The air in the room grew heavy and toxic after that call. Victor hadn't even finished his "joke" when his phone shrieked again. It was Lord Dragunov the most ruthless of the five. Victor answered it on speaker, his hand still possessively tangled in Alia's long, honey-brown hair.
Dragunov's voice was raspy, dripping with unfiltered lust and greed. He didn't waste time on pleasantries:
"Listen, Victor. That Bangladeshi Russia mix girl of yours... she's done something to my head. Those eyes, that hair I can't stop thinking about her. Give her to me for just one night. In exchange, I'll sign over the Caspian oil fields you've been chasing for months. What do you say?"
Alia froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She wasn't just a trophy anymore; she was being bartered like a piece of land or a shipment of weapons. She looked up at Victor, searching his face for a shred of humanity, wondering if her husband would actually sell her.
Victor remained silent for a heartbeat, then burst into a booming, deep-voiced laugh that echoed off the cold walls of the St. Petersburg suite. He pulled Alia's hair, forcing her head back to look at him.
"Dragunov, you know I love a good deal," Victor said, his tone chillingly casual. "But Alia isn't a commodity. She's my 'Personal Doll.' Only my teeth and my nails are allowed to leave marks on her skin. However... if you really want those oil fields off your hands, bring me a better offer next time. No one in this underworld touches my Queen."
Though Victor had said "no," the way he negotiated over her existence was more painful than a physical blow. To him, she was a diamond—precious not because he loved her, but because it increased his net worth to own her.
Dragunov chuckled darkly on the other end. "Fine, Victor. Keep her for now. But remember... my eyes are on her. And I usually get what I want."
After hanging up, Victor's expression darkened. He looked down at Alia, his grip tightening. "You heard him, didn't you? Everyone wants a piece of you. But you belong to me body and soul. And now that Dragunov has put me in a foul mood, I think I'll take it out on you."
Alia stared at the ceiling, her tears drying into a mask of cold resolve. Victor, Dragunov, the others they were all beasts. She thought of the poison, the "Black Ledger," and the secret hate burning in her gut.
She whispered to herself in Bengali, "You think you're protecting your prize, Victor. But you're just keeping your killer close."When Dragunov replied with a short, clipped "Okay," the silence that followed on the line was even more terrifying than his threats. It wasn't the "okay" of a man who had given up; it was the "okay" of a predator who had decided to change his tactics.
Victor threw his phone onto the velvet duvet and looked down at Alia. He saw the terror in her eyes, but instead of comforting her, he felt a surge of adrenaline. The fact that the most powerful men in the world were willing to trade oil fields for his wife made him feel like a god.
The Morning Aftermath
Victor leaned down, his six-pack pressing firmly against her as he pinned her once more. His deep voice was a low vibration against her skin.
"Did you hear that, Alia? He said 'Okay.' But in our world, 'Okay' means he's going to try and steal you. It means every guard at my door better be ready to die for you today."
Alia's Reaction:
Alia's mind was racing. She realized she was now the center of a brewing war between two monsters. She looked at Victor—her husband, her captor—and saw the madness in his eyes. He didn't see her as a woman; he saw her as a fortress he had to defend.
"Is that all I am to you?" Alia whispered, her voice trembling but sharp. "A piece of property for you to brag about? You talk about me like I'm a car or a plot of land!"
Victor silenced her with a rough, possessive kiss. "You are much more than land, Alia. You are the only thing that makes the King of St. Petersburg feel like he owns the world."
The Deadly Turn
As Victor moved to pull her closer, his guard dropped for a split second. He was so distracted by his victory over Dragunov that he didn't notice Alia's hand sliding toward the nightstand.
She knew she couldn't fight his physical strength. She knew she couldn't escape the guards outside. But she had the one thing Victor didn't expect: The resolve to end it all.
She looked at the water pitcher she had reached for earlier.
"You're thirsty, aren't you, Victor?" she asked, her voice suddenly sweet, hiding the poison in her heart. "Let me give you a drink. After all... I am your wife."
Victor smirked, letting her sit up. He loved it when she acted submissive. He had no idea that the "Blackberry" toxin was already waiting for its moment.As the rim of the glass touched Victor's lips, Alia's hand began to tremble uncontrollably. The fire of revenge that had been burning in her mind suddenly met a wave of terrifying realization. She looked at his face—the sharp jawline, the closed eyes, the man who was both her tormentor and her only anchor in this dark world.
A sudden, agonizing thought paralyzed her: I can't do it. I can't live without him.
The Internal Conflict
Alia froze, holding the glass just inches away from his mouth. Her mind raced through the darkness:
'He is a monster, yes. He humiliated me, yes. But if he dies, what happens to me? In this brutal underworld of St. Petersburg, among animals like Dragunov who want to buy and sell me, who will stand between me and them? As much as I hate him, I am tied to him. My soul has become addicted to its own captor.'
Victor reached for the glass, but Alia suddenly yanked her hand back. The realization hit her like a lightning bolt despite the pain, despite the "Black Ledger," and despite the bruises, she had developed a toxic, soul-crushing dependency on him.
"What's wrong, Alia?" Victor asked, his deep voice laced with suspicion. "Why are you shaking? Why did you pull away?"
Alia couldn't hold the mask any longer. She threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, the poisoned water soaking into the expensive carpet. She collapsed onto Victor's broad chest, sobbing violently. She clung to his six-pack abs, her fingers digging into his skin as she wailed.
"I can't do it, Victor! I can't kill you! Why are you like this? Why do you treat me like an object? Don't you realize that even though I hate you, I'm terrified of losing you? Without you, I have no one in this hell!"
Victor's Dark Victory
Victor was stunned for a moment, but then a slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. He didn't get angry about the broken glass; instead, he felt the ultimate rush of power. He hadn't just conquered her body; he had successfully broken her mind until she feared his death more than her own misery.
He wrapped his massive arms around her, crushing her against his owl tattoo. He whispered into her ear, his voice vibrating with dark satisfaction:
"I knew you wouldn't. Because you know that in this den of wolves, I am the only beast that keeps you safe. You are mine, Alia not just because I bought you, but because you can no longer breathe without me."
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his predatory eyes. "Now, forget about the world. Forget about Dragunov. Today, you will learn what it truly means to be the wife of a King."