As the morning light streamed into the room, Alia could not shake off the residue of her nightmares. After the long, brutal night, her body still felt numb with pain. As she woke up, her eyes fell upon the dress laid out a highly expensive, intricately detailed garment as seen in
This dress was no ordinary attire; it was a symbol of vanity for the elite and influential women of high society. For like Alia, wearing it meant trampling upon every shred of her dignity. Yet, Viktor had decided that she would be adorned in this very outfit today.
Just then, a soft knock echoed at the door. Viktor entered. In his hand was that familiar stick, each strike of which slowly shattered Alia's past life. There was no mercy in Viktor's eyes, only a demonic command. He tapped the stick against the floor and stepped toward Alia.
Viktor: (In a cold tone) "The morning has come, Alia. Even before the impact of last night has faded, a new game for a new day begins. You no longer need to wear that expensive mask of yours. Wear this dress. I want to see what it looks like when a Mafia Godmother dances to the gestures of this stick in my hand."
Alia tried to sit up in bed, her hands trembling. She knew that wearing this dress meant surrendering herself to the absolute limit of Viktor's game. But looking at the stick in his hand, all her courage evaporated like mist in the air.
Viktor lifted Alia's chin with the stick and said with a cruel smile, "Do not waste time. Instead of your expensive clothes, today I want to see you in my palace in this expensive 'maid's' attire. If you cannot do it yourself, I will have to help you. And you know, my way of helping is not exactly pleasant for you."
Like the darkness of the library or the expensive sofa, this new order from Viktor was another staircase of agony for Alia. Tears streamed down her face again, but there was no compassion in Viktor's heart. He swung the stick and walked out of the room, as if every second of Alia's decision was merely another step in his entertainment. Alia sighed and put on the dress with trembling hands. Against the backdrop of the white apron and black fabric, her skin looked even paler. As she finished, she realized just how helpless and fragile the garment made her look. She walked slowly toward the sofa where Viktor was sitting, just as before.
Viktor's gaze did not shift from Alia for a single moment. His cold, predatory stare swept over her body like an electric current. He scrutinized her slowly, from head to toe and back up again. Every look felt like it was leaving an invisible mark on her skin. There was no compassion in his hungry gaze, only the arrogance of his absolute ownership over her new appearance.
As Alia stood before him, Viktor used his stick to gently lift the hem of her dress. He kept his gaze fixed on every curve of her body, erupting into a sinister laugh.Viktor: (In a deep voice) "It suits you perfectly, Alia. It is quite difficult to reconcile the arrogant CEO of last night with this humble servant standing before me today. When I see you in this outfit, it feels as if your past nobility was nothing but a lie. Now, every gesture you make will be at my command."
Viktor stood up from the sofa and closed the distance between them. Every breath he took could be felt on Alia's neck. He lifted her chin with the stick once more and said, "Now, you will roam every corner of this palace in this attire. And remember, this stick of mine is not just for show; it is the master of every step you take."
Alia stood trembling. Her tears were no longer falling down her cheeks; instead, she felt as if her insides were turning to stone—or perhaps she was just standing on the final threshold of breaking. Viktor's gaze seemed to tear into her with every passing moment, and Alia realized that her existence was now nothing more than a cheap exhibit in his cruel palace. As Viktor leaned in to kiss her lips, Alia instinctively pulled her head away. The air in the room remained heavy with Viktor's cruelty. Viktor froze for a moment, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of rage and demonic patience. He used the stick to forcefully turn Alia's chin back toward him.
Viktor: (In a sharp tone) "You dare to move without my permission? Do you still think you are in your former position?"
Alia, not looking into Viktor's eyes, said firmly, "Do not call me by that title again. I am now just a victim of circumstances, trapped in your game."
Viktor pressed her chin even harder with the stick, as if he would break her bones. A sinister smile played on his lips.
Viktor: "Fine. The greater truth than any name is your current state. You are now a puppet in my hands, whom I can make dance however I please. In my palace, you have no identity other than the one I give you."
He leaned closer and whispered, "You can pull away, but there is no place in this palace to escape my gaze. Do you really think your minor disobedience will stop me?" Viktor began to move the fabric of Alia's dress aside, exposing her legs up to her waist. Under the dim, heavy light of the library, the firelight danced across the pallor of her skin. With deliberate and cruel curiosity, Viktor uncovered her completely from her waist down to her legs.
Alia, terrified, curled up on the sofa in a desperate attempt to hide herself, but her helpless posture only seemed to further excite Viktor. Leaning one hand on the sofa arm, Viktor trapped Alia completely between his legs. As he slowly traced the tip of his stick along her bare leg, he let out a cold, chilling laugh.
Viktor: (In a cold tone) "There, now you are even more clearly visible. No coverings, no veil of nobility. From today on, you will remain in this state in my palace, so that whenever I wish, every part of you remains at the beck and call of my command."
Viktor used the stick to tilt Alia's chin up once more, forcing her to look at him. His eyes bore the mark of primal possession. As Viktor moved the hem of Alia's dress aside with his stick, the reality of the situation became even more stark. A typical maid dress usually falls to the knee or slightly above, but this particular garment was unnaturally short. It was so brief that the slightest movement would reveal Alia's undergarments and everything beneath.
Alia sat curled up on the sofa, clutching the fabric with both hands, frantically trying to cover herself, but her helpless posture only seemed to fuel Viktor's cruelty. Viktor leaned against the arm of the sofa, tapping his stick lightly against her bare thigh. His gaze was devoid of any mystery now, replaced by a sense of primal, demonic possession.
Viktor: (With a sinister smirk, in a low voice) "Whatever you are trying to hide is just another source of amusement for me. This dress wasn't designed to cover you, but to make you even more helpless before me. The more you try to hide, the more naked and fragile you appear in my eyes."
He used the stick to push the edge of the short dress further aside and said, "From today, you will remain in this state within this palace. This shame of yours is the greatest proof of my victory. You are a puppet in my hands, and your existence now is only for my display." Viktor is now sitting comfortably on the sofa, with Alia's helpless existence trapped in his grasp. He has positioned Alia between his legs, as if she has become his personal property. Viktor's fingers are slowly moving over Alia's legs; she feels a cold shiver with every touch—a sensation that is less about fear and more about the crushing weight of humiliation.
Alia sits on the sofa, stiff as stone. Her hands are placed on her lap, and her eyes are fixed on the void. Viktor's firm grip on her legs is leaving a deep imprint, as if he is leaving the final signature of his absolute control over her. In the solitude of the library, the only sound is the rhythm of Viktor's breathing, which echoes in Alia's ears like a melody of his cruel dominance. Viktor's cruelty seems to escalate with every passing moment. As Alia is enduring the harsh and humiliating touch of Viktor's fingers on her legs, he suddenly strikes her leg with the stick. The blow is sharp and intense.
A sharp cry of pain escapes Alia's lips "Ahhh!"
The sound of her agony echoes through the suffocating darkness of the library. Viktor remains completely unfazed, maintaining his demonic smirk. Keeping her trapped firmly between his legs, he applies pressure on her leg again with the stick. Every moan of hers seems to Viktor like the ultimate validation of his power. He held Alia firmly within his grasp on the sofa, his fingers locked tightly around her waist. Every pulse of Alia's body thrummed beneath his touch. Viktor pulled her closer to his chest and, with deliberate slowness, leaned into the curve of her neck.
He pressed a long, deep kiss against her skin. Then, leaning into her ear, he whispered in a cold, firm voice:
Viktor: "Remember this well, Alia. That struggle last night, this attire today, or even this helplessness of yours everything is under my rule. Regardless of what lies outside, inside this palace, your only identity is being my partner. Do not forget, I am your husband."
Alia remained completely numb within Viktor's embrace. Her eyes, hidden behind the blue lenses, were clouded with tears. Every word Viktor spoke seemed to imprint the arrogance of his ownership into every corner of her existence. In the solitude of the library, this declaration from Viktor was not merely a statement; it was an undisputed proclamation of his ultimate victory over her. Alia was now merely a part of the palace ruled by Viktor, her every breath determined solely by her husband's command.