Seduction's Veil [R-18] [On-going]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮

"Papa is going to fucking kill you!" she hissed.

Vladimir let out an exasperated sigh, sinking onto the bed's edge. Elbows on his knees, he rubbed his face wearily. "He can try," he retorted.

Domina, seething with anger, rose to her feet. Fueled by fury over the harm done to her meticulously cared-for face, she marched towards the vanity table to retrieve her blade knife.

"I can try!" she declared, seizing a lamp from the nearby nightstand and hurling it at Vladimir.

The lamp shattered upon impact. He deftly blocked the attack with his forearm, simultaneously dodging her knife thrusts. The blade grazed his jaw, drawing blood. In the struggle, it left a crimson line on the small tattoo symbolizing clan allegiance on his face.

On her third attempt, he twisted her wrist, disarming her and causing her to cry out in pain. He then threw her onto the bed, delivering a harsh smack to her face before pinning her down.

"You fucking crazy bitch!" he cursed as she spat at him.

"Fuck you!" Her hand slipped from his grasp, landing a forceful slap on his handsome, bloodied face. "Fuck you!" she repeated.

Red welts adorned his cheek, and blood transferred from her hand to his palm.

"Baby!" he roared, matching her intensity. He tightened his grip on her hand. "Stop!"

"Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch!" she yelled. "Let me go!"

"Baby!" he insisted.

She continued screaming curses, demanding release.

"Stop!" he said with an authoritative command that wouldn't take no for an answer.

But she refused to yield. She still screamed and struggled until a heavy punch on her stomach made her cough and curl in pain. The jolt of pain was too unbearable for her to keep moving and even say anything.

"I can have you dead in the damn streets right now if I didn't love you!" he yells. "You think I'm scared of your father? Huh? You think I'm scared of Julien?! He can throw a war at me any fucking time and I'll win it. He knows that!"

She acknowledges the truth in that statement. While the Petrova clan stands strong and is on equal footing with the Ivanov clan, a substantial disparity exists in military strength due to Vladimir's adept management of their operations and his ability to cultivate influential alliances.

"You are my wife, Domina. Better remember that well because that is only what's still keeping you alive after what you did to me!"

He walked away into the bathroom, patching up his face. She heard him opening cabinets and, when he emerged, he had concealed his wounds. Without a word, he left the room.

She attempted to rise, she swore under her breath, her stomach throbbing with a sharp, painful ache. The pain inflicted by the Vladimir was excruciating, prompting her to clutch her abdomen. The intensity of the pain compelled her to sit back down on the bed.

Alone for a few minutes, she decided to leave. Her blade knife was nowhere to be found; he had likely hidden it. She was in the act of opening the door when it suddenly swung open, revealing her husband standing before her.

She stepped back as he asked, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He grabbed her neck, and she pleaded, "Please, stop. I don't want to fight anymore."

"Answer me," he demanded.

"I wasn't going anywhere," she lied.

He released her and said, "You're not allowed to leave this house! Not even this room!"

She nods.

He took a swig from the alcohol bottle, which she only just noticed he had brought.

He stared intently into her eyes before asking, "Do you want to smash this too on my head?"

It was as if he could read her thoughts.

She remained silent, offering no response.

"I could shatter this bottle and use it to ruin that face," he warned. As his fingers brushed her cheek, she instinctively recoiled, but he seized her jaw. She winced, her face already bruised and swollen from his actions. "This beautiful face draws the attention of many men, even swine like Lucio."

"My beautiful face surely captivates, but it doesn't grant permission. It is your lapse in guard that allowed someone else to get too close."

He hurled the whiskey bottle against the wall, the resounding crash of shattering glass reverberating in the room already thick with tension. "You gave that man permission! Not me!"

She swallowed the lump in her throat, tightly pursing her lips. He was right. However much she wanted to place the blame on Vladimir, the affair would never have occurred without her consent.

Can love and violence coexist simultaneously? 

Their relationship had consistently been intense and unpredictable. She reveled in the moments he left a mark on her skin; she could endure physical pain without flinching. Yet, this time was different. There's a distinction between pain and hurt, and this inflicted a deeper, emotional pain.

He hurt her because he, too, was hurting inside.

Despite her resistance to feel anything for him beyond anger, she can't help but experience a twinge of sympathy. For the strong, imposing figure he usually presents, he now seems burdened with great distress, his shoulders slouched as if defeated. Perhaps she had genuinely wounded him deeply because of his love for her.

They shared a moment of silence, broken by the sound of Vladimir dragging the vanity chair and gesturing for her to come closer. "Sit on my lap, baby."

She resisted the idea.

"Please," he insisted.

She approached him hesitantly. He reached for her arm, this time with a gentler hold, pulling her onto his lap.

For a few moments, they simply stared at each other, their marred faces mirroring the aftermath of their heated quarrel.

"I am sorry," he suddenly said. "For everything."