The dress arrived in silence.
No knock.
No warning.
No explanation.
Just a black box on the bed when I walked into the room.
I stared at it for a long time before touching it, like it might bite me if I did. Everything in this house felt like that—beautiful, expensive, dangerous. Like a cage made of glass and gold.
When I opened it, my breath caught.
The dress was deep red. Silk. Heavy. Elegant. The kind of dress meant to be seen, meant to be remembered, meant to belong to a woman who didn't have a choice.
I didn't touch it.
"I'm not going."
His voice came from the doorway.
"You are."
Zarek.
One word. Cold. Final.
I turned slowly. He stood there in black—tailored suit, open collar, sharp jaw, emotionless eyes. He looked like power. Like violence wrapped in elegance.
"There's a party tonight," he said. "You'll attend."
"I won't." My voice shook, but I didn't stop. "I'm not your decoration. I'm not your property. And I'm not going anywhere with you."
He studied me the way predators study movement.
Then he spoke the word.
"Camilla."
My chest tightened.
"I told you," I said, voice rising, "don't call me that."
"That is your name tonight."
"It's not my name. It will never be my name."
He stepped closer.
The room felt smaller.
"You will answer to it."
"No."
One word. Weak. But real.
Silence fell between us.
Then he said calmly, dangerously:
"Pauline lives on Crescent Street."
My blood froze.
"Apartment 3B. Blue door. Second floor. Works two jobs. Walks home alone on Thursdays."
I couldn't breathe.
"You did a background check on me," I whispered.
"I did a full background check on everything connected to you."
My legs felt weak.
"Don't," I said. "Don't bring her into this."
His voice didn't change.
"You will attend the party. You will stand beside me. You will answer when I call you Camilla."
Tears burned my eyes.
"If you don't," he continued, "my men will pay Pauline a visit."
Silence.
Then something broke inside me.
"...I hate you."
He didn't react.
"You don't get to hate me," he said. "You belong to me."
I didn't answer.
I went to the bed.
Picked up the dress.
And said nothing.
The Party
The mansion glowed with light.
Luxury. Music. Power. Men in suits. Women in diamonds. Guns hidden under jackets. Violence behind smiles.
This was his world.
And I was standing inside it.
The dress clung to my body like it was made for me. Red silk. Open back. High slit. My hair styled. My face done. I didn't recognize myself in the mirror.
I looked like someone else.
Like her.
Zarek stood beside me, his hand resting possessively on my lower back as we entered.
Every eye turned.
Whispers followed.
"Volkov's wife."
"She looks just like her."
"She's back."
I felt sick.
I felt like a ghost wearing another woman's skin.
Men nodded to him with respect. Fear. Loyalty.
Women looked at me with curiosity. Jealousy. Confusion.
Someone approached.
A man with cold eyes and a scar across his cheek.
"So," he smiled, raising his glass, "Camilla Volkov returns."
I flinched.
Zarek tightened his grip.
"She never left," he said.
I said nothing.
All night, it continued.
Camilla.
Camilla.
Camilla.
The name followed me like a curse.
Like I was disappearing.
Like Lumira was being erased one syllable at a time.
I drank.
Not to enjoy it.
To survive it.
The music blurred. The lights softened. My thoughts slowed.
I could feel his eyes on me.
Not soft.
Not loving.
Possessive.
Obsessive.
Hungry.
His hand brushed my waist when he walked past.
My back.
My arm.
My neck.
Touches that weren't gentle — but controlled.
Claiming.
Ownership.
When we finally left, I didn't speak.
He didn't try to make me.
The silence between us was heavy.
The Return
The world felt slow.
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
He poured a drink.
Then another.
So did I.
We didn't talk.
We didn't look at each other.
But the tension was thick.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
At some point, I felt his hand on my arm.
Then my waist.
Then my back.
"Zarek," I whispered.
He didn't answer.
His forehead rested against mine.
His breath smelled like alcohol and control.
"Camilla," he murmured.
My body reacted before my mind did.
Confusion.
Heat.
Fear.
Longing.
Anger.
Everything mixed together.
His hands moved.
Slow.
Claiming.
Possessive.
I remembered touches.
His voice.
Low.
Dark.
Calling her name.
Not mine.
Hers.
"Camilla…"
I tried to push him away.
Weakly.
"Stop…"
But my body felt heavy.
Dizzy.
Everything blurred.
Morning
Light burned my eyes.
My head throbbed.
My body felt wrong.
Warm.
Heavy.
Close.
I opened my eyes.
And froze.
Zarek.
Beside me.
In bed.
Undressed.
My breath caught.
The sheets were tangled.
Clothes on the floor.
Silence in the room.
Memory fragments flooded in.
His hands.
His voice.
His breath.
His weight.
The name.
Not my name.
Hers.
Anger exploded in my chest.
I sat up fast.
The sheet fell from my body.
My heart pounded.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
He stirred.
Opened his eyes slowly.
Confused.
Dark.
Silent.
Our eyes met.
The air changed.
"I don't remember," he said.
My voice shook with fury.
"I do."
He watched me.
"She remembers the touches," I said.
"She remembers your voice."
"She remembers you calling her Camilla while touching her body."
My hands clenched.
"That will never be my name."
Silence.
Cold silence.
Something dark passed through his eyes.
Not guilt.
Not remorse.
Possession.
"Get out of my bed," I said.
He didn't move.
"You're in my house," he replied calmly.
I stood.
Wrapped the sheet around myself.
Shaking.
Angry.
Broken.
Humiliated.
"I am not her," I said, my voice cracking.
"I will never be her."
"And I will never belong to her name."
His voice was low.
Dangerous.
"You already do."