Morning came. The basement was stuffy, but that didn’t stop Anya. She took off the blue dress, leaving only simple black underwear. Her skin gleamed with sweat; her hair was twisted into a messy bun. She jogged in place, her breathing deep and even.
The door opened. Viktor came down slowly with a tray. He stopped on the third step, and the tray in his hands tilted slightly. His gaze darted between her face and her nearly bare body.
“Anya? What… what are you doing?” His voice came out unnaturally high. “Put your dress on. Now.”
Without missing a beat, she simply turned her head slightly and smiled—not ingratiatingly, but defiantly.
“Good morning, Viktor. You said yourself I needed physical exercise. I decided not to wait for your instructions.”
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
“You know, when you get your blood pumping, the walls don’t feel so close.”
Viktor came down another step and set the tray on the table, trying to look away, but his eyes kept returning to her.
“You… this is indecent. I didn’t give permission for… this.”
She stopped. But instead of backing away, she stepped toward him, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling steadily.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Indecent? Viktor, it’s just us here. You’ve seen me in every state—crying, dirty, scared. Why are you acting shy all of a sudden?”
She ran a hand over her stomach, wiping away beads of sweat.
“Don’t you like what you see?”
Color flooded his face—a mix of anger and desire.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re my guest. There are rules—”
“Rules are for people who are afraid,” she cut in, stepping right up to him; she radiated warmth and life. “And you’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She took the hand he had braced against the edge of the table and placed it on her waist.
“Look at me, Viktor. Really look at me. You built this bunker to hide me from the world. But why deny yourself something beautiful?”
His fingers tightened on her skin involuntarily.
“You… you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to throw me off.”
“I’m trying to show you I’m alive,” she whispered, looking him straight in the eye. “That I’m not your furniture. And that if you want to be the ‘owner,’ you need to be worthy of me.”
She rose slightly onto her toes; her breath brushed his lips.
“You don’t need to give orders for me to obey you. You just need to… let me be yours.”
He pulled back sharply, but his eyes were different now—there was none of the old certainty in them.
“Enough. Put your dress on. I brought breakfast. I need to go. Business.”
Anya calmly took an apple from the tray, in no hurry to get dressed.
“Fine. Whatever you say.”
Viktor hurried out of the basement, nearly forgetting to close the door. The click of the lock sounded rushed this time, as if he were running for his life.
Anya took a bite of the apple, looking at the closed door. Her plan had worked: she’d shifted something inside him—from control to need. Now he would think of her as a woman, not as a project.
Hidden-volume note:
I found his main weakness. His control is armor that hides complete helplessness when faced with real intimacy. He’s more afraid of my body than I am of his walls.
Now I’ll start setting the terms. I’ll make him feel guilty for wanting me. And when he finally breaks, he’ll offer me freedom himself—so long as I keep looking at him like that.