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Chapter 12 by fantaghiro

What's next?

the drive

The Mercedes purred like a predator at rest as Victor steered it through the night. You sat rigid in the passenger seat, hands folded in your lap, the bangles clinking softly every time the car shifted. The leather seat swallowed your petite frame, reminding you every second how small, how fragile Yulia’s body was compared to what you once were.

Victor drove with calm confidence, one large hand on the wheel, the other occasionally drumming on the polished wood trim to some silent rhythm. He said little, but his glances at you were constant, each one heavy, possessive, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished.

The city lights smeared across the windows, neon and sodium-yellow streaks catching on the gloss of your lips and the gold hoops swinging at your ears. Every reflection you caught of yourself in the glass made your stomach twist. The thick mascara, the leopard-print clinging to your chest, the wobbling height of your heels—it wasn’t you. Yet it was the only body you had now.

After nearly half an hour of silence, Victor finally spoke, his voice low but edged with something dangerous:

“You sit there like prisoner, little dove. But I save you. I give you life. You should thank me.”

You swallowed hard. Your voice came out softer, tremulous. “You didn’t save me. You saved her.”

His moustache twitched, his jaw tightening. For a moment you thought he would lash out again—but then he only exhaled through his nose, steady, controlled. “Perhaps. But now she is you. And you are mine. So… same thing.”

The car slowed, turning off the main road onto a private drive. Tall iron gates swung open automatically.

What's next?

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