Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“You seem intent on defying me,” he finally says. “And naturally, I am left to wonder why you are obedient to your father but not me. Do I look like the kind of man you want to trifle with?”
I shake my head.
“Use your words, princess.”
“No,” I say, too loudly.
And again, my instincts urge me to run. But Nikolai won’t allow it, and he makes it known when he stalks toward me. I screw my eyes shut because it’s always better not to see what’s coming. But the draft moves past me, and curiosity gets the best of me. When I open them again, he’s disappeared into my closet.
He’s touching all my things. I am left to bear witness as he jerks my ballet clothes from the racks and bundles them into his arms.
“Those are mine!” I move on autopilot, stealing what I can from the racks, tossing each piece into the corner and guarding them with my life.
Nikolai turns and sizes up my pathetic little pile to the one he has already claimed. “It appears I haven’t made myself clear, pet. So let me do so now. I own you, and I can do whatever I like.”
My head rattles, and I’m at a loss. It feels like he’s stealing my soul. I don’t know how to deal with this kind of insanity. “Please—”
“You have disobeyed me. Save your begging for someone who might listen. Right now, you are wasting your breath.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” I declare.
His eyes tell me otherwise. “You flushed your breakfast down the toilet, did you not?”
I flinch, and that’s when it occurs to me. He has cameras in my room. Possibly my bathroom. And he’s watching me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
The truth is too raw to accept. I don’t want to know what he’s seen. My private moments. My grueling workouts, followed by the horrific breakdowns. My obsession with food. These struggles are mine, and they are intimate.
“You are sick!” I yell. “How dare you watch me in my private moments? How dare you spy on me? You are filthy, and disgusting, and it’s no wonder you fill your life with meaningless encounters. Who could want you—”
My tirade is cut short when Nikolai tosses my clothes onto the floor and produces a flask from his jacket pocket. I watch noiselessly as he douses the pile of leotards and tights in fluid and strikes the wall with a match.
For a few stunned moments, I’m immobile, unable to fully comprehend the sight before me. He truly is a madman. He is without mercy, tossing the match onto the pile and igniting my life in flames. My thoughts are scattered and disconnected, and all reason has escaped me when I fling my body toward the flames in a desperate attempt to salvage what I can.
Nikolai intercepts, capturing me around the waist and pinning me against the wall. I claw at his hands and then, when that doesn’t work, his face. I’m not thinking about the consequences. I’m only thinking about the crime he has committed against me. His actions have inexplicably split me wide open, stirring to life the dormant rage that lives inside me.
When I draw blood, I’m quick to discover that I have the capability of stirring Nikolai’s rage too. All men want to be powerful, and my captor exerts his by collaring me around the throat with the meaty flesh of his palm. His methods are brutal and effective. I fall limp in his arms, waving the metaphorical white flag. He’s made his point, and I have learned my lesson. But he isn’t done. He isn’t even reachable right now. His dead eyes are looking right through me. My hands move to his, feebly attempting to remove the block against my airway.
It occurs to me that I should beg. I should plead. Keep fighting. But between those thoughts, there are other, darker thoughts. What is there to fight for? My ankle is ruined. My losses and agonies have been greater than any contentment I’ve ever known. I would be a fool to withhold hope that I can control my destiny. I am bone-tired of facing each new day and the challenges it brings. And when blackness creeps into the edges of my vision, the decision is made for me. My body doesn’t have the strength to fight, even if I wanted to. All that I’m capable of now is watching the dying embers fade from the monster’s eyes before me.
Fragments of reality pull me back into the world at a sluggish pace, stealing any hope I held for a peaceful death. My mouth is dry as cotton, and my head is thick with fog. Light flickers in and out of my vision, and when I see the blue of my monster, acidic tears burn the back of my eyelids. How could I ever believe in heaven when I am stuck in hell with him?