Ashley's POV:
The air in the master suite was thick with the copper scent of aftermath, heavy and unmoving. We had left the gala in a whirlwind of stolen moments, a hunger that had been raw and immediate. Now, after a shared, silent shower and my rushed nightcare routine—the small, futile rituals of self-preservation—I felt utterly exposed, stripped bare of my defenses.
Roman was already in the king-sized bed, looking infuriatingly calm. A heavy, leather-bound first edition rested on his chest, its weight grounding him to the moment. He had given me back my phone before the gala, and it rested now on the nightstand, my delicate, black leash.
Buzz.
The small sound was deafening, slicing the quiet like a razor. I reached for the phone, my fingers shaking slightly.
Unknown Sender.
I swiped open the notification. The blue-white light from the screen washed over my face, and the warm, suffocating domestic scene shattered.
They were high-resolution images, unforgiving and too real to be fabricated. Explicit. Raw. Roman. In every single shot—his brutal, Slavic tattoos, the chilling focus in his slate-gray eyes, the dominant grip of his massive hands. The woman was a terrified stranger, her face blurred by motion, but the timestamps… Yesterday. While I was in my cage, clutching the hope that my obedience meant something.
"Roman," I whispered, the name catching on a hook of pure, stomach-churning nausea.
He didn't look up, only turning a page with a soft, indifferent shhhk. "I am reading, Solnyshko. Don't interrupt." His endearment, once a comfort, felt like a cage's lock clicking.
I hurled the phone at the bed. It skittered across the expensive silk sheets, stopping inches from his hand, the screen glaring its undeniable, photographic truth.
"Look at it!" I screamed, the sound tearing my throat. "Look at what you did!"
He lowered the book with agonizing slowness, his gaze colder than the sheets. He picked up the phone with the same calculated calmness he used to sign death warrants. He scanned the images, then sighed, shaking his head with a look of sad, patient indulgence that made my blood run cold.
"Ashley. Come here." He reached out, his voice a gentle, loving coax—the voice of the lover, not the owner. "These are fake, my love. They have been tampered with. My enemies are desperate. They send you this filth to poison your mind. Will you believe everything you see on the internet over me?"
He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath warm with the scent of expensive bourbon. "I love you, and only you. I don't want any of these whores. You are my Queen. Why would I touch dust when I have the sun at home?"
But the conviction in the photos—the raw, animal intensity in his eyes—was stronger than his perfectly modulated lie. He was lying.
I shoved his hand away, scrambling backward off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. "Stop it! Stop talking to me like I'm a child! You're a liar! You kidnap me, you torture my father, and you sleep with other women while claiming I'm your world! I hate you!"
The silence returned, instant and absolute. The word Hate was the detonator.
Roman's face went utterly still. The tenderness, the fabricated love, the patient indulgence—it vanished. It was replaced by a zero-degree coldness and a devastating, controlled fury. He moved with the precision of a predator, closing the distance in two strides.
His hand—large, hard, and unforgiving, smelling faintly of gunpowder and expensive soap—slammed around my throat.
The impact drove me backward until my spine collided with the wall with a bone-rattling thud.
"Ghkk—"
My hands flew to his wrist, clawing uselessly at the thick tendons. He squeezed, holding me on the razor's edge of blacking out, the silk of his pajamas brushing my arm.
"You dare question me? You dare to judge me?" he roared, his eyes burning with black fire, the iris contracting to a lethal pinpoint.
He loosened his grip just enough for me to gasp in a ragged, burning breath, then slammed me back against the wall, the back of my head connecting sharply.
"You should have trusted me," he snarled, leaning in so his words were a private threat. "I fucking love you, Ashley. Do you think so low of me that I will fuck with some whore when I have the diamond at home?"
He grabbed my chin, his fingers digging in, forcing my eyes to meet his.
"I am not your fucking boyfriend who will tolerate your childish tantrums. I am your owner. I own you, your soul, your mind, and even your fucking heart."
His voice dropped to a lethal, dangerous whisper. "And even if I did it, what will you do, huh? I can bring any girl into this bed. I will do sex with another girl right in front of you. And you will watch, because even if I will be doing that stuff, it would be to break you. I will break you and then tender you again and again until I am satisfied. Do you fucking understand? You belong to me, and there is no fucking escape or any other home. This is your home where we will grow old together. Our children will play together."
He released me.
I crumbled to the floor, collapsing into a heap of limbs, coughing and clutching at my throbbing, bruised throat.
He stood over me, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive pajama shirt, his face a mask of supreme dominance and cold victory.
"Don't you ever forget your place again," he growled. "Yes, you are my Queen, my love, my world, my everything. You will rule on the throne we will build together. But you are my pet first. Don't ever think I will tolerate your nonsense."
He walked over to the bed, snatched the phone, and held it up—my lifeline to the outside world.
"You deserved this. You didn't trust me, and you don't deserve the freedom I gave you. That is why I am taking this back."
He turned and strode toward the door, his silhouette immense and terrifying against the ambient light.
I was still gasping, but a new, cold terror gripped me—one far worse than the pain in my neck.
Roman... The thought spiraled: I shouldn't have done this. I have unleashed the monster in him. What if he takes all his anger out on my parents? What if he harms them again? No, not again. I can't see them harmed again because of my stupid jealousy, my stupidity. Why was I even jealous? No, I shouldn't have loved him in the first place. I should have just obeyed. Oh god, what a mess I have created. Help me, please...
The chilling idea jolted me like an electric shock. I was the only thing standing between his rage and their safety. I had to fix this. I had to apologize, even if every word was a poison I swallowed. I had made the monster angry, and in the twisted logic of my broken heart, it was my fault for not being smarter. Men like him always sees women as objects, but now I have to make things back to normal, otherwise he will hurt my parents.
"No! Roman, wait!" I screamed, scrambling to my knees, ignoring the searing pain in my throat and the dizziness. "I'm sorry! I was wrong! I believe you! Please, forgive me! I apologize!" My voice was a desperate, humiliating plea.
He stopped with his hand on the door handle, his back to me. The lock clicked—a loud, final sound, sealing my fate.
"Too late, Ashley," he said, using my full name with cold finality. "Your apology doesn't fix your insolence. You belong in the dark now. And you will get your punishment soon."
He pulled the door open and stepped out. The door slammed shut, and the last sound was the decisive, chilling clack of the double-lock engaging.
I was alone, caged, and facing the terrifying new reality: my defiance had consequences that were far too heavy to bear.
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Author's Note:
Well, that was Chapter 40: The pivotal moment where Ashley realized her problems couldn't be solved with a simple "talk." 😬 Roman really showed us his true colors when his attempt at gaslighting got interrupted by a surprise slideshow. 🎬 Pro Tip: When your possessive, psychotic billionaire captor is trying to tell you a picture is fake, maybe don't use the 'H' word. Ashley learned the hard way that when the King of the Dark gets angry, someone pays—and it's usually not him. 🤷♀️ Now we wait to see how Ashley apologizes for her "insolence." I'm sure it will be... eventful. 😉🔪
-Vaanni 🖤