Veiled in Rivalry | The Dark Tale of Passion and Power| [18+]

Chapter 27: Walls of Obsession

_"In the silence of the shadows, love turned into obsession, and freedom became a distant dream."_

—Lara Volkov Giovanni

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It's been a week since the wedding. I still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that I'm now Lara Volkov Giovanni, married to Viktor Giovanni. The man I once swore to hate, the man who turned my world upside down, is now my husband. And strangely... I don't hate him as much as I used to.

I should. I keep telling myself I should. But it's hard to hold on to that rage when he's been there for my family in ways I never saw coming. He's protected them, made sure they're safe in ways I didn't expect from him. My anger—it's fading. But love? No. That's not something I can feel for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I'm trying to make this work, for my brothers, for the Volkovs. For everything this marriage is supposed to stand for.

My brothers visited last week. Ivan hugged me so tightly I thought I'd break. But now, they won't be coming back for a while. They say I need to be here with Viktor, to get to know him, to adjust. They think giving us space will help. Maybe they're right. Or maybe they just don't want to interfere with what this marriage has become.

Viktor's always out. He spends more time dealing with his business than he does in this castle. His presence lingers like a shadow, always there but never really seen. I feel him even when he's not here. I hear him in the silence of these enormous, cold hallways.

I've put my university classes on hold. My brothers said it was too dangerous to continue in person right now, so I've considered taking some online classes—at least for the theory-based modules. But nothing feels right. Everything's in limbo. It's a Saturday night, and I'm just sitting on the bed in Viktor's room, staring at the dark walls. It feels like the room mirrors him—dark, overwhelming, and suffocating in its own way.

Dinner is uneventful. Viktor isn't here, so I eat alone in the room. The maids left the food earlier before retreating to the cottage near the castle, and the guards are stationed outside, probably bored but vigilant as ever.

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After dinner, I take a quick shower. The hot water helps, but only for a moment. I dry off and throw on a peach-colored hoodie—it's soft, comforting, something from my old life that feels a little bit like home. I straighten my hair, out of habit more than anything, and rub a bit of skin-tanning lotion on my arms and face. I don't know why I bother. It's not like anyone is looking.

The silence weighs heavy, and I need to get out of this room. I grab the door handle and wander through the castle aimlessly. My footsteps echo in the empty hallways, bouncing off the high stone walls. It's strange how beautiful and yet cold this place is—like a gilded cage. Each corner is polished to perfection, each room designed with grandeur, but there's something unsettling about it. It doesn't feel like a home.

After a while, I find myself in front of a heavy, intimidating door that I don't remember noticing before. My fingers wrap around the cool brass handle, and I push. It's stuck at first, but with a bit more effort, it gives way, groaning open with a low creak.

The room is dark, colder than the rest of the castle. I step inside cautiously, fumbling for a light switch. When my fingers finally find the small lever and flick it up, the room floods with light, and my breath catches in my throat.

I freeze.

The walls, bare and uninviting at first, reveal their secret as I take a few more steps. The entire left side is covered—covered in photographs. Dozens, no, hundreds of pictures. Of me.

There are shots of me laughing, frowning, sleeping, eating—moments I didn't even know were being captured. Pictures from my life, snapshots of my existence, all pinned carefully, meticulously. Some are from years ago. Others... more recent. Too recent.

I feel sick.

I walk closer, slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. Each photo is more invasive than the last. How long has this been going on? How many moments has Viktor captured without me even knowing?

And then I see it—on a small table near the wall. A device, black and sleek, almost unassuming. But I know what it is. A camera. It's been recording me, tracking me. I pick it up, my hands shaking. I press a button, and the screen comes to life, displaying footage. My old bedroom at the Volkov estate. I stare in disbelief as I watch myself on the screen, moving through my room like a ghost from my past.

A cold, sick feeling curls in my stomach. My every move... has been watched. Recorded.

This room... it's a shrine. Not to love, but to obsession. Viktor's obsession with me. It's overwhelming, terrifying. The walls feel like they're closing in, pressing down on me as if I'll be crushed under the weight of his fixation.

I'm not just his wife—I'm his possession. He's been watching me for years, long before this marriage was even a possibility. Long before I even knew what he was capable of.

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