My father. My own father was going to sell me off to some ignorant prick and I didn’t even get a say. Not on my soul. Not on my body. Everything—me—sold for money. For control. For power.
The dress I wore, the words I spoke, the food on my plate—it had all been a performance. But I hadn’t agreed to the script. And I sure as hell hadn’t agreed to the ending.
I curled tighter into myself, fists clenching around the sheets, as another sob tore out of me. And still, no one came. No one ever did.
6
The Filth I Belong To
—Maksym—
She ran past me crying.
That was all it took.
My heart, usually so calm and slow and cold, kicked into something unrecognizable. My breath wasn’t steady anymore. My fingers itched. My teeth were grinding, and I was seconds away from breaking something—someone.
She was fine when I left. Bored out of her mind, but fine.
What the fuck did he do?
I stepped out of the house and saw Boychenko’s black Audi glide past the gates like it hadn’t just carried something precious it didn’t deserve. My hands curled into fists.
He did something to her. Said something, maybe. Or worse—put his hands where they didn’t belong. Even the possibility made my vision go red.
I didn’t even think before sliding behind the wheel, starting the engine, and shooting out onto the street like a bullet.
Fuck the job. Fuck the timeline. I should never have left her there alone. I was supposed to keep an eye on her, and instead I went off to crack bones of a man who wasn’t going anywhere. I should’ve watched. Made sure that bastard never got a chance to hurt her.
Every red light was a target. Every car in my way was an insult. I drove like the devil was chasing me—because he was. He looked like me.
I had no right to feel this way. She was too young for the kind of man I was, too unscarred for the world I lived in. Men like me didn’t protect girls like her—we ruined them, whether we meant to or not.
So why did it feel like my lungs were collapsing? Why did it feel like someone touched what was mine?
Mine.
No. Not mine. Not anything.
But that didn’t stop the fire roaring in my blood.
I imagined what I’d do. Skin his face. Snap his fingers. Beat him until even his rich daddy didn’t recognize him.
He lived in one of those ridiculous estates in the city’s old-money district, where wet pavement reflected the iron gates and security cameras blinked red from the hedges like unblinking eyes.
I pulled up down the street and killed the lights. Watched his car disappear into the driveway like nothing was wrong.
Okay, Maksym. Stop.
Breathe.
In. Out.
What the fuck was I doing?
I sat there gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. My pulse still thundered. My mouth was dry.
This wasn’t me.
