Chapter Eight: Viktor's Rules
The room felt too soft for a prison. Cream walls, velvet curtains, a huge bed with a thick blanket. But Isabella still woke up with her heart hammering like she had slept on a floor somewhere. She stared at the ceiling, counting the carvings, trying to push away the memory of last night.
He had said it.
Wife.
The word still rang in her head. It didn't fit. She wasn't his anything. She had a life, a cat, a home by the sea. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't… whatever this was.
And yet, every time she thought about the way he looked at her when he said it, something deep inside her shifted. She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. But there was a strange, dark pull she didn't understand, like a spark that burned and scared her at the same time.
The door opened with a soft click. A young woman walked in carrying a tray. She wasn't dressed like the other staff; she wore a simple black dress, hair pulled back tight, eyes sharp. She placed the tray on the bedside table and gave Isabella a small, polite nod.
"I'm Lena," she said quietly. "Ivan told me to look after you."
"Ivan?" Isabella asked.
"The man who pulled you out of the club." Her tone didn't change. "He said you'd need someone… personal."
Isabella sat up, clutching the blanket. "So I'm a prisoner with a maid?"
Lena's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "You're alive. That's more than some."
The words stung. Isabella looked at the food , fruit, bread, a pot of tea , but her stomach twisted. "What does he want?"
"He wants you downstairs." Lena's voice was calm, almost kind. "He doesn't like to wait."
Isabella's heart skipped. "Now?"
"Yes. Wash your face. Dress. Come."
She did as she was told, hands trembling while she pulled on the clothes Lena had laid out: a plain black dress, soft fabric, nothing flashy. Even in this house she was trying to disappear. Glasses on. Hair tied. Maybe if she looked ordinary enough she'd wake up from this nightmare.
Lena walked her down a long hallway. The house felt endless, full of dark wood, tall windows, quiet guards who looked straight ahead but saw everything. It smelled like money and danger. Every step made Isabella's stomach sink lower.
They reached a dining room. Viktor sat at the head of the table, dressed in black, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee. He didn't look up when she entered. He didn't need to. He filled the whole room without moving.
Lena touched Isabella's elbow. "Sit," she whispered.
Isabella slid into the chair opposite him, trying to keep her hands still on her lap. Her throat was dry.
He spoke without looking at her. "From today, this house is your world. No doors open unless I say. No visitors. Lena will tell you when to eat, when to dress, when to move."
Isabella's voice came out small. "That sounds like a cage."
His eyes lifted, dark and steady. "It is."
Her stomach flipped. She tried to hold his gaze but it burned. "Why me?" she whispered. "Why drag me into this?"
He stirred his coffee slow, unbothered. "Because once I make a choice, I don't change it."
"You're insane."
"You're still breathing," he said, and the corners of his mouth didn't move. "That's more than most who cross me."
She bit her lip until it hurt. "I want my life back. I want to go home."
"Home is gone." His tone was flat. "Play your part and survive. Fight it and…" He let the sentence hang in the air like a blade.
Her fingers dug into her knees. "I'm not… some toy."
"Then prove it." He pushed back his chair and stood, tall and solid. "There's an event tonight. Stay at my side. Smile. Say nothing you shouldn't."
"Event?" she asked.
"You'll see." He was already moving toward the door. "Lena will prepare you."
She blinked. "That's it? You kidnap me, threaten me, and now I'm supposed to… what, be your arm candy?"
He stopped in the doorway, turned halfway back. His eyes locked on hers and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
"You're still alive because I said so," he said. "Remember that."
Then he walked out.
The silence left behind was louder than his voice. Isabella sagged against the chair, hands trembling. She hated this. She hated him. And yet, somewhere deep inside, a small, treacherous voice whispered that she wanted to see what happened next. That maybe, just maybe, she wanted to see him again.
Lena's voice broke the thought. "Come," she said softly. "I'll show you your room."
"My room?" Isabella asked.
"Next to his. Ivan said to keep you close." Lena's face didn't give anything away. "He doesn't trust easily."
Isabella followed, legs heavy, mind even heavier. The hallway felt like a tunnel she couldn't escape. Every step echoed with his words: Play your part. Survive.
Inside the new bedroom, the curtains were drawn, the bed was neat, a wardrobe stood open with dark dresses waiting. Lena placed a key on the nightstand.
"This is yours now," she said. "Rest. You'll need it."
Isabella sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the key. It didn't look like freedom. It looked like another lock.
"Do you work for him willingly?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Lena looked at her for a long moment. "We all make choices," she said quietly. "Some better than others."
Then she left.
Isabella lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling again. She pressed her hands over her eyes. Her heart was a mess. She wasn't a masochist. She wasn't some girl who liked danger. So why did her skin burn when he looked at her? Why did his threats sound like a challenge she couldn't walk away from?
She turned onto her side, clutching the pillow. She still had a life outside of Russia. She still had a cat. She still wanted to go home. She would do anything to go back. Anything.
But in this house, under Viktor's rule, "anything" might not be enough.
The last thing she heard before she drifted off was her own whisper: "Play it by ear. Survive."