No one disrespects what belongs to me.

Viktor’s pov.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my fingers digging into the cool fabric as I fought to steady my breathing.

The image of her—Anya, standing there with fire in her eyes and defiance in every inch of her bare skin—was burned into my mind.

I’d walked in on her without warning, and she’d been completely exposed, vulnerable. But instead of fear, I saw something else flicker in her gaze—a challenge.

She had no idea what kind of fire she was playing with.

I’d wanted to touch her, to trace every line of her body, to lose myself in that fiery spirit that drove me to the edge of control.

But I wasn’t an animal. No matter how much I ached to have her, to make her mine in every way, there were lines I wouldn’t cross.

I reminded myself she was only here because I’d bought her; she wasn’t here by choice. I told myself again that she was a commodity, a transaction like any other—but those words rang hollow.

Other men wouldn’t think twice. I knew exactly what the other buyers would be doing to the women they’d acquired, treating them like possessions, like objects to be used.

But the thought of forcing her made my stomach turn. Instead, all I wanted was for her to look at me willingly, to lose that defiance and trust me, in whatever twisted way this situation could allow.

I forced myself to take one of the pain relievers. It was dry and bitter as usual. The dull ache in my chest lessened slightly, though I knew it would be back soon enough.

With a long breath, I stepped into the bathroom, hoping that a cold shower would dull the heat coiling inside me.

The icy water did little to erase her succulent body from my mind. I’d keep my distance, I decided. I needed control, to resist her pull, no matter how badly I craved her.

***

The next day, I was on my way back from an early meeting. I had wanted to check on her but I stopped myself. With a sigh, I turned to head back down the hall.

That’s when I saw him.

One of my soldiers, standing by the far railing, his back to me. His body language caught my attention—he was hunched forward, almost desperate.

Curious, I moved closer, staying in the shadows to watch. As I got nearer, I could see what he was staring at, and my blood ran hot.

Anya.

She was outside, leaning against the edge of the terrace, her hair catching the morning light, and her body was barely covered.

She was wearing some flimsy, short dress that seemed to taunt every eye that landed on her. My jaw clenched as I watched the soldier’s gaze rake over her, and I noticed his hand—he was fucking masturbating at what was mine.

Before I knew it, my voice boomed. “Enjoying yourself?”

The soldier jumped, his head whipping around in panic. His face went pale as he registered who had caught him.

Anya, too, turned in surprise, her eyes widening as she looked between us, clearly oblivious to what the soldier had been doing.

“Don! I—I wasn’t—” he stammered, scrambling to pull himself together, but I stepped forward, eyes cold and unyielding.

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d closed the distance between us, grabbing him by the collar. His eyes went wide with terror just before I drove my fist into his face.

The impact was explosive. My knuckles met bone with a sickening crunch, and the soldier staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. But I wasn’t finished.

I hit him again, and again, and again. I was blinded by fury. Blood spattered across the floor, flecks staining my hand, but I didn’t stop.

His cries turned to pathetic, choking pleas, his hands raised in a desperate attempt to shield himself, but it only fueled my anger further.

Behind me, I heard a gasp, and I turned, seeing Anya standing there, her hand covering her mouth in horror.

Her eyes were wide, filled with fear as she took in what was happening and before she could say anything.

“Get. In. Your. Room.” I growled, my voice was so low that it was almost a snarl.

She shook her head, opening her mouth as if to protest, but one look from me—one cold, unyielding stare—and she froze.

She turned and ran to her room. I turned back to the soldier, who was sobbing now, his face a mangled mess of blood and bruises.

Grabbing him by the collar, I dragged him down the hall, his body half-limp as he stumbled along, too weak to resist.

We entered the main hall, and I tossed him to the floor, his body sprawling as he whimpered in pain. Around us, the gang stopped and stared, their eyes wide with shock at the brutal sight before them.

Then, the doors opened, and in walked Irina, my grandmother, with Isabella trailing behind her and some soldiers.

Irina’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene, and a look of distaste crossed over her expression.

“Chto zhe takoe proishodit zdes', Viktor?

(What on earth is going on here, Viktor?)” she demanded.

I ignored her, my gaze still locked on the soldier, who was barely able to hold himself upright, tears and blood mixing as he sobbed.

“A spear,” I said, not looking at any of my men,

There was a beat of hesitation, a ripple of confusion, but one of the guards obeyed, pulling the spear from its mount and offering it to me with trembling hands.

I took it, feeling the cold steel in my grip, as I turned back to the pathetic heap on the floor.

“Viktor, what are you doing?” Isabella asked, her voice laced with shock, but I barely heard her. All I could see was Anya, the way he had looked at her, the sick desire in his eyes.

He was fucking masturbating on what belonged to me. I didn’t just want to punish him; I wanted to make an example of him. To show everyone what happened when you disrespected me—or what was mine.

Without a word, I brought the spear down, the tip hovering over the soldier’s face as he trembled, his mouth opening in a choked plea.

“Don… Pozhaluysta (please), no…”

Ignoring his pleas, I pressed the spear tip against his eye. He screamed, his body convulsing as two soldiers held him down.

The spear sank deeper until his cries turned to pitiful, guttural sounds. I didn’t stop until his eyes were destroyed, until there was nothing but a mangled, bloody socket.

Gasps and horrified murmurs were heard from Isabella who looked away, but I didn’t care. I stood, blood dripping from my hand and from the spear, and looked over the crowd, my voice cold and lethal.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” I said, my gaze sweeping over the room. “Nikto preziraet to, prinadlezhit mne. No one disrespects what belongs to me.”