Chapter 2
I wanted to spit in his face.
Every cell in my body screamed to fight, to claw, to run. But something in those pale eyes froze me in place — a predator's certainty, the kind that said: *run, and I'll enjoy catching you.*
"I'm not property," I managed. My voice shook, but I said it.
Viktor's head tilted slightly, like a wolf hearing something curious.
"Your father disagreed." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document, tossing it onto the desk between us. "Signed. Witnessed. Legally binding, in certain circles."
I stared at the paper but didn't touch it.
"He had no right—"
"He had every right," Viktor cut in, stepping closer. "He borrowed from me. Seventeen million, over six years. Gambling. Drugs. Women. When I came to collect, he offered the only thing of value he had left."
His eyes found mine.
"You."
The word landed like a slap. My vision blurred.
"I haven't spoken to him in three years," I whispered. "I didn't know—"
"Irrelevant."
He said it without cruelty, but without mercy either. Just fact.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. "What do you want from me?"
Viktor studied me for a long moment. Then he turned, walking to the fireplace, hands sliding into his pockets.
"You'll live here. In my home. Under my protection."
"Protection?" I nearly laughed. "From what? You?"
He glanced over his shoulder. The firelight caught the edge of his jaw.
"From everything else."
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. Not a threat — a promise. And promises from men like him were far more dangerous.
"You'll have a room," he continued. "Clothes. Food. Anything you need."
"And in exchange?"
He turned fully, facing me. The distance between us felt like nothing.
"In exchange, you stay."
"For how long?"
"Until I decide otherwise."
I stared at him. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get."
Silence stretched between us — thick, electric. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But more than anything, I wanted to understand why a man worth billions would accept a broke waitress as payment for a debt.
It didn't make sense.
Unless he wanted something specific from me.
"Why me?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "You could've taken money from him another way. Sold his assets. Broken his legs. Why... me?"
Viktor's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind those silver eyes. Something he buried before I could name it.
"You ask too many questions," he said.
"You haven't answered a single one."
For the first time, his lips twitched — the ghost of something almost amused.
"You have fire," he murmured. "Good. You'll need it."
He walked to the door and opened it. A woman stood outside — middle-aged, severe, dressed in all black.
"Irina will show you to your room," Viktor said without looking back. "Don't try to leave. The grounds are monitored."
"And if I do try?"
He paused in the doorway.
"Then I'll bring you back." His voice dropped. "And I won't be gentle about it."
The door closed.
I stood alone in the study, the document still on the desk. My hands trembled as I unfolded it. My father's signature stared up at me — shaky, desperate, real.
*In exchange for the full settlement of debts owed, I surrender custody and claim of my daughter, Sera Alina Novak, to Viktor Ezra Kozlov...*
The words blurred through tears.
Irina appeared and led me upstairs without a word. The room she brought me to was... beautiful. Obscenely so. A king-sized bed with silk sheets. A bathroom larger than my entire apartment. A closet already stocked with clothes — my size. All of them.
He'd planned this.
This wasn't spontaneous. He'd been watching me.
I sank onto the bed, mind racing. Something was very wrong here. Something beyond debt and ownership.
Viktor Kozlov didn't need a waitress.
He wanted *me* specifically.
And I had no idea why.
The lock on my door clicked from outside.
I was trapped.
But as I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, one thought burned brighter than fear:
*I will find out what he wants. And then I'll destroy him with it.*
Every cell in my body screamed to fight, to claw, to run. But something in those pale eyes froze me in place — a predator's certainty, the kind that said: *run, and I'll enjoy catching you.*
"I'm not property," I managed. My voice shook, but I said it.
Viktor's head tilted slightly, like a wolf hearing something curious.
"Your father disagreed." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document, tossing it onto the desk between us. "Signed. Witnessed. Legally binding, in certain circles."
I stared at the paper but didn't touch it.
"He had no right—"
"He had every right," Viktor cut in, stepping closer. "He borrowed from me. Seventeen million, over six years. Gambling. Drugs. Women. When I came to collect, he offered the only thing of value he had left."
His eyes found mine.
"You."
The word landed like a slap. My vision blurred.
"I haven't spoken to him in three years," I whispered. "I didn't know—"
"Irrelevant."
He said it without cruelty, but without mercy either. Just fact.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. "What do you want from me?"
Viktor studied me for a long moment. Then he turned, walking to the fireplace, hands sliding into his pockets.
"You'll live here. In my home. Under my protection."
"Protection?" I nearly laughed. "From what? You?"
He glanced over his shoulder. The firelight caught the edge of his jaw.
"From everything else."
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. Not a threat — a promise. And promises from men like him were far more dangerous.
"You'll have a room," he continued. "Clothes. Food. Anything you need."
"And in exchange?"
He turned fully, facing me. The distance between us felt like nothing.
"In exchange, you stay."
"For how long?"
"Until I decide otherwise."
I stared at him. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get."
Silence stretched between us — thick, electric. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But more than anything, I wanted to understand why a man worth billions would accept a broke waitress as payment for a debt.
It didn't make sense.
Unless he wanted something specific from me.
"Why me?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "You could've taken money from him another way. Sold his assets. Broken his legs. Why... me?"
Viktor's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind those silver eyes. Something he buried before I could name it.
"You ask too many questions," he said.
"You haven't answered a single one."
For the first time, his lips twitched — the ghost of something almost amused.
"You have fire," he murmured. "Good. You'll need it."
He walked to the door and opened it. A woman stood outside — middle-aged, severe, dressed in all black.
"Irina will show you to your room," Viktor said without looking back. "Don't try to leave. The grounds are monitored."
"And if I do try?"
He paused in the doorway.
"Then I'll bring you back." His voice dropped. "And I won't be gentle about it."
The door closed.
I stood alone in the study, the document still on the desk. My hands trembled as I unfolded it. My father's signature stared up at me — shaky, desperate, real.
*In exchange for the full settlement of debts owed, I surrender custody and claim of my daughter, Sera Alina Novak, to Viktor Ezra Kozlov...*
The words blurred through tears.
Irina appeared and led me upstairs without a word. The room she brought me to was... beautiful. Obscenely so. A king-sized bed with silk sheets. A bathroom larger than my entire apartment. A closet already stocked with clothes — my size. All of them.
He'd planned this.
This wasn't spontaneous. He'd been watching me.
I sank onto the bed, mind racing. Something was very wrong here. Something beyond debt and ownership.
Viktor Kozlov didn't need a waitress.
He wanted *me* specifically.
And I had no idea why.
The lock on my door clicked from outside.
I was trapped.
But as I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, one thought burned brighter than fear:
*I will find out what he wants. And then I'll destroy him with it.*