Evelina knew she was tempting fate. After what she had discovered—the photographs of herself from childhood, the diary that labeled her The Perfect Doll—every rational thought screamed for her to stay away from that cursed office. She should have avoided it, buried her suspicions deep inside, and pretended ignorance for her own safety. Yet compulsion drew her like a moth to flame. Curiosity and dread entwined into a single force that was impossible to resist.
The mansion had gone quiet. Night pressed heavily against its walls, the grand corridors dim under low lamps that flickered with a golden haze. Evelina slipped from her room with calculated stillness, her steps careful enough to muffle against the thick carpets. Her fever had dulled, leaving her body weak but her mind restless.
This time she told herself she would be quick. Just a glance, just one more clue—something that might explain Kairo's madness. Something that might reveal how deeply he was entangled with her past.
She pushed open the heavy office door. The scent of leather and cedar drifted outward, mingling with faint smoke that lingered in the air. Inside, the room seemed more oppressive than before. Shelves lined with ancient books stretched toward the ceiling. The large mahogany desk dominated the center. But her eyes went to the same drawer she had raided before.
Her hands trembled as she opened it. She expected photographs again, documents, perhaps more of his diaries. She found them—neatly stacked, meticulously preserved. Dozens of pictures: her in the schoolyard, her holding a doll at age five, her staring through the window of her father's house unaware she was being watched. The angles proved it had been surveillance, not coincidence.
Evelina's throat closed. A shiver worked down her spine, sharp and cold. She skimmed through page after page of the diary. His handwriting sprawled across it like a web, obsessive and precise. The entries dated back years—before she even knew his name. Each line cataloged her growth, her behavior, her habits.
The way she holds her spoon. The way her eyes flicker downward when afraid. The way she cries when no one is looking.
My doll is growing. Perfecting herself without knowing. One day she will belong to me entirely.
Evelina whispered under her breath, "What a psycho…" Her voice cracked. Saying it aloud didn't make it any less terrifying.
She closed the diary with a snap, her breath uneven, fingers clutching the cover as if squeezing it might erase the truth written inside. But she couldn't stop herself from looking further. The longer she read, the more her perception of her past fractured. Had every moment of her life been stalked, catalogued, owned in silence?
The quietness of the office pressed too hard on her chest. She didn't notice at first the shift in the air, the faint presence behind her, the weight of eyes that had become her prison walls.
And then it came. A whisper, low and deliberate, carried like smoke against the nape of her neck.
"You were always mine."
Her blood froze. Evelina turned, stiff and slow, her body unwilling to obey her. And there he was—Kairo, standing in the shadowed doorway, his tall frame blocking her only escape. His grey eyes caught the dim light, gleaming with something between amusement and hunger. He looked at her not with surprise, but as if he had been waiting.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Fear strangled her.
Kairo stepped closer. Each movement deliberate, unhurried, predatory. "Say yes or no," he murmured. The gleam of metal appeared in his hand—a gun, sleek and black, its barrel tilted toward her chest. "Yes or no, Mrs. Volkov."
The sound of that name again twisted through her like barbed wire. Mrs. Volkov. He spoke it not as a possibility, but as inevitability.
Evelina's knees weakened. Her mouth formed the syllables but the sound nearly died in her throat. "Y…yes…" The word was a breath, fragile, barely audible.
Kairo tilted his head, a smile ghosting over his lips. He stepped closer until the gun pressed against her sternum, cold and unyielding. "I didn't listen," he said softly, his tone both mocking and commanding. "Say it loudly."
Her entire body trembled. The truth was she couldn't fight him, not here, not now, not when he had her caged from every angle. Tears gathered in her eyes though she tried to keep them back. She forced the word past her lips, broken and louder this time: "Yes!"
For a moment, silence swelled around them, thick and suffocating. Kairo's smile deepened as though he had won not just her word, but her soul. He leaned in close, his breath brushing her ear, his voice a dark confession. "That's better. You see, Evelina… submission is not defeat. It's simply accepting the truth that was always there. You were mine long before you realized it."
Evelina shuddered. The weight of his claim crushed against her chest. Part of her wanted to scream, to tear the diary into pieces, to claw at him until his smug certainty cracked. But another part—the weaker, exhausted part—knew resistance only fed his obsession.
She stood frozen, every nerve frayed, her forced word echoing in her head. Yes. She had said yes. Not out of choice but survival. Yet Kairo would never care about the difference. To him, it was all the same.
He lowered the gun, though not entirely, his finger still grazing the trigger as if to remind her what silence would cost. "Good girl," he whispered, as though rewarding her obedience.
Evelina clenched her fists by her sides, her nails biting into her palms. Her gaze darted away, unwilling to meet his. But Kairo only chuckled softly.
"You think this makes me a monster?" he asked. "Perhaps you are right. But monsters are honest, Evelina. Honest in ways humans are too cowardly to be. Your father sold you because his greed outweighed his love. Your mother looked away because her shame outweighed her courage. Yet me?" He leaned even closer, his voice lowering into her skin. "I claim you because I love you. Isn't that purer than what they gave you?"
Evelina's lips trembled, but she refused to answer. Any word now could trap her further.
Kairo pulled the diary from her hands and set it back on the desk. He straightened, finally lowering the weapon, though its absence didn't lessen the danger in his presence. "This room tempts you," he said. "It lures you in like a confessional. You think you'll find answers, but all you'll find is me. Always me."
He moved to the door but didn't leave. Instead, he lingered there, watching her with a gaze that promised both patience and inevitability. "Go back to your room, Mrs. Volkov. Shower. Sleep. Tomorrow, perhaps you'll say yes without me asking."
And with that, he turned, the soft echo of his boots fading into the corridor.
Evelina collapsed onto the chair, her chest heaving as though she had been holding her breath the entire time. The weight of her forced answer crushed her more than the gun ever could. Yes. She had said yes. It was a word she could never take back.
The office walls seemed to close in, every photograph staring at her, mocking her weakness. Evelina buried her face in her hands and let the silence consume her.
not with a scream or a fight, but with a single word echoing into the dark: yes.
To be continued...