Victor's obsession had turned into a full-blown intoxication. He ignored Alia's plea of "no more," as her helplessness only fueled his addiction.
Without a word, Victor swept Alia off her feet, lifting her into his arms. Clad in only his oversized white shirt, Alia's bare legs dangled as she was pressed against his hard chest. She could feel the violent thrumming of his heart.
He carried her out of the bedroom, through the long corridor, and straight toward the dining table. The servants and bodyguards quickly averted their eyes and cleared the way; they knew better than to look at Victor when he was in this state.
Upon reaching the dining room, Victor didn't place her in a chair. Instead, he sat her directly onto the massive mahogany dining table. Silver platters and fruit bowls rattled and slid aside as she was placed down.
Standing between her knees, Victor looked at the dark bruises on her neck and let out that same demonic chuckle. He whispered:
"We won't be having breakfast like everyone else today, Alia. Today, I want to watch how beautiful my marks look on you in the morning light."
He grabbed a handful of her hair with one hand, while the other picked up a sharp steak knife from the table. He didn't cut her; instead, he ran the cold, flat side of the blade slowly over the bruises on her throat.
"Shto, moya krasavitsa? (What is it, my beauty?) Are you afraid? You were so brave last night when you were drawing blood from my back. Seeing you tremble like this on the dining table gives me so much pleasure."
Alia gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. The white shirt had ridden up high, but Victor didn't care. He was only interested in the fear and fire dancing in her eyes.The scene took a sharp, dramatic turn into utter scandal. Just as Victor was savoring his dominance over Alia on the dining table, the heavy doors of the hall swung open. Victor's older brother walked in, followed closely by Victor's two sisters.
The sight was scandalous: Alia sitting on the mahogany table in nothing but Victor's white shirt, her legs exposed, and Victor looming over her with a knife.
Victor's older brother, a man of strict principles, immediately shut his eyes in shock and rage. He couldn't believe his younger brother had no shame. Realizing his young sisters were behind him, he quickly reached out and covered both of his sisters' eyes with his hands, shielding them from the sight of their sister-in-law in such a compromising position.
The older brother roared:
"Victor! What is this madness? This is the dining hall, not your bedroom! Have you forgotten the dignity of your wife and this family?"
Victor didn't even flinch. He slowly set the knife down but didn't let go of Alia. He kept a firm hand on her waist, signaling to everyone that she was his territory, regardless of the setting.
He looked at his brother and said coldly:
"The dignity is right here, brother. I'm just tending to what belongs to me. You didn't have to look."
Alia was dying of shame, trying to pull the shirt down to cover herself, but Victor's grip held her captive, her bruised neck exposed for the whole family to see.The situation hit a boiling point. As the older brother shielded his sisters' eyes, the patriarch of the empire—Victor's father—stepped into the hall.
The old man's face turned a deep shade of crimson at the scandalous sight. He slammed his silver cane against the marble floor. "Victor! Let her go this instant! I will not tolerate such filth in my house!"
But Victor was beyond caring. He looked his father dead in the eye, his hand still gripping Alia's thigh. He pulled her collar lower, exposing the bruises to everyone.
Then, with pure venom, he spat out:
"F#ck dignity! F#ck your rules! Alia is mine, and whatever happens in this house happens only by my will."
The patriarch trembled with rage at the vulgarity and defiance. Alia closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. She whispered, "Victor, please... not in front of your father. Let me down."
But Victor ignored her, throwing a final challenge to his father:
"From today, I write the laws of this house. Anyone who comes between me and my wife will be erased—no matter who they are!"
Victor then scooped Alia up in his arms and walked past them all, heading back to the stairs, showing everyone that he was the only master here.The atmosphere remained tense after the morning's explosion. Victor's two sisters—who shared the same genetic white/platinum blonde hair as their brother—were deeply intrigued by the scandal.
They snuck into Alia's room while Victor was downstairs. Elena, the older sister, smirked as she looked at the marks on Alia's neck. "Sister-in-law, what really happened last night? Did Victor torture you, or did you do something that drove him crazy in front of everyone?"
Katrina, the younger one, whispered, "We saw the scratches on Victor's back. We thought everyone feared him, but it looks like you've tamed the beast!"
They teased her about the "Korean boy" rumor, sensing the tension. Just as Victor's heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, they scrambled toward the door, whispering, "You have to tell us everything later!"The chaos within the Petrov family has reached a fever pitch. The cold, calculated world of Victor is crumbling under the weight of his own obsession and the fierce defiance of his bloodline.Victor stood in the doorway, a silhouette of pure intimidation. He was clad in a black silk shirt, several buttons left open, exposing the tension in his frame. The morning's cold brutality still lingered in his eyes. When he saw his two sisters—each sporting the same shock of hereditary white hair as his own—scurrying out of Alia's room, his brow furrowed in a dangerous glare.
Gritting his teeth, Victor growled in a voice like grinding stones:
"What are you doing here? I told you to stay away from this room. Get out. Now!"
As Victor reached out to shove the younger sister, Katrina, aside, that legendary 'White-Haired Petrov Stubbornness' flared up. Instead of shrinking in fear, the sisters turned on him like a pair of young lionesses.
Elena, the older one, made a disgusted face at Victor and unleashed a barrage of vicious Russian profanities. She screamed:
"Svoloch! (Bastard!) You torture your own wife and then try to play the big boss with us? We came here to talk to our sister-in-law. We don't need your damn permission!"
Katrina didn't hold back either. She feigned a kick at Victor's shin and shouted:
"Poshlyak! (Pervert/Vulgar man!) You're the one acting like an animal on the dining table, and you have the nerve to yell at us? Go look at those red marks in the mirror, you monster!"
Victor was ready to explode, but his sisters gave him no chance. They hurled a few more vulgar insults and stormed down the corridor. Before turning the corner, Elena looked back and flipped him the middle finger, a final act of ultimate disrespect.
Victor stood there, stunned. He had never expected such blatant humiliation from his own flesh and blood. In a fit of blinding rage, he kicked the door shut with a deafening bang.
Alia sat trembling on the bed. Victor began to walk toward her, his eyes glowing like an active volcano. He reached her in seconds, grabbing a handful of her hair to tilt her head back, and whispered in a voice thick with venom:
"Do you see? Do you see the fire you've started in my family? Today, my own sisters cursed me to my face... and it all traces back to you and your mysterious past."Victor expected Alia to tremble or beg for mercy as he gripped her hair. But instead, a chilling sound filled the room.
Alia began to laugh. It wasn't a normal laugh; it was hysterical, filled with a mix of defiance and madness. She tilted her head back, laughing at the very man who thought he owned her soul.
"Victor... did you really think you could cage me and erase my past? Look! Your own blood, your own family is turning against you. The tighter you try to hold me, the more your world crumbles like a house of cards."
She looked him straight in the eye, her laughter turning into a venomous smirk:
"Call me your 'Suka', hit me, humiliate me... but at the end of the day, you are just a lonely man hated by his own sisters. Can you hear it, Victor? The bells of your downfall are ringing."
For the first time, Victor felt a flicker of unease. He had mastered her fear, but he didn't know how to handle her mockery.Victor's expression shifted instantly. Instead of being provoked by Alia's laughter, a chilling, demonic smirk spread across his face. He loosened his grip on her hair but didn't let her go.
"I enjoyed that... I really did. Well, Alia, your courage is growing by the day. But enough... the time for laughter and drama is over."
His voice turned ice-cold. He hauled her off the bed with a sudden jerk. There was no rage in his eyes anymore—only a terrifying stillness. He grabbed a heavy black overcoat from the wardrobe and threw it at her.
"Get ready. You've laughed enough inside these walls. Now, I'm taking you somewhere where no one will hear your laughter, and where my meddling sisters can't reach you."
Victor pulled a black blindfold from his pocket. Standing behind her, he prepared to cover her eyes.
"You wanted to witness my downfall? Today, I'll show you just how dark my empire truly is. Come, welcome to my personal hell."