I averted my eyes, heat rising to my cheeks, and tried to push myself up. The pain jolted through me, sharp and I wobbled. My breath hitched as a large hand gripped the knot of my towel, yanking me upright. Before I could react, I was pulled against his firm chest knocking the wind out of me.

Instantly, the scent I had desperately tried to wash off flooded my senses—danger, power, and something unmistakably his. My stomach churned with a sickening vortex of fear and fury. It was like trying to outrun a shadow; no matter how fast I fled, he was always there.

His hand tightened on the towel and I was afraid if he could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The closer I was to him, the harder it became to breathe.

“There we go,” he murmured tilting his head at that infuriating angel that was judging me. “Can’t have you falling again, now can we?”

I hated how he always looked at me like I was a toy. The mocking in his voice and the amusement in his eyes.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to stay still. Every instinct screamed to pull away, to fight, but I knew it was useless. Like a moth to a flame, I was trapped, drawn into his orbit no matter how hard I tried to escape.

He who sups with the devil should have a long spoon. But I had no spoon, no shield, nothing to protect myself from him.

“Kyle will bring you some clothes,” he leaned down and I felt his warm breath against my neck, “As much tempted I am, I have an important business to attend to.” His fingers traced the edge of my towel and I sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ll be back in a few hours, till then, be a good girl for me.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the anger, the helplessness. But it was like trying to hold back the tide—impossible. His words seeped into my skin. He was going somewhere? Did that mean I could… leave this place?

“But first, let’s eat,” lips brushed against my ear.

I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Nodding, I refrained from saying anything, desperate for him to let me go. His lips brushed my neck in a fleeting peck before his teeth nipped at the shell of my ear and my body froze. When he finally released me, his intense gaze bore into me, searching for something I wasn’t willing to give. Unable to meet his eyes any longer, I turned and walked or almost stumbled to the dining area, the pain still sharp in my ankle. I sprained it.

But I stilled as soon as I saw the table. It was loaded with dishes and Russian cuisine that filled the air with rich, mouth-watering aromas. There was borscht, the deep red soup made from beets, its earthy scent mingling with the tang of sour cream. Next to it, a plate of blini, thin pancakes with hints of butter and sweetness, lay stacked high. The smell of pelmeni—dumplings filled with meat—wafted up, the savoury scent making my stomach clench in sudden hunger. And there was shashlik, skewered and grilled meat, smoky and succulent, its aroma so strong it almost made my mouth water.

My body reacted on its own, my stomach growling at the sight. Hunger gnawed at me, but so did a deep, unsettling unease. I glanced at the table, picking the seat farthest from where he was headed. My pulse quickened, half-expecting him to drag me to his side, to control even where I sat. But he let me be, and that, somehow, made me even more nervous.

Ignoring him, I grabbed a plate and began piling it with food. The hunger was overwhelming, and I couldn’t resist the urge to dig in. I focused on the meal, refusing to acknowledge the eyes I knew were watching me. He was always watching, always waiting, like a predator circling its prey.

Let sleeping dogs lie, I told myself. I could look for my phone after he was gone. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard a light thud, something placed on the table with deliberate care. My body reacted before my mind did, my hand freezing with the spoon just inches from my mouth. I looked in his direction, almost unconsciously, and my blood ran cold.

There it was.

My phone.

Sitting on the table like a trap waiting to snap shut. My head snapped up to him, heart pounding in my chest. He continued cutting his steak, sliding a piece into his mouth with a smirk that hadn’t wavered.

My phone. He had my phone. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Why did he have it?

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. That’s what it felt like—trading one danger for another, with no escape in sight.

He knew what he was doing. Making me feel how pathetic I was and he could easily take away my freedom. That was his way of controlling me, though I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact why did he even had to go to such extreme lengths.

Taking a deep breath I desperately needed, I put down the spoon and gathered the remaining of my courage. But the words remained lodged into my throat.

A tremor ran through me as I stared at him, a wolf in sheep's clothing.

He cut another piece of steak slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. The smirk on his lips remained intact. He wasn’t just playing with me; he was toying with my very sanity.

Pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain.

“What’s the matter, ptichka?” he titled his head chewing softly, voice that scrapped against my head. “You’ve gone pale. Lost your appetite?”

I wanted to scream, to shout at him, to demand why he had my phone, what he’d done. But the words caught in my throat, tangled with the fear that he’d already seen something—anything—that he could use against me. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, already plotting, already knowing how to twist the knife deeper.

“Why… do you have my phone?” I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin and manspreading his legs. “You left it lying around,” he shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I thought I’d keep it safe for you.”

Safe. The word tasted bitter, like a lie wrapped in sweet honey. I didn’t trust him—couldn’t trust him. Once bitten, twice shy. I knew better than to believe in his empty reassurances. The hu get eyes never left mine. Eyes that travelled down my neck and drank in the sight of me.

“Don’t worry,” when I kept shut, he continued. “I didn’t go through it… much.” The smirk returned, sharper, more dangerous. “But if you’ve got something to hide, now’s the time to confess.”

A guilty conscience needs no accuser. I had nothing to confess, nothing I should feel guilty about, but his words twisted everything inside me, making me doubt, making me second-guess every choice, every action.

I swallowed hard, pushing the plate away. The food felt like lead in my stomach, heavy and unwelcoming. My hands trembled as I reached for the phone, fingers brushing against it cautiously, as if it might burn me. His gaze followed the movement, dark amusement dancing in his eyes, feeding off my unease.

As I was to grab it, his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist, shackling it to the table. Heart pounding loudly and I trembled at his touch.

His grip tightened around my wrist, forcing my hand to still. I could feel his gaze, like ice, seeping into my skin, making my pulse race even faster. My breath was caught somewhere between my throat and lungs, trapped, just like I was.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out his own phone and placed it in my trembling palm. The weight of it felt wrong—like holding something tainted. My fingers curled around it instinctively, though I knew there was no comfort to be found there.

“I don’t think you need this,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. The sound of it sent shivers crawling up my spine. He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. Then, with a cruel smirk, he waved my own phone in front of my face, dangling it just out of reach like a cruel taunt.

The shattered remains of my hopes lay before me, and now, this—his words, his actions—were the final nail in the coffin.

“You don’t have anyone to call,” He was so sure, so convinced of his control over me, over every aspect of my life.

My throat tightened as the last flicker of resistance I’d been holding onto began to wither. I was alone, truly and utterly alone, with no one to turn to, no one who could save me from this nightmare.

I stared down at the phone he’d placed in my hand, my vision blurring as tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall.

Rough fingers brushed against my jaw, tilting my face up so that I had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were pale yet dark, filled with a twisted satisfaction, as if he was savoring every moment of my breaking down.

“I-I need to call my mother.”

I stammered hoping he’d let me talk to her.

“Use mine.”

“I-I have my phone- “

I watched as he grabbed the small device from the table and I jumped startled as he violently slammed it against the wall until it smashed into pieces and the screen went black. “Now you don’t.”

My mouth parted in shock as I stared at the broken pieces and everything in me broke. I shouldn’t cry over a phone, but I couldn’t help it. I knew my mother’s number, and I could call her using his phone also but why did he have to break it?

But the realisation that he was stripping me of everything, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of who I once was, was haunting.

The Prey

There was no arguing with him so I swallowed the lump and stared down at the phone he’d placed in my hand. It didn’t lowered the pulse hammering in my ears. The world was crumbling around me, and every word he spoke felt like another stone added to the weight on my chest, pressing me deeper into the abyss.

But that hardly matter at that moment.

He released my wrist, and I pulled my hand back, clutching the phone as if it might somehow protect me from the onslaught. But I knew better. Nothing could shield me from him, from his twisted games and the suffocating control he wielded over my life.

As much as I wanted to call my mother, I didn’t have guts to open his phone. Maybe he was testing me. Playing another game of his? To see if I’d take the bait.

Putting the phone down on the table beside the plate, I grabbed the fork with unnecessary force and forced the price of mushroom into my mouth. Under another curumstances, I would’ve enjoyed it, but I couldn’t. The nauseous feeling was making it hard to swallow.

Judas’s gaze was relentless making it even harder to breathe. I chewed on the piece when I heard the unmistakable sound of spoon meeting the plate. And followed by the lowly amused hum.

I could already imagine him leaning back on his chair and looking at me with his arms crossed over his chest with a tilt of head. With same gaze he did earlier like he was trying to read me, to unravel me. The towel I wore didn’t help and neither did the pain in my ankle, but nothing could compare to the throbbing in my chest.

When the weight of his gaze became too much, I clenched my jaw and muttered. “What do you want?”

The words came out rougher than I intended and I quickly realised the tone. I stilled. But when his snarky reply didn’t slapped me, or neither he made any move to grab me by the throat and force me to apologise for the rudeness, I dared to take a glance at him.

He sat there, unmoving, pale eyes shimmering, and lips set in a straight line. He casually tilted his head at the small angle. "Move in with me.”

The world around me seemed to freeze. The air grew thick, suffocating, and the sound of the fork clattering against the plate echoed in the silence like a death knell. His words hung in the air, sinking into my skin, wrapping around my throat like a noose.

Move in with me. His voice was as calm as if he were discussing the weather, and not asking me to sign a death warrant.

My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. A cold sweat broke out across my skin despite the coldness in the apartment and my heart hammered against my ribcage as if it could break free from the prison of my chest.

I stared at him, disbelief clawing its way up my throat, choking me and leaving me breathless. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything he’d already taken from me. My freedom. My dignity. And now this.

“No.” The word slipped past my lips before I could think better of it, a reflex, the last vestige of defiance I had left. It was weak, trembling, but it was mine.

His pale eyes narrowed, same dark amusement flickered in their depths as he slowly tilted his head, considering me like a predator sizing up its prey. He always looked at me with that gaze, as if he could…. see right through me.

“No?” The corner of his mouth lifting in a ghost of a smirk. It wasn’t a question. It was a dare.

He was giving me a chance to take my words back. And trust me, every single fiber in me screamed at me to take those damned words back to swallow my pride and submit. Cause that way, it’d hurt less. But I knew that wouldn’t be enough.

Something sickennejng twisted in my stomach. My throat tightened, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts the more I imagined living with him. Nightmare. Hell.

I shook my head. “You can’t—” I started, but the words died on my tongue, swallowed by the overwhelming dread that consumed me.

The devil didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched me with those eyes that could see straight through me, peeling back every layer I tried to muster. “I can,” whispered sin caressed my ears, travelled down my neck and wrapped around my neck. “And I will.”

A cornered mouse can’t outrun the cat. And I was that mouse, and there was no escape.

“You’re not… serious,” I whispered. “You can’t make me do this.”

His gaze hardened, the smirk slipping from his lips as his eyes turned cold. “You still don’t understand, do you?” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head slowly. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what you will do.” His tone sharpened, the underlying threat clear. “And you will move in.”

My hands were trembling uncontrollably now, my vision blurring as panic surged through me like poison in my veins.

I tried to stand, to push back from the table, to escape his presence, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Please,” I managed to choke out. “Don’t do this.”

His eyes glinted with something dark, something dangerous, as he slowly rose from his seat, the chair scrapped against the floor with a sound that made my blood run cold.

He was towering over me now. I was a rabbit caught in a hunter’s snare, and he was the hunter who had no intention of letting me go.

He leaned down, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “And you think you have a choice, little bird?” he taunted, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

A tear slipped down my cheek, unbidden, and I cursed myself for the weakness that had me breaking in front of him. But it was no use. There was nothing left to fight with, nothing left to cling to. He’d stripped me of everything.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze locking onto mine, holding me captive. “This apartment is yours now,” he raised his brow. “Use it however you see fit.”

“Defy me, there’d be consequences,” A hollow, bitter laugh escaped his lips as he added, almost as an afterthought, “And trust me, you won’t like the alternatives.”

As I stared into his eyes I could feel the last shreds of hope slipping through my fingers like sand, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

He stepped back, giving me just enough space to breathe, but not enough to escape.

I swallowed hard, my throat burning with the effort, and nodded slowly, my body numb with defeat and I gripped the back of the chair with my trembling hands. “Fine,” I was barely able to get the word out. “I’ll move in.”

He smiled then, a slow, satisfied smile that chilled me to the bone. The dimples that should make him look beautiful just added sinister edge to his overall persona.

He had won, and we both knew it.

“But I have some conditions.” The words trembling out of me like the last gasp of a dying flame.

His smile didn’t falter, but there was a gleam of something darker in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, at my foolish attempt to regain some semblance of control.

“Conditions?” The bastard drawled, as he leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking taller and broader than ever, almost taking half of my vicinity.

My hands clenched around the back of the chair. “You’ll use condoms,” I forced the words out before I could lose my nerve.

He raised an eyebrow and his lips twisted in a cruel grin. “I prefer raw fucks,”

I flinched shaking my head. “Then let me have morning pills.”

“Have it.”

Relief surged through me, but it was short-lived. “And I don’t want you to interrupt in my private life,” I continued, my voice gaining a hint of strength.

To my surprise, he laughed. “I was inside your private parts just a few minutes ago, ptichka. Why does it matter now?” The words stabbed my already fragile defenses.

I gulped.

I needed him away from my private life. If I needed to keep those closer to me safe.

“Please.”

His grin didn’t falter, but I instinctively took a step back as he reached for my throat. Oxygen left my lungs as he pulled me harshly to his chest and my hands instantly went to his hard chest as I panicked. My eyes widened as I looked up at him.

He leaned down, enough so that his lips brushed the corner of my mouth. “Then ride me,” his tongue darted out and flickered across my shut lips. “And I might consider.”