decided to taste the cake before taking it back up to the room, and lost myself.
It was so good, and I was so hungry, that I ate it all, standing in the refrigerator. I poured myself some yogurt, gulping it while keeping my ears open for movement.
The thrill sent vibrations throughout my skin, and I rinsed the glass deftly in the sink.
Taking two steps at once, I bounded back up the stairs.
Portraits of family members, both ancient-looking ancestors and more recent-looking ones, peered down at me in the hallway. Passing each one with a brush of my fingers, I shrunk away from their glares. No one in this home took portraits smiling, or even with a neutral expression.
One made me stop short. A splitting image of Viktor, but somehow, I knew it wasn’t him.
The face looked too innocent. Older, but less grumpy.
The same stormy gray eyes, thick black brows, and hair in a close crop, but he looked… sad, almost. Not angry like the others.
A brass plate at the bottom of it read ‘Paulo Marino’.
A cold draft rattled my bones. This was the man Viktor had supposedly killed in cold blood and gone to prison for.
The same man I’d just humped shamelessly.
My stomach churned violently, from the snacks disagreeing with me, but also the stone-cold terror that had settled square in my abdomen.
At that moment, I heard it. Slamming of a metal door somewhere far off.
Footsteps closing in.
One glance down the stairs revealed Viktor, his face set in stone, his T-shirt bloody, the bandages I’d applied with my own hands holding for dear life under angrily rippling muscles.
Even from here I saw his jaw tick. And I knew then, I didn’t want this man to set his sights on me in the state he was in. His demeanor exuded the fatal energy of a ticking bomb.
And just before he looked up, no, sensed my stare, I turned and ran.
Being barefoot helped. I skittered back to the room I’d chosen as quietly as a mouse in a cat’s territory. Fully aware of the danger, terror pulsed in my veins, reminding me of the monsters in the dark hallways I’d feared as a child.
I quietly clicked the door shut and launched myself into the bed, throwing the covers over me just in time.
The doorknob turned slowly. My heart slammed in my chest. I watched the shadows of his feet underneath the door.
The door opened with a silent breeze.
I realized, with a sinking feeling, that I’d left my pistol in his room.
I was in the belly of the beast, at his mercy.
And I was defenseless.
I kept my eyes shut, felt the draft as he walked to the edge of the bed.
No sound of breathing. No movement. Just his presence, so thick it drained the room of oxygen.
It felt like an eternity. Just when I couldn’t take it anymore and almost sat up to demand what he wanted…
He left, the room growing cold like he and his heat were never here.
For a long time, I did not sleep, terrified of his return.
Watching the dim light that crept underneath the door.