Chapter 7
Morning light filtered through the large windows of the mansion, though Angela remained unaware of its warmth. She sat on the edge of her begi clutched in her lap, as the soft knock on the door broke the heavy silence.
“Miss Angela,” came the gentle yet firm voice of the head maid, Tatiana. “I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Angela turned her face toward the sound, her expression unreadable. The aroma of fresh bread, eggs, and something rich and savory drifted through the air. It was enticing, but her stomach twisted with unease. How could she eat when she was trapped in this place, her fate unknown?
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.
Tatiana sighed. “You must eat, Miss. The master will not be pleased if you refuse.”
The mere mention of Mikhail made Angela tense. His voice, his presence–it all haunted her, lingering in the back of her mind like a dark specter. Yet, even with her fear, she couldn’t deny the hunger gnawing at her insides. Still, she stayed silent, unwilling to bend,
Tatiana must have sensed her reluctance. “Come with me,” she said softly. “Perhaps a change of setting will help.”
Angela hesitated but allowed the woman to guide her. She trailed her fingertips along the cool walls as they walked, mapping the space in her mind. The moment they entered the kitchen, a wave of warmth enveloped her. The sound of sizzling oil, the distant murmur of maids, and the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread wrapped around her senses like a comforting embrace.
“Sit here,” Tatiana instructed, guiding Angela to a small wooden chair near a modest dining area in the kitchen.
Angela lowered herself onto the seat, her hands brushing against the edge of the table. The maids whispered among themselves, their curiosity palpable, but no one dared to approach her. A bowl was placed before her–warm oatmeal drizzled with honey, buttered bread, and a steaming cup of tea. Her fingers hovered over the rim of the bowl, her hunger battling with her stubbornness.
Slowly, she lifted the spoon to her lips. The first taste sent warmth through her hollow stomach, momentarily easing the tension that had become second
nature.
But peace never lasted long in Mikhail Volkov’s domain.
The heavy silence was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps–slow, deliberate, each step carrying an unspoken authority.
Angela froze.
“Is she eating?” Mikhail’s voice, deep and commanding, sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Tatiana straightened. “Yes, sir. In the kitchen.”
A pause.
“Bring her to the dining room.”
Angela clenched the spoon tighter. No. No, she didn’t want to eat with him. Didn’t want to be near him. But there was no room for defiance here. She felt Tatiana’s gentle yet firm touch on her shoulder.
“Come, Miss Angela.”
Every step toward the dining hall felt heavier than the last. The room was vast, the air thick with something unspoken. Mikhail’s presence loomed over her before she even heard the quiet scrape of his chair.
“Sit.”
Tatiana guided her to the seat beside him. Too close. She barely had time to adjust before the chair was pulled even nearer. Her breath hitched at the sudden proximity, her body tensing at the heat radiating from him.
16:50
cd 18 Jun
Chapter 7
“Eat,” he ordered. The word wasn’t a suggestion. It was a demand.
Angela swallowed and lifted her spoon again, forcing herself to eat despite the suffocating atmosphere. She could feel his gaze on her, studying he lezbý
move.
“Tell me about your family,” he said suddenly.
She stiffened. “Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
His tone left no room for argument. Angela hesitated, the memories pressing against the walls of her mind like unwelcome ghosts.
“I had a family once,” she finally said, her voice hollow. “They were the kindest people. But I lost them in a car accident. My aunt took me in, she was a kind woman. Until she wasn’t. And an Uncle who only saw me as a burden. They sold me for their benefit.”
A beat of silence. Then-
“And yet, here you are.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I suppose I’ve always survived somehow.”
Mikhail exhaled, a dark, unreadable sound. Then, without warning, his hand gripped the arm of her chair. Before she could react, he pulled her closer. The sudden shift made her breath catch, her body going rigid.
“Surviving isn’t enough,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “I don’t keep fragile think
get stronger.”
His fingers brushed against her lower lip, wiping away a stray drop of honey. The touch A claim. A warning. A promise.
was
, Angela. If you are to stay under my roof, you will eat. You will
deceptively gentle, but the power behind it was undeniable.
She inhaled sharply, her pulse roaring in her ears. His presence was overwhelming–suffocating, intoxicating. A dark force that pulled her in, no matter how desperately she wanted to resist.
His thumb lingered for a moment too long before he finally pulled away.
“Am I clear?” His voice was thick and deep. Angela was dead silent. She was still comprehending what was happening.
“Answer me,” He demanded. He was too close. Angela couldn’t muster up the courage to speak speak so she nodded her head rather quickly.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
Angela sat frozen, her hands trembling beneath the table. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want the way his touch sent shivers down her spine. Didn’t want to acknowledge the way her body betrayed her with every sharp inhale.
This was crazy. His proximity. His claim over her and the way he treats her as if she belonged to him terrified her. Angela had to get out of this place. She had to find a way to escape or else she’ll be doomed.
But as she sat there, trapped under Mikhail Volkov’s intense gaze, she knew one thing for certain.
She was falling deeper into his world.
And there was no escape from it for her.
