In The Arms of Ivan Dimitri

CRYSTAL ELIZA DIMITRI POV...

The morning sun seeped through the curtains, casting a dull glow across the room as I slipped out of Vera's bed. I had stayed with her last night-she was restless, worried about Ivan and Egor's absence. I had whispered reassurances, chased away her darkest thoughts, and lulled her into sleep. In the end, I had succumbed to exhaustion myself.

But now, as I stepped back into my own room, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

My breath hitched.

He was there.

The monster himself.

Seated on my bed like he belonged there, legs crossed, phone in hand-completely at ease, like he hadn't nearly destroyed me before. His dark eyes flicked up, meeting mine with that quiet, suffocating intensity that always stripped the air from my lungs.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, shutting the door with a trembling hand before cautiously making my way toward him. Each step felt like I was descending into hell.

"Master..."

He barely glanced up. "Sit."

I obeyed without hesitation, lowering myself beside him. The space between us felt nonexistent. His presence alone was a cage, locking me in.

"Master?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

That was when he turned, hand wrapping around my throat in a deliberate, unhurried motion. Not enough to choke-just enough to remind me that he could.

"I once asked you about the connection between you and Samira," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, almost deceptive. "What did you say?"

My pulse hammered. "I-I d-don't k-know her."

His fingers tightened.

The pressure crushed my throat like a vice. I clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but it was useless-his grip remained unyielding. My vision blurred, my lungs screamed for air, and just as my body began to fail me, he released me.

I collapsed forward, gasping, coughing, struggling to drag oxygen back into my burning lungs.

A chuckle.

"Baby doll," he purred, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, "I hate being lied to. We're married. We should learn to be honest with each other, don't you think?"

You sick bastard. Go to hell. I will never be your wife.

But I didn't dare say it.

Instead, I flinched when he pushed me down, my back hitting the mattress. My pulse skyrocketed as he yanked up my oversized hoodie, exposing the canvas of scars he had left behind.

His gaze darkened, his smirk cutting through me like a blade. "You look so beautiful with my marks all over your body."

I shuddered. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I fought back the wave of nausea rising in my throat.

Tears burned at the edges of my vision. How could someone be this cruel? How could anyone take pleasure in another's suffering?