Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Her skin was damp with sweat now, her pulse was wild beneath her jaw. Her fingers reached blindly for her phone on the floor, but it had slid too far out of reach. She didn’t even know who she’d call.

Amara would be in class right now, and every other person who once mattered had betrayed her.

Her mother was dead. Her father was never in the picture. Landon had been her whole world, and he had played her like she was some random joke at a frat table.

A bet. She remembered it word for word.

"You actually pulled it off? The Cross kid really bagged Celeste?"

"Told you I could. Easiest five million I’ve ever made."

She squeezed her eyes shut so tight that they burned. The whispers before they sounded audible enough for her to detect the voices still played in her head.

Her chest stung now. It wasn’t just panic now. Heartbreak and betrayal now involved, layered and fresh.

Everything he ever said replayed in her mind now like poison.

"I love you, Celeste."

"You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

"I’d never hurt you."

Lies. All of it was lies. She thought she had healed perfectly from him but the memories came rushing in today.

Her breathing stuttered. Her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she pulled them to her chest. She buried her face between her knees and screamed. No sound came out. She was just shaking with tears.

She was slipping away.

A knock came. The knock was sharp. The person knocking seemed to be in a haste. The knock came once, twice, and thrice.

She tried to get to her door, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even speak

"Celeste?"

The voice was muffled. Female.

"Cel? Open the door. I know you’re there."

It was her neighbor. Probably Elera.

Celeste tried to answer but her lips were numb.

Another knock came. It was louder now. "Hey, I’m coming in!"

A moment later, the door creaked open. Elera stepped in, stopping short when she saw Celeste crumpled on the floor.

"Oh my God. Cel?" She rushed over.

Celeste didn’t respond. Her lips were parted but no words came. Her hands clutched her chest, trembling.

Elera looked around for signs of any drugs. There was none in sight, and she drew in a soft breath of relief. No drugs was a good sight, given her current state.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Elera said, kneeling. Her voice was calm but urgent. She could immediately guess what was going on. "You’re having a panic attack. Breathe with me, okay? Just do what I do."

Elera took a loud, steady breath. In through the nose, and out through the mouth.

"Can you do that?" She asked. Celeste didn’t respond. "Come on, girl. Come back to me."

Celeste’s eyes met hers. They were drenched in fear. But she nodded faintly.

They breathed together.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Her shoulders started to loosen, and her heartbeat slowed down. Elera held her hand, and squeezed it.

When the silence finally returned, Celeste sobbed into Elera’s shoulder, too weak to hold herself upright.

"He ruined everything," she whispered. "I loved him."

Elera rubbed slow circles on her back. "Then he didn’t deserve you."

.....

Dominic froze at the threshold of his penthouse apartment. The faint scent of jasmine and burning wax clung to the air, something wholly foreign to his place. His jaw tightened. He always kept his place clean, sterile, and untouched unless he touched it himself.

And now, something was off.

He slowly reached for the belt holster at his waist, pulling free the sleek black pistol he carried more out of habit than fear. It was an habit built from decades of being one of the most dangerous men in the underground world. His eyes swept over the entryway, scanning for movement.

A flickering light danced from the far end of the corridor, past the kitchen and into the living room.

He moved silently. His steps were measured and lethal. When he turned the corner, he didn’t expect what he saw.

There, lounging like a panther draped in silk, was a woman. Her legs were crossed, her arms were relaxed along the back of his leather couch, and red-soled heels dangling like they had every right to be there.

A single crimson candle lit the coffee table before her, casting shadows across her face. Her lips were deeply covered with a sultry red colour. Her lips curled into a slow smile as she turned her gaze on him.

"Dominic," she purred. Her voice sounded like sin wrapped in velvet. "It’s been too long."

He didn’t lower the gun. "You broke into my home."

She made a soft tsking sound and rose from the couch with the kind of grace that shouldn’t exist in real life.

Her silk red dress clung to her body in ways that seemed not intentional. She stepped forward, her heels clicking on his marble floor.

"Is that any way to greet Viktoria Ivanov?" she teased, placing her hands delicately on her hips. "After all, we’re practically family."

Dominic didn’t blink. "Get out."

"So cold," she whispered. "Just like they said you were. But even cold men get lonely."

"Not for Russian dolls."

She laughed. Her laugh was throaty, and that sent a chill crawling down the back of his neck from memory.

He remembered what her father, Grigor, had demanded. Viktoria took a slow step toward him. "I came to remind you that you have less than two weeks now," she said, her voice a perfect balance of seduction and steel. "Two weeks to decide whether you become my husband or my father becomes your executioner."

"Cute threat," he muttered.

She leaned closer, the scent of jasmine stronger now. "Oh, darling. That wasn’t a threat. That was a prophecy."

Dominic lowered the gun, but only by a fraction. "What makes you think I’d ever marry you?"

Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

"Because my father will burn down everything you love until you have nothing left. And then you’ll crawl to me."

She dragged her finger along his lapel. He slapped it away.

"You think this is a game," he said coldly. "If it really is, then I don’t play games I can’t win."

Viktoria stepped back, unoffended. "Then marry me. That way, you win."

He stared at her. Her dress was barely decent, her lipstick was a calculated weapon, and every inch of her screamed manipulation.

And yet, she was beautiful. In that way only danger could be.

"I don’t want your crown," he said. "Or your leash."

"But you’d rather die than kneel. That’s why I want you."

She tilted her head, looking around his apartment. "Nice place. Cold. Empty. Just like your eyes." She turned her gaze on him again. "But I can fix that."

"Get out," he said again. This time, his voice was deadly.

Viktoria took a breath and shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "Alright, but you know how Russians are. We never come just once."

With a final smirk, she brushed past him and disappeared through the door.

Dominic stood still for a long time after she was gone. Then, finally, he set the gun down on the counter and sat on the armrest of his couch, rubbing a hand down his face.

He wasn’t afraid of Grigor. But he knew one thing for certain. Viktoria wasn’t just a pawn in her father’s game.

She was more, and with what he just saw, she looked like the type to burn the world down just for the fun of it.