I don't know what I expected from Vlad's housing. In principle, the apartment does not surprise. We arrive at a new glass high-rise building not far from the city center. The man drives into the underground parking, and from there we take the elevator to the twentieth floor. In the corridor, there are two entrance doors. We enter the one on the right. The modern renovation, minimalist and stylish, with white glossy furniture, catches the eye. It's so clean that you feel like you're in a hospital. As if everything around is sterile and should not be touched.
Saint leads the way. Past a white, as you can’t say otherwise, corridor, into a similarly white living room with panoramic windows. To the right is the dining area and kitchen, to the left are the rooms and bathroom.
— You can choose a room for yourself. I rarely spend the night at home, — he throws briefly.
I look at the back of his head in surprise. First of all — the choice. No one had ever made me feel anything like this before. Secondly — doesn’t he spend the night?... This news somehow resonates with regret in my heart.
— I don’t care, — I shrug my shoulders.
Vlad turns sharply to me. His dark gaze is strange. He's looking for something broken in me, something not visible at first glance.
— Hmm, — he slowly draws out the sounds and still doesn’t take his eyes off me. — I don’t care… — he repeats languidly. — Then, this one, — he points to one of the light doors.
I nod and walk towards them. I reach for the handle, and then I realize that I don’t even have any belongings. I turn to Vlad and ask:
— My things? They're at my father’s.
The man shrugs indifferently, as if it doesn’t concern him.
— You’ll be walking around naked, — he says evenly. I can’t understand whether he’s mocking or serious?
— Naked? — I ask back.
— Is that a problem? — he turns back to the kitchen and strides there.
I follow him, disregarding everything. Even though I’m a submissive girl due to my father’s influence and don’t know how to resist, it doesn’t mean I’ll accept such words calmly.
— It’s a problem, — I throw at his back, stopping right behind Saint.
He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of something alcoholic. Wasn’t there enough wine? Or does he prefer stronger drinks?
He pours himself a glass, tosses in some ice as if it’s not cold enough, and then turns his face:
— I’m not often home, — he again states evenly. Laziness slips through his eyes.
— What should I do then? — I mumble confusedly.
I’m not used to living like this, freely. I’m not used to the absence of control. I can’t fully grasp what should come next. Vlad didn’t just make me his fiancée, who is supposed to become a wife in the future. He has his own goals that he wants to achieve. Only after that will he free my mother and brother. So what should I do until then?
— Live? — he smirks and smiles dangerously.
— Live… — I repeat after him.
— You can attend classes, or change universities. You're only nineteen; there’s a whole life ahead. Go to parties. Get drunk. Do what your father forbids!
— Good advice, — I mumble under my breath. — And I’ll be twenty soon.
— That’s important, — Vlad throws.
— And how old are you? — I look into his eyes.
He raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t believe I’m asking such a thing.
— What will my age give you? — he asks mockingly.
— I don’t know, — I honestly admit. — Just... I’ll know.
— Juliana, consider us partners on mutually beneficial terms. You're my fiancée, sometimes we’ll have to play this role before the world, but no more than that. Until then, you can do whatever you want. — He drinks his beverage in one gulp. Suddenly he’s right next to me and leans close to my ear. The scent of a sweet drink with a hint of chocolate brushes against my nose. — Freedom, girl. It’s yours.
And then he turns around and leaves me alone. I only hear the door closing behind me.
Freedom… Mine.
Night. A whole night passed without sleep. I couldn’t, even though I tried, to fall under the power of Morpheus. Vlad's words hummed in my ears with palpable notes, tinged with mockery yet confident that I really could live. Just… live. Not to fear being judged and called inept. Not to worry about studying as a marketer. Not to be concerned about my father’s mood.
It’s hard to believe this is reality. Mine. New. Created by a random man I met only a day ago.
I can’t believe I can do everything. Not to feel the grip of fear and chains on my neck and wrists.
Only a thin note of regret touches my temples as I reflect. Understanding… Mom and brother… Father won’t touch Timur, but he will take it out on mom anyway. Despite considering me the property of another Timur, whom I met in a restaurant. My father doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to prove that he is the force and authority in our family.
And I know, clearly — I reach this realization around 5 AM — the freedom Vlad gave me has nothing to do with true freedom. Even if I'm pleased. Partly dreaming... But it’s just a door to the real world. A tunnel that could collapse at any moment. In between stands only Saint. It’s in his power to return me to my father. It’s in his power to do whatever he wants with me. My future depends on him, even if he’s given me a carte blanche for life.
At seven, I allow myself to open my eyes. An incomprehensible feeling hums between my ribs, dropping down sharply and quickly, then rising up to my throat and beginning to choke me. Strange. Unfamiliar. Full of fear.
I force myself to get up. I really slept naked. I hung the red dress in an empty white wardrobe. I breathe out slowly. Once more and again. I scan the room with my eyes. It's definitely in the same style as the corridor or living room: created in white, ascetic colors, furnished with the same furniture. The only stain is a piece of red dress stuck between the wardrobe doors.
I put it on and head to the living room. To my surprise, it’s occupied. Vlad is sitting on the sofa, wearing only dark jeans, with a brush in his mouth, and an easel with a canvas in front of him. He is focused, although I can tell he knows about my presence perfectly well.
I stop. I examine the man once more. I sense the shifting air coming from him in waves. As if he is the center of the world, and everything around must obey only him. His black hair, neither short nor long, lies in a charming chaos. Not like mine, after yesterday’s hairstyle. Broad shoulders, relaxed muscles, veins on his arms. On his wrist, a bracelet of white gold catches the morning sun's rays. The man is completely dedicated to his craft, but at the same time, an aura of influence, strength, and danger swirls around. Barely perceptible yet tangible.
I swallow in my throat. I take another step. A quiet voice reaches my ears: confident, resembling a purr, which could at any moment turn into the growl of a wild beast.
— Do you like waking up early?
One more step. Closer to the easel. Closer to him. I don’t understand why, but I desperately want to stand next to him. To feel how his strength fills me, as if I’m an empty vessel.
— No, — I reply.
Yesterday’s question dances in my mind. I wanted to find out how old he is. He didn’t confess. Why? He looks about twenty-seven to thirty.
— Then what are you doing here? — this question sounds quite dry and cynical. I realize — I’ve disrupted his connection with creativity.
— I woke up. I don’t know what to do.
Vlad finally tears himself away from the easel. The blue color quickly darkens as he surveys me, starting from the top of my head and finishing at my bare feet. For a few seconds, it seems he ponders. Then he smiles. A crooked smile. Only one side of his face. It resembles a sneer.
— Didn’t yesterday's advice provide food for thought?
— It did, — I immediately reply. — Just don’t know how to start…
Saint raises his eyebrows mockingly, smirks again, and looks at me as if I’m a child.
— Start with university.
I get even closer. I inhale through my nose. It smells of coffee, paints, and a barely perceptible hint of shower gel.
— How?
Now his gaze is condescending:
— Do you want me to do everything for you?
Our conversation is interrupted by a phone ringing. Mine. The melody echoes from the bedroom. I apologize and rush there. With fear, I look at the screen: dad. My hands begin to tremble. I feel like a coward. Still, I raise my smartphone and answer, quietly, submissively, as always:
— Yes, daddy…
— I hope your night was good? — he either asks or asserts; it’s unclear. — Did you fulfill Timur’s needs?
A sigh full of despair escapes my lips before I realize it.
— Fulfilled? — I ask back.
— Are you again, Juliana? — my father growls. — So underdeveloped that you can’t understand what to do? I sent you to Timur's bed! Why do you think you should live with him?
— Should I seduce him? — I choke on the words.
— And failed at that? Yes, you should have seduced him! — he cuts off.
— But I… Never, daddy… Not with anyone… — I stammer.
— Did I ask? Remind me of the words that should be drilled into your head: a woman is only needed for the bed and aesthetic satisfaction! I need Timur Dobry’s favor.
In shock, my brain begins to falter. Timur scheduled a meeting through Vlad’s request. But my father couldn't know this, so he didn’t plan. Thus, he seems to have decided on the fly to extract maximum benefit from him. What benefit? Who is Timur Dobry that my father needs him?
— Dad, the thing is…
Suddenly, a male hand covers my lips. I fall silent instantly. The scent of paint and forest hits my nose. Of skin and wealth.
Vlad turns me toward him. He brings a finger to my mouth and gestures for me to be quiet.
— What is it, Juliana? — Vladimir Diky's voice sounds. — Finish if you’ve started!
He takes my phone, presses the hang-up button, and throws it onto the bed while I stare in shock into his dark eyes. He tilts his head to the side, looking curiously, as if he doesn’t understand my actions. He narrows his gaze. Becomes serious. Inaccessible. Harsh. This is read in the blue darkness. It splashes like lava in a volcano’s crater.
— I understand, — he cuts off.
— What? — I squeak.
— What you can’t. Maybe you’ll understand… — he adds stealthily. — Open your eyes and look at the world broadly.
— No…
Vlad doesn’t let me finish. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. Pressing me against his body. Just this causes me to lose my breath. All the oxygen flies out of my lungs. Just like yesterday during the dance, I feel the heat of a man’s body through the thin fabric of the dress. It burns. Relentlessly. Making me tremble and fear simultaneously. I’m transported to another world. One where the laws of wild animals apply, not those of humans…
I don’t even have time to open my mouth to say something when Saint’s fingers land on my lips. They press against me. His other hand smoothly glides down to my bottom. Not gently. More like boldly. Stubbornly. Proving my father's words?
The blue darkens even more. It becomes almost black. Deep. It swallows. No, it pulls me in, as if it’s an endless flow with no bottom whatsoever.
Vlad’s fingers grip my bottom. Looking me in the eyes. He speaks so much through silence, yet I understand nothing. The remnants of myself dissolve in my brain. I try to focus, but I can’t. It doesn’t work. I succumb to the power of influence. I yield because I don’t know how else…
Saint leans his head closer. He breathes against my cheek, touches my ear and blows. I shudder in surprise. I hold my breath. I can’t decipher whether to push the man away or not… I simply don't know!
I feel his scent with my thighs. I blush, realizing what is happening. Heat races through my body, through my veins, burning my vessels.
I don't like that I’m reacting this way; it’s just I can’t do otherwise. I want… I just want.
— Vlad and power, — he whispers in my ear, — don’t always look like humiliation. Do you want me to show you?
The world explodes. The tone of the man races over my skin and prompts a wild, completely unfamiliar reaction from me.
— I’ll teach you? — he continues in the meantime. — I’ll give you something that will demonstrate...
None of his words become something understandable. I just silently await the continuation, letting Saint act as he desires. I barely manage to swallow the lump in my throat. But one thing I realize immediately — there’s no fear. There’s none of that animalistic, disgusting feeling that I felt next to my father.
Vlad’s hands find their way to my back. He moves them slowly, almost languidly. Higher and higher, to my shoulders. Once there, he squeezes, pressing his thumbs into my collarbones. The madness becomes tangible sparks in the air of this sterile room. My heart resembles a jackhammer. It pounds in my ribs so hard that breathing becomes difficult.
Demonstrate? What exactly?...
The man’s lips touch my skin behind my ear. Intentionally as tangible as possible. No matter that I’m biting my lip. It doesn’t help. His fingers dive into my hair. He smoothly turns me around to face the wall, and in an instant, he presses me against it. It feels like his hands are everywhere. Touching every part of my body. Again and again. To the fire in my chest. To the swift blaze that was once my blood. To the feeling of oxygen deprivation. I don’t notice how a strange sob escapes my mouth. It startles me. An unfamiliar tone tint I’ve never heard before.
Vlad pulls away. His gaze impales my face as if he’s touching it physically. I never thought blue could become even darker. I look back apprehensively. I swallow the lump in my throat. I try to read the man, but I can’t. He’s a locked chest of artifacts.
— Are you scared? — he elongates the word.
I shake my head. Too impulsively. But it’s true; I’m not scared. Anything but this. I’m overwhelmed by a plethora of different emotions, half-shades, smells, sensations, but definitely not fear. I partially realize that the absence of it will become a driving force toward something… But for now, I can’t grasp what exactly.
Saint evaluates. Studies. Leisurely. Gaining something akin to pleasure. At least that’s the impression I get. I allow it. Freedom probably has nothing to do with Vlad himself and his actions.
Something unknown and incomprehensible flares up in his blue eyes. It borders on savagery, dancing a dangerous dance with defiance, singing of power and influence. I read this so sharply that for a second it becomes frightening. Not fear itself, no, but something else… Animalistic. That lives within every person. As if… in Vlad, an alpha is read that must be obeyed. Intuitively. Otherwise — death.
— Good, — he smiles.
I examine the barely visible lines around the man’s mouth. They beckon to me. Hint at wisdom.
He presses against me tighter. There’s nothing but the thin fabric of yesterday’s dress between us. And it doesn’t protect against the man's heat at all. Vlad skillfully takes advantage of this. His touches come with palpable movements on my body. Savoring my reaction. Examining. Exploring.
— Vlad… — I whisper, not averting my gaze.
I want to say for him to stop. We only have an agreement, and I'm not really a fiancée. Just a business relationship. But what is happening now goes beyond those boundaries. Significantly. Too far.
— M-m? — he purrs.
It is exceedingly difficult to push him away. I want to, but my hands physically don’t make the necessary movement. Saint pulls me in. Literally. Like a black hole I can’t escape from.
— Do you want to say something? — he asks lazily, fingering my breasts. Accidentally? Probably not…
— I-I… — I stammer. — St-stop…
The blue eyes scrutinize mine. A wolf-like grin forms at the corners of his lips. He withdraws easily, too quickly, as if nothing happened.
— I’ve stopped, — he states in a low tone.
— Good, — I nod and try to fix my dress and hair. — I would like… to take a bath.
— Are you going to walk around naked? — he says mockingly.
With a heavy sigh, I look at him. I lower my gaze to his lips and then quickly, realizing what I’m doing, look somewhere around his forehead.
— No.
— Interesting, — Saint approaches the window and adjusts the curtain.
— I would like to ask for some of your clothes. I will try to get my things… at home today.
Vlad doesn’t turn to me. He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. Then, as if realizing I won’t leave until he answers, he says:
— Deal. You’ll write to me, Timur will pick them up. He’ll bring them.
Throwing those words out, he leaves the room, leaving me alone. I immediately slide down against the wall and cover my face with my hands. What is happening? Why am I reacting this way when he’s a cold mountain?