Authors pov

The golden morning rays spilled through the heavy curtains, slicing through the dimness of the room. They fell gently across Niamph’s closed eyelids, warming her skin, making her awake.

She fluttered them open slowly, lashes blinking against the light.

For a few seconds, her mind is a blank canvas. No thoughts, no memories...just soft sunlight and still air.

But then it all returned.

The weight of it.

The sound of skin meeting skin.

The way his name had spilled from her lips.

She tried to sit up, but gasped, flinching as a sharp ache pulsed between her thighs. The soreness reminded her exactly how real it was. How deeply she had been claimed. How thoroughly her body had been marked by the man who now haunted her every breath.

She looked around the room properly now... it's cold and unfamiliar. The walls are dark, ruthlessly luxurious. Black marble. Thick velvet curtains that refused to let the light fully in.

But he is nowhere to be found here.

The space beside her is empty, though faint traces of his scent...smoke and spice...still clung to the sheets.

Her fingers curled into the silk bedding as tears gathered in her eyes. Shame spread through her like poison. She pulled the sheet around her bare body, clutching it tightly as the memories crashed over her like waves.

The way he had touched her… kissed her… broken her open with every thrust.

How she had cried out for him.

How her body loved it.

She began to sob... it's quiet but filled with guilt.

“What have I done…?” she whispered.

She had indulged in a vulgar, sinful act......one her God would never forgive. And the most shameful part.... She didn't tolerated it.

She has craved it.

The way he whispered filth into her ear. The way her body responded like it had belonged to him all along.

A wave of nausea and guilt rolled through her. She pressed her palms to her face, crying silently as her legs curled up beneath the sheets.

“Jesus…” she whispered between sobs. “Forgive this child of Yours.”

She closed her eyes tightly and began to murmur verses she have been tought. To keep the devil at bay.

Even though she was married now, she couldn’t bring herself to feel like a wife. Not to him.

This wasn't a holy union.

It was a transaction.

A cold exchange for her freedom.

The soft click of the door broke through Niamph’s silent prayers.

Her breath hitched. She stiffened under the sheets, hands clutching the silk tight to her chest as footsteps approached. Her heart pounded in her ribs.

Is it him?

Is Mikhail back?

But when she looked up, it was Lucy... She entered the room with a tray in her hands....breakfast, a glass of water, and a small blister pack of medicine.

The second Lucy looked at her, she stopped in her tracks.

Niamph looked away, shame heating her cheeks.

Her ripped wedding gown still lay in shreds across the marble floor, the torn lace a cruel reminder of what had happened. Her silk thong was discarded beside it...crumpled and torn. The room is still reeking of sex.

Lucy took a slow breath, her face softening. “Niamph madam…”

Niamph wiped the corner of her eye hastily, shaking her head as if that could erase the evidence of her tears.

Lucy hesitated, then set the tray on the bedside table and sat gently beside her.

There was silence for a moment.

Then, with a soft, awkward voice, Lucy asked, “Niamph madam… did… did Czar have…” She fumbled, cheeks pinking. “Did he… force....?”

Niamph looked at her slowly.

She understood what Lucy couldn’t say. And even worse, she understood the way Lucy’s eyes flicked toward the bruises on her wrists, the slight mark at her throat, and the faint red bites peeking from under the bedsheet.

“No,” Niamph said quietly. “He didn’t force me.”

Lucy blinked.

Niamph’s voice cracked. “Instead… he made me feel like a traitor to myself.”

Lucy parted her lips as if to say something, but thought better of it. The silence settled between them like a heavy curtain.

She saw the tremble in Niamph’s fingers. The way she kept her legs curled beneath the sheet, trying to shrink herself smaller. The faded imprint of teeth on her shoulder...violet and red against pale skin.

Lucy swallowed hard.

She had wondered often....how a fragile girl like Niamph could possibly survive a man like Mikhail Cozlov.

Lucy lowered her gaze respectfully. “I’ll draw you a warm bath. It might help ease… the soreness.”

Niamph nodded slowly, her eyes distant.

She walked away, leaving Niamph alone with her thoughts.

With the marks on her skin.

And the deeper ones inside her heart.

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The chamber was grand but cold. The men of the Bratva sat in silence, each in tailored suits, armed with guns.

At the head of the table sat Mikhail.

His posture was relaxed, one arm draped over the armrest, his fingers idly toying with the obsidian wolf-shaped ring on his thumb.

“Czar… The German mafia is requesting our support,” One of his sideman,cleared his throat and said, his voice clipped and cautious. “They want to take over the southern territories of Italy. They're asking for your verification… to move forward under Bratva’s shadow.”

Mikhail's  eyes stared down at the polished table.

His mind is… elsewhere.

In tangled sheets. In the sweet sound of gasps and cries. In the way her delicate fingers had fisted the fabric..his shoulder..his biceps. In the eyes of a girl who hadn’t known she could moan like that.

A girl with God on her lips and sin in her breath.

A kitten with claws.

His kitten.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Czar?” Kiril asked again, glancing nervously around the table.

Mikhail finally blinked.

He leaned back into the high-backed chair, calm and in full command again. His fingers tapped the armrest once.

“Arrange a meeting,” he said.. “I don’t make decisions with raw words. I want to see their eyes when they ask for my shadow.”

Another voice cut through the weighty silence of the chamber.

“But the part the Germans are asking for…” the man said carefully, “falls under the control of Viper—Devillian Giordano.”

The man shifted in his chair and continued, “He’s one hell of a powerful man, Czar. The alliance between us… has been held for decades. We can’t afford to lose the Italians..."

Mikhail hummed.

It is true. Their alliance with Viper had held strong for over a decade...built not on friendship, but mutual interest and mutual threat.

“I’ll look after it later,” Mikhail said simply.

The room stilled for a breath, then the consigliere gave a silent nod. It is enough.

Conversations shifted.

And returned to trade routes, arms shipments, and laundering routes in some regions.

And one by one, they stood. Bowed their heads. Left the chamber.

Until it was only Mikhail.

Alone.

He leaned back in his chair, finally letting the leather cradle his powerful frame. His eyes closed.

When Mikhail’s eyes opened in the  morning, it wasn’t the light that greeted him.

It was her.

Niamph. His kitten.

Curled up against his chest like she belonged there.

Her naked body was completely draped over him...one leg tangled between his, her breasts pressed flat to his bare torso, her cheek nestled against his heart like it was the safest place on earth.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, as if even in sleep, she feared he might vanish.

Her skin was warm.

Soft.

Slick from the faint sheen of sweat that still clung to both their bodies.

And fuck… he felt everything.

Every curve. Every dip. Every place his mouth had claimed, marked, bitten. She was covered in his bruises...on her throat, on her breasts, on the inside of her thighs. Her entire body was one raw canvas of evidence of his hunger.

His cock stirred beneath the sheets, already hardening at the feel of her soft heat pressed against his thigh.

Her breath ghosted across his collarbone.

Her hair was a mess...tangled from his fingers, from the pillow, from the hours she spent beneath him crying in pleasure and pain. Her lips were swollen, parted slightly in sleep. That innocent little pout…

He was one breath away from flipping her onto her back and ravaging her again.

One breath.

One flex of his hips and she’d be gasping his name all over again, her legs shaking, her nails clawing down his back.

But he didn’t.

He clenched his jaw and forced his hands to stay still.

Because she was sleeping. Peacefully.

Because she was still recovering from the first time.

Because if he gave in...if he showed her the full extent of the beast he kept locked in chains...she wouldn’t survive it.

She wouldn’t walk for days.

And some sick part of him loved that thought.

But not this morning.

Not yet.

So instead, he lay there for a few more minutes, just staring at her. Watching her lips twitch slightly. Feeling the small breaths she took against his chest.

Then, quietly, he lifted her arms from his body.

She stirred but didn’t wake.

Before he left the room, he looked over his shoulder once.

She was still curled up on the warm dent in the mattress where he had been. So wrecked.

Mine.

The word echoed in his skull as he shut the door behind him.

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Steam clung to Niamph’s skin as she stepped out of the bathtub, wrapping a thick white towel around herself. The hot water had helped...the soreness in her thighs had lessened, the stiffness in her hips easing into a dull warmth.

She padded barefoot across the cold marble floor, leaving wet prints behind as she stepped into the walk-in wardrobe. The lights flickered on automatically.

Clothes.

So many clothes.

Silks. Satins. Woolen. All of it.Tailored dresses in every color. Rows of shoes arranged like a boutique. Shelves of handbags like in the magazines. Each section of the closet was curated...seasonal, color-coded. Ridiculously too much.

She blinked, overwhelmed.

Why would I need this much?

She barely wore anything other than a simple t shirt or a long dress back home. All of this felt… excessive. Like a bribe.

She touched one hanger absently before shaking her head and whispering, “Lucy will take some. She deserves it..She takes care of me so much.”

But her thoughts stilled when she opened a panel near the back.

A tall, mirrored door clicked open… and her breath hitched.

Rows of lingerie.

These were lace and straps. Black. Crimson. Deep emeralds. Delicate things with garters and bows and things that didn’t even look like clothing.

Her stomach twisted.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the door, knuckles white.

Did Mikhail choose these?

The thought made her blood turn cold.

Of course he did.

Who else would select a collection of barely-there silk meant to expose every inch of her body? Who else would stock a drawer full of sin for a girl.

Her lips curled bitterly.

What a disgusting creature of Jesus.

“I would never wear these,” she whispered harshly, slamming the mirrored door shut.

The reflection disappeared with a thud.

She turned quickly, trying to erase the image from her mind.

She grabbed the first modest thing her hand found...a long-sleeved dress in a soft gray. Below the knee. High neck.

The kind of dress that made her feel like herself again.

She dressed slowly.

The hallways echoed with silence as Niamph stepped out of her room.

Her dress the only sound accompanying her bare footsteps. The walls around her are dark....grey and black marbles stretched across floors and walls.. giving the house an almost tomb-like stillness.

So cold…

So soulless..

No family portraits. No colors. No flowers. Nothing.

She could tell… this was a house meant not to welcome. No wonder Mikhail lived here alone.

As she made her way toward the living area, she passed two maids in dark uniforms. They bowed their heads as she approached.

Niamph startled slightly, then gave them a small, embarrassed smile. It felt so strange…. Like she had woken up as some kind of monarch overnight. It didn’t sit right with her.

I don’t belong here.

But just as the weight started to build in her chest again… she heard it.

A soft, familiar mew.

Her breath caught.

She turned her head quickly, scanning the spacious living area, and her eyes landed on a small furry creature crouched beside a modern feeding bowl tucked near the window.

“Bubbly!” she gasped.

The fluffy cat looked up, mouth still full of food, tail twitching in mild annoyance at the disturbance.

Niamph ran forward with zero care and scooped her cat into her arms, spinning gently, joy lighting up her after what felt like eternity.

“Oh my God, Bubbly, you’re here,” she whispered, pressing her nose into her pet’s soft head. “You’re really here…”

The cat mewed again....clearly displeased by being removed mid-meal.....but endured her affection with mild resignation.

Niamph stroked her lovingly, a wide smile softening her features. “I missed you so much, you fat little drama queen.”

She looked up just in time to see Lucy approaching  a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Lucy… did you bring her here?” Niamph asked breathlessly. “Oh my God, thank you so much!”

Lucy gave a small nod, visibly pleased by Niamph’s happiness.

"Are you happy, niamph madam.."

Niamph cradle the cat like a child. “At least now, with her around, I won’t feel that depressed. And don’t worry.....we’ll keep her hidden this time. He won’t find out.”

But Lucy hesitated.

Then cleared her throat. “Um… Niamph madam… Czar already knows.”

Niamph froze.

“What?”

Lucy stepped forward gently. “It was actually Czar’s instruction. To bring the cat along.”

Niamph blinked.

The warmth drained slightly from her expression.

He allowed it?

She didn’t know what to feel.

Relief?

Confusion?

She swallowed, the joy dimming a little, and nodded slowly. “Oh…”

Bubbly squirmed in her arms, eager to return to her food.

Niamph let her go and watched the cat trot back toward the bowl.

Her fingers absentmindedly rubbed her wrist, where a faint mark from last night still lingered.

Lucy noticed the shift....the subtle way Niamph's smile faltered, the way her eyes dimmed.

Lucy cleared her throat gently, trying to anchor her mistress back to the surface.

“Uh… Niamph madam,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Would you like to take a… stroll?"

Niamph blinked at her, still processing, then gave a slow nod.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I… I’d like that.”

Lucy smiled, just a little. “This way then”

They moved through one of the long side corridors.

“This wing is mostly unused,” Lucy explained softly, walking a few steps ahead. “There’s a private library at the end… and a weapons vault downstairs, though Czar keeps that locked at all times.”

Niamph’s brows raised slightly. “Weapons vault,” she repeated under her breath. “Of course.”

Lucy cast her a sideways glance but didn’t comment.

They passed a set of doors that were sealed with fingerprint locks. Beyond another, she spotted what looked like an indoor training room.

Their steps echoed softly in the long hallway, but Niamph’s feet suddenly slowed.

Then stopped.

A particular door stood out from the others...not intale with  polished glass like the rest. Its wood was dark. Unlike everything else in the house, It felt personal.

Niamph tilted her head slightly. Her fingers itched.

“Lucy…” she murmured, eyes fixed on the door. “What’s that room?”

Lucy turned back, following her gaze.

“That’s the sculpture room,” she said after a pause. “Czar’s.”

Niamph turned to her slowly, surprised. “He… sculpts?”

Lucy nodded  “Yeah. I’ve only heard of it from the other maids. No one’s allowed in. That room stays locked at all times.”

A strange stillness settled over Niamph. Her eyes returned to the door.

A man like him—so brutal, so violent....had a room dedicated to something as quiet, as delicate, as sculpture?

“What does he sculpt?” she asked.

Lucy shrugged. “No one knows. He doesn’t talk about it. Only thing I heard was that he’s been doing it since he was a teenager.”

Niamph kept staring.

Her chest tightened with something she couldn’t name. Curiosity.

“Let’s go,” Lucy said gently, touching her elbow.

Niamph hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and walked on… but not before casting one last look over her shoulder at the door.