Viktor's every movement feels like a long, drawn-out preparation, tightening Alia's nerves with every passing second. He moves his hand very slowly and deliberately from her thigh upward. His touch is cruelly cold and certain, as if he is imprinting the seal of his ownership upon every inch of Alia's body.
Alia remains huddled in the corner of the sofa, her breath hitching in her chest. As Viktor's fingers move up from her thigh, she trembles with fear and humiliation. Viktor seems to be playing with time—he knows that every moment of this fear is a milestone of agony for Alia.
Viktor pauses for a moment, looking into Alia's eyes. His gaze holds that demonic pleasure visible only when he is certain his prey is completely helpless. Then, he moves his hand further up, where the slightest shift of the dress would expose her most private self.
Viktor: (Whispering) "Calm down, Alia. I am merely observing my own property. Did you think this body of yours would belong to anyone else? From today, you are under my rule. Every atom of yours belongs only to me." was paralyzed with a strange stiffness, yet the intensity of Viktor's embrace affected her deeply. Viktor turned Alia toward him and pressed a long, possessive kiss upon her lips. In this unexpected intimacy, Alia flushed with shame.
She lowered her eyes, her heartbeat thumping wildly within her chest. Alia whispered, barely audible, "Viktor... let go, someone will see!"
This mixture of shame and fear in Alia created a sense of demonic amusement within Viktor. He gently lifted her chin, looked into her eyes, and said with a sinister smirk, "Let them. Every wall, every mirror, and every servant in this palace knows—from this moment on, you are mine alone. Your shame, your fear, your nobility—everything is a part of my palace. And I have no objection if someone sees, for they will see how their Godmother has become a puppet in my hands." the suffocating atmosphere of the library, Viktor drew Alia into his grasp. There was a strange depth in Viktor's gaze, one that only heightened Alia's anxiety. He commanded her, "Alia, give me your hand."
Alia, trembling, extended her hand toward him. Viktor stared at it with a slow, unwavering intensity, as if he were trying to read every one of her hidden vulnerabilities written in the lines of her palm. Then, with a gesture that felt simultaneously tender and demonically possessive, he pressed a kiss to her hand. The touch of his lips sent a cold shiver racing across her skin.
Suddenly, Viktor cupped Alia's cheeks firmly in his large palms, as if he had taken her face entirely into his control. He asked in a deep voice, "You married Anashia. Then why don't you divorce her yet? Why is this bond still so loose?"
Tears streamed from Alia's eyes. She could not bring herself to look into Viktor's eyes, her voice faint and choked with sobs. Alia replied, "Viktor... I can't, even if I want to. She... she threatens me. She threatens to destroy everything—my past, my present."
The smile on Viktor's face became even sharper and more cruel. He squeezed her cheeks a little harder and said, "Threats? She is frightening you? She must have forgotten that I am now the master of every breath you take. Anashia's empty bluffs will carry no weight in my palace. From today on, you are mine alone, and the responsibility of breaking that bond is now mine. Her threats will no longer hold any value in your life, because in the face of my power, she has no existence." Alia looked at Viktor, stunned, and asked, "But Anashia is your friend! How can you behave like this with her?"
Viktor gave a cold, mysterious smile. He traced his fingers across Alia's forehead and whispered in a low voice, "Anashia may be my friend, but she can also be an obstacle in my path. The realm of friendship and the realm of my personal rule are entirely separate."
He paused and glanced at his watch. His eyes now held a serious and preoccupied look. He gestured for Alia to get up from the sofa and said, "I have to leave now. Tomorrow, I have to head out on an important mission; there is some specific work there—what I call 'FSB' work. In my absence, my surveillance over this palace and over you will not diminish in the slightest."
Viktor stepped close to Alia and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. There was no affection in his touch, only a sense of possession. To Alia, it felt as though this kiss were not an expression of love, but a way of binding her with new, invisible chains.
Viktor: "You will stay here until I return. Stop worrying about Anashia, because from now on, the power to make every decision in your life lies solely in my hands."
Viktor took his stick and began to walk toward the library door. Each of his steps shattered the silence of the room. Alia sat alone on the sofa, the lingering sensation of Viktor's cold kiss on her forehead constantly reminding her of how deep a labyrinth she had become trapped in. Alia left Viktor's library and returned to her room. After the nightmarish experience, her body felt numb, yet Viktor's cruel command—that she must obey his instructions within this palace—clouded every one of her thoughts.
She quickly freshened up. Standing before the mirror, she looked at her reflection. There were dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, and her lips were swollen from the pain. Whether out of fear of Viktor or some strange sense of helplessness, she chose the red dress Viktor had designated. After putting it on, she barely recognized herself—in an instant, she had transformed from a powerful CEO into one of Viktor's toy puppets.
She carefully fixed her hair, though her hands would not stop trembling. Before heading out, she took one last look in the mirror and hid a heavy sigh. As she stepped into the corridor, she caught sight of a maid who was standing with her head bowed.
Alia said in a faint, trembling voice, "Viktor... I mean, he told me to go elsewhere in the palace. Am I supposed to go to him, or did he leave any specific instructions for me?"
There was no pride in Alia's voice, no sharpness left. The blow of Viktor's stick and his cruel gaze had crushed every ounce of her personality into the dust. The maid said nothing, simply bowing her head and pointing toward a massive door at the end of the corridor where Viktor was likely waiting for his next command. Adorned in that red dress, concealing her helplessness beneath it, Alia began to walk toward that door. Viktor is deep in slumber—the only sound in the silent room is the rhythm of his breathing. Alia silently approaches the bed. After days of fear and agony, she feels a strange sense of psychological victory at this moment.
She pulls out her phone. Viktor's usually cruel, domineering face now looks calm and vulnerable in his sleep. Alia leans her head slightly toward him and takes a selfie. As the image appears on her phone screen, a crooked, mysterious smile plays on her lips.
This smile is no ordinary one; it is a silent retaliation against all the suffering she has endured over the past few days. The photo captures Viktor in his state of motionless sleep, and Alia—who is beginning to dream of reclaiming herself. She knows this photo is the biggest risk of her life, but at this moment, being able to capture Viktor in this vulnerable state feels like a fragment of freedom.
Alia quickly puts her phone away and prepares to leave the room, her heart still pounding. This selfie is no longer just a picture; it is a symbol of Alia's small rebellion within Viktor's kingdom.