Page 78 of Silken Chains
Yet, the moment is fleeting. Victor’s hand encases mine, a smirk touching his lips as he whispers close, “There’s my good girl.”
“I’m nobody’s ‘good girl,’” I retort softly.
“Excuse us,” Victor announces to the room, leading me away with a confidence that draws every eye.
I hear my heels gently clicking onto the marble floor as Victor leads me out of the dining hall, our bodies brushing against each other with every step. I can feel the tension and desire building.
But I know better than to give in. This may be just another one of Victor’s manipulative tactics, using me to appear even more powerful and desirable.
Jerk.
I let him lead me toward a corridor, its walls mirrored from end to end. Catching our reflection, I barely recognize myself beside him. The old Laura, in casual wear and untamed hair, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, there stands a woman who looks like she has it all together—poised, polished, and paired with a man who could be straight out of a magazine.
For a second, the image captivates me.
For a second, I look like someone with a perfect life.
I clench my jaw, reminding myself.
This isn’t my life. It never will be.
No matter how tempting the illusion may be.
Chapter 29
Laura
“WHERE’S THE bathroom?” I demand, trying to break the silence that’s settled between us.
Victor gives me a look, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Thinking of making a run for it? It’s a long way to the nearest Starbucks, just so you know.”
I snort. “Please! Like I could escape. I’d probably get lost in your closet.”
He shoots me a roguish smirk, the kind that spells trouble and has temptation written all over it, then steers us both away from the dining hall, guiding me deeper into the mansion’s maze-like corridors.
Walking through this mansion feels like trekking across a small country, except with more chandeliers and less fresh air. We stroll past guards who nod like they’re part of the royal guard and maids with smiles so fixed, I wonder if they’re superglued on.
The place is so stuffed with luxury it’s like breathing in dollar bills—suffocating and slightly absurd. The endless parade of rooms and corridors starts to blend together into one big, lavish blur.
Victor glances at me, a flicker of knowing in his eyes.
“You don’t need the bathroom,” he says, his grip on my hand firm yet not unkind. We’re close, our bodies nearly touching as we walk.
“Maybe I do,” I say, frustrated. I’m making a valiant attempt to yank my hand back, but let’s face it, in this tug-of-war, I’m as likely to win as a Chihuahua in a heavyweight boxing match. My hand in his feels like a peanut tucked in the palm of a giant—Luka’s hands could probably double as catchers’ mitts without anyone batting an eye.
“Let go of me.”
“Not happening.”
Fine, I quit. Picking battles wisely is apparently a skill I need to sharpen, especially around him.
“You know, a few signs wouldn’t hurt. I’ve officially lost my breadcrumbs back to the dining hall.”
He aims a quick glance at me. “You’ll learn your way around soon enough. You have a year to get used to this place,” Victor says with that chilly detachment of his.
“Oh, joy. A whole year to become a human GPS of the Morozov Manor. Can’t wait,” I retort.
His lips twitch; a hint of a smile, maybe? Or a prelude to a snarl. With Victor, it’s hard to tell. “Enthusiasm. I like that,” he deadpans, leading me down another corridor that looks like all the others—gold, gaudy, and grossly grand.
