CHAPTER 8: BLOOD MARK
The evening after the auction, Evelyn was not taken to her bedroom. Instead, she was led into a small room in the penthouse, with black walls, cold white lights, and the smell of freshly opened antiseptic.
During the entire journey, no one spoke a word. There were no ropes, no pushing. They simply walked ahead, and she was forced to follow.
Diego closed the door and locked it. Viktor stood in the middle of the room, his shirt sleeves rolled up, wearing black gloves.
On the steel table was a small knife, sharp edged and with a metal handle. It was not a kitchen knife, nor a decorative knife.
Viktor looked at her for a moment, his gaze direct, unabashed.
"No. This is mark."
Diego leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
"So the city will not forget who holds this balance."
She laughed softly, not out of joy, but out of helplessness:
"Isn't that public enough?"
"Publicity is power," Viktor said. "A mark is responsibility."
She looked at the knife.
"Whose responsibility is it to whom?"
"Ours is to you," he replied. "And yours is to us."
No one asked her opinion. But they didn't pull her back either…
Viktor said only one sentence:
"If you go forward, I'll start. If not, the door is always open."
She looked at the door.
The handle was steel, no automatic lock.
If she ran, she could escape the room. But what about escaping the city?
From both sides? From the agreement?
No.
It was all Blackhaven.
Wherever she went, it was only Blackhaven.
Finally, Evelyn took a step forward. Not because she accepted. But because she didn't want to be pulled back.
Viktor put his hands on her waist, steadying her, not squeezing.
"Take a deep breath," he said.
She braced her hands on the steel table, leaning slightly so her stomach muscles wouldn't tighten. The skin on her hips was exposed, taut under the white light.
Diego stood behind her, watching. Not interfering. Not joking.
The knife touched her skin.
It didn't hurt right away.
At first it was cold, then a sharp pain, then a heat like fire sliding under her skin.
Evelyn gritted her teeth, trying to keep her breathing even.
Viktor didn't say a word as he cut.
He made each movement slowly, the blade just gliding lightly over her skin, not long, not deep enough to cause serious damage, just enough for the blood to slowly surge up, creating a clear line.
It wasn't as beautiful as a tattoo, nor as rough as a gang cut. Everything was precise, intentional, his hand didn't shake.
As Viktor pulled out the knife, Diego stepped closer, carefully wiping away the blood with white towel.
"This isn't a tattoo," he whispered, his tone gentle but firm. "It can't be removed with a laser. If you want to lose it, you'll have to cut deeper yourself."
She gasped, feeling like everything was spinning: "I didn't ask for this.
Viktor's response was simple, without hesitation: "This isn't a gift. This is a commitment."
Evelyn turned her head to look at him: "Commitment or posession?"
He put the knife down on the table, his eyes never leaving her:
"You can call it whatever you want. But if either party breaks the agreement, the blood on your body will be proof."
She was silent.
There was no way to argue, it was the way of the world.
Diego picked up the knife again.
"The right is yours," he said. "The left… is mine."
Evelyn took small step back.
Diego didn't pull her back, just stared
"If you can't keep this up," he said, "then don't continue." She closed her eyes, tok deep breath, then turned back to the table, putting her hands down.
Not in submission, but in a situation where there were no better options.
The blade touched skin again, a little deeper this time, as if Diego couldn't control his hands like Viktor could.
The long, hot cut spread down to her soft hip. Evelynn gripped the edge of the table, not making sound, but her breath came out in a small sound.
Diego leaned down to her ear and said, "You don't have to suffer to be strong. But if you choose the strong path, don't ask for forgiveness halfway."
She replied, her voice soft: "I don't ask for forgiveness."
He smiled, not a smile of triumph, but of understanding.
Blood ran down her side, dripping onto the stone floor.
When the two cuts stopped bleeding, Viktor covered them with a transparent bandage, as if treating a surgical wound.
There was no kiss, no hug, no words of comfort.
They didn't treat her as wounded person. They treated her as a precious asset that needed to be protected.
That made her feel more pain.
Evelyn looked at the dried blood on the bandage. Two short words, no frills, no embellishments. On one side was the symbol of Vorak, on thre other was the symbol of Serrano. No name, nicknames, no promises.
Just a code of ownership.
She let go of the table and stood up straight.
"Okay," she said, her voice calm and unwavering. "You've finished your markings. Now it's my turn."
Diego raised an eyebrow: "Your turn?"
Evelyn looked straight at them both, not avoiding them. "I will bear this mark," she said. "But I refuse to live as a sacrifice."
Viktor asked slowly: "What do you want?"
"The right to speak."
She answered immediately, without thinking.
"Next time we meet, I won't kneel under the able. I'll stand on it."
Diego stared at her, the atmosphere heavy.
Then he laughed, this time genuinely excited:
"Okay. Let's see how long you can stand before the world forces you to your knees."
Viktor nodded gently.
No compromise, no protest.
Just acknowledgement.
Evelyn looked at them, a tired breath escaping her chest.
She hadn't won. But she hadn't lost either.
There would be a conference tomorrow.
This time, Evelyn would be standing on table, not omn the ground.
But standing there… meant all eyes, gunsand reasons for fighting would be focused on her.