Morning. Anya hadn’t slept. She sat in the corner of the couch, staring at the spot where the cat had been yesterday. She wasn’t crying—there were no tears left, only emptiness.
The light snapped on, cutting into her eyes. Viktor came down. He looked composed, even a little stern. In his hands he carried a breakfast basket and a bouquet of yellow tulips.
He put the flowers into an empty pickle jar he’d brought with him and set the makeshift bouquet on the table.
“Yellow is a symbol of warmth,” he said calmly, watching her reaction. “This basement doesn’t have enough of it. I thought it would help you get into the right frame of mind.”
Anya’s voice was raw, barely above a whisper.
“After what you did… you bring flowers?”
His face turned to stone. He slowly took a thermos out of the basket.
“Yesterday was difficult for both of us, Anya. And I’m genuinely sorry it ended like that. It was… unpleasant. But let’s be honest: you backed me into a corner. You knew I wouldn’t tolerate you breaking the rules.”
“You killed a living creature…”
“I taught you a lesson!” he cut her off, his voice turning harder.
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He exhaled, trying to regain control of himself.
“I didn’t want this. I couldn’t sleep half the night. I kept thinking about how badly you disappointed me. But I decided to give us another chance. I went to your place. I brought your perfume.”
He took out the bottle and sprayed it once into the air. The expensive scent mixed with the stale smell of the basement.
“See? I’m trying. I bring you pieces of your life. I care about your comfort. And in return I ask for only one thing—that you stop seeing me as your enemy. Yesterday… that was your fault. Your fear made me cruel. Don’t do that again.”
She looked at the tulips, realizing he was completely serious.
“So if I’m ‘good,’ you won’t kill anyone anymore?”
He stepped closer and leaned in. He smelled like fresh coffee.
“Exactly. Your behavior sets the tone in this house. If there’s peace here, I’ll be the most caring person in your life. But if you try to escape again, or if you start lying to me…”
He shrugged.
“I’ll have to take action again. And I don’t like it any more than you do. Believe me, my hands were shaking all evening after that.”
“I’m sorry… Viktor,” she forced out, understanding that this was the part she had to play. “I just… I really wanted to go home.”
His gaze warmed. He looked satisfied.
“Home? Anya, you’re already home. You just haven’t gotten used to the new walls yet.”
He laid out the breakfast.
“Eat. Today I added more berries to the oatmeal. And put on your perfume. Tonight I’ll come down to watch a movie with you, and I want you to smell like yourself.”
She took the bottle. Her fingers were trembling.
“Okay.”
At the stairs he turned back.
“And don’t forget to give the tulips water. Flowers need care. Just like people.”
He left. Anya sat there alone. She stared at the yellow flowers, which, in that basement, looked like blots of pus on a wound. She understood: he wasn’t just a maniac—he believed in his “holy mission” to shape her. And that made him a hundred times more dangerous.