Chapter 6: Chapter 4

Melissa

"I do not need to prove anything."

Almost 11 months ago...

Two days before Melissa's escape...

I sat at the edge of a sleek leather chair in Roman's office, feeling the familiar surroundings weigh on me, now burdened with a cold distance. I crossed my legs, my heel tapping gently against the polished floor as my thoughts spun in my head. Why now, and why had I been summoned to meet with him and Kirill? Especially Kirill.

I hadn't seen him in ages and would have preferred never to see him at all. The mystery behind this meeting gnawed at me, teasing me with silent questions swirling in the quiet of the office.

As I waited, I glanced around the room, taking in the well-crafted walls, the restrained luxury of the furnishings, and the small, personal touches only someone who knew Roman well would notice. Once, I felt safe here—even comfortable. This office had been a sanctuary, a place of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and dreams. Now, it felt alien, devoid of warmth, as if I were intruding in a space that no longer belonged to me. Four years had gone by this way.

The fact that Roman had brought Kirill along was even more disturbing. What reason could they have to need me here, together, in what felt like a pre-planned trap? I tried to remember if there had been any recent incident or decision that could have led to this. Could my actions have been misinterpreted? Could something I said have gotten back to Roman, or worse, to Kirill, twisted and distorted?

I wasn't afraid. Not exactly. I was simply exhausted. Living in this mansion. Seeing Roman. Even the killings or tortures no longer brought me the joy they once had.

Uncertainty twisted in my stomach. I hadn't seen much of Kirill in recent years, but from our limited interactions, I'd learned enough to know he wasn't to be trusted. Even the thought of him made me uncomfortable. He was like a ghost from another life—someone whose intentions I could never fully gauge, whose presence always hinted at some hidden threat. If he was here, it was unlikely to be for something trivial.

Roman, however... He was different. Or, at least, he had been once. It was as if I once knew him deeply, but something had changed between us then—a shift so gradual yet undeniable, it now felt irreversible. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that I had achieved everything I had set out to; I had reached the pinnacle of what this life could offer, but the view from the top had grown grim, lacking the satisfaction I once anticipated.

My gaze drifted toward the large mahogany door, half expecting it to open at any moment. I felt like a defendant awaiting sentencing, uncertain whether I had been called here for praise or punishment. I forced myself to breathe, trying to maintain a calm expression as I straightened my posture, attempting to mask the tension gnawing at my insides. I had started to hate this world.

Yet, questions remained. Had I crossed some invisible boundary? Was there something they held against me, something yet to be revealed? The silence only deepened my unease, casting shadows over memories of happier times spent in this very room. Now, the walls seemed to close in, the silence pressing down on me like an invisible weight. Whatever awaited me ahead, I sensed that the answers would not bring comfort. This was no friendly meeting; it was something entirely different, and I could only hope I was ready for it.

Sitting alone in Roman's dimly lit, luxurious office, my thoughts inevitably returned to Kirill, a man I would rather forget entirely. It wasn't just that I seldom saw him—that would be tolerable—but even those few encounters left a mark I couldn't shake. Sometimes I'd catch his glances on the estate grounds; his presence stirred unease, like the deep cold of night lingering long after sunset.

Kirill embodied a tension that repelled me. His cold, calculating eyes always seemed full of suspicion, constantly evaluating me, arousing feelings I found both disturbing and intrusive. Although we exchanged only a few words, it was enough to make me feel the need to defend myself, as if he were silently peeling away layers, exposing things I hadn't even considered.

Why Roman kept him close so often remained a mystery to me. Kirill wasn't the kind of trusted advisor one might keep for loyalty's sake; he was more like a weapon, sharp and dangerous, to be used with caution. And while I held no illusions about Roman's understanding of loyalty, it still seemed strange to me that a man devoid of emotion held such a key position. I assumed Roman valued Kirill for his ruthless pragmatism, but I had my doubts whether it was worth the inevitable fallout—the constant and silent resentment radiating from Kirill.

I recalled the last time I'd seen him, just a flash of memory. It was enough to rekindle that wave of irritation I felt every time he glanced my way. He was polite enough—a brief nod and a barely perceptible acknowledgment—but the energy behind it left me feeling as if he barely tolerated my existence. It was as though he silently tallied each interaction, planning to use it against me later, noting my words, my expressions, the slightest sign of weakness. That, I despised.

There was no doubt that I would rather never see him, even in passing. A life where Kirill didn't loom on the horizon, shadowed and watchful, would be more peaceful. But it wasn't just about peace; it was the worry that Kirill's silence wasn't passive. He was always observing, waiting—perhaps even hoping I'd make a mistake. The thought alone made my heel tap rhythmically against the polished floor, creating a beat of irritation and unease that I tried but failed to calm.

Many men in the gang were also against me and waited for my mistake. But they were different. They were silent in another way. Passively. And in my mind, there were already many thoughts about what exactly Kirill wanted to achieve, yet I could never pinpoint the missing detail.

And yet, here I was, in a moment that couldn't be avoided, about to be in the same room with them, forced into a closer space where Kirill's silent scrutiny would be relentless. I took a breath, trying to stay calm, suppressing the instinctive anger that arose at the thought of facing him again. It was exhausting to hold onto such tension, but what choice did I have?

My heel continued its rhythmic tapping against the polished marble floor, echoing faintly in the otherwise silent office. This sound was a steady rhythm grounding me as I continued to survey the room around—a room that, not long ago, had been filled with hope and possibilities. This office had been my refuge, a place where Roman and I dreamed together, crafting plans and contemplating a future with the energy of two people who believed the world belonged to them.

But today and for the last several years, I felt none of that. Instead, there was a strange emptiness in the room, filling every corner and creeping toward me. I couldn't ignore the growing sense of captivity, like a bird with clipped wings left in a gilded cage. I'd always thought the mansion would be my reward, a symbol of everything I fought for, but now it only reminded me of the boundaries I had imposed on myself.

My gaze drifted to the broad windows overlooking the estate's gardens, meticulously manicured and beautiful, but now I saw them differently. They were walls. High hedges and iron gates meant to keep prying eyes out—and, perhaps, to keep me inside. There was no freedom in the flowers and topiaries, no escape in the winding paths that meandered through the gardens. Once, I found peace there, losing myself in the tranquility. Now, I felt smothered.

I tried to remember the woman I had been when I first entered this mansion, filled with ambition and eager to make my mark. I had been relentless, working alongside Roman, building our empire. The struggle, the thrill of triumphing over rivals, breaking barriers, and defying fate—all that had once driven me. But now, having achieved everything I wanted, it all felt hollow.

I could still see the faint outline of our initials on the desk—carved one night as we laughed over how childish it looked. Roman had insisted, wanting to leave a mark of his legacy. "So they remember who ruled this place—me and my queen." He would say. But now that carving only reminded me of a version of myself I barely recognized. The woman once driven by ambition now seemed to me someone who felt the weight of her success as chains on her ankles.

The thought struck sharper than any insult. It pierced the illusion I had wrapped myself in—the belief that this mansion was still my dream. To be here, as the mistress. In truth, this place had become a gilded prison. I had given it everything, and in return, it had taken more than I expected. Or maybe it was because of Roman. I had turned the estate into a fortress, but somewhere along the way, I had locked myself inside, as well as the threats we sought to keep out.

My heel stopped tapping. Silence hung in the air as I sat still, feeling the weight of the decision looming over me. I could stay, of course, maintain my position, live in the luxurious rooms, and walk through the magnificent halls of the mansion that was, essentially, mine. I could continue to be Roman's right hand, his wife, a silent partner in his schemes, a co-founder in his world. But the thought no longer inspired me. Instead, it felt like a suffocating, slow, and certain death of my spirit.

I looked at the door—my way out. It seemed so simple, just to stand up and leave, but that would mean I was afraid. Everything I knew, every piece of my identity, was built within these walls. Stepping beyond them would mean facing an uncertain future, leaving behind the safety of the familiar.

But deep down, I knew that only by leaving this place could I reclaim myself. The mansion, with all its grandeur and elegance, was no longer a testament to my success—it had become a monument to my imprisonment, a constant reminder of a life that no longer fit me. I could stay in this gilded cage, graceful and beautiful, or I could take the risk, spread my wings, and see what lay beyond the bars.

The rhythmic tapping of my heel began again, but this time it was different—a rhythm of decision, of readiness. I straightened in my chair, a new understanding settling over me. I would leave, even if I didn't know exactly what awaited me beyond these walls. I would truly escape. Someday. Soon.

But then I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. Yes, I had considered this far too many times, but I still hadn't done it. I was like a matchstick. I'd ignite and think that once I'd burned out, I could finally leave. But my strange obsession made me light another match and ignite myself again.

The office door swung open, and Roman entered, followed by Kirill, as I sharply turned my head. Silence fell instantly, filling the room with tension. I sat still, my gaze fixed on Roman, and for a moment, neither of us looked away. His dark eyes pierced mine, carrying something indecipherable—a quiet storm beneath a smooth surface. I'd seen this look before, a calm that barely concealed the power and control he always wielded.

Kirill sat down in front of me, his expression tense, as though he wished to be anywhere but here. He avoided my gaze, his shoulders tense, his eyes focused on the table in front of him. I allowed my gaze to linger on Roman, studying every detail of his demeanor. He appeared unflappable, as confident as ever, but there was a sense of finality in his movements. This was not the Roman I once knew; the man who once softened only for me. That was long ago, but I remembered as if it were yesterday. This Roman was cold again, distant, as if an invisible line had been drawn between us.

I shifted slightly in my chair, crossing one leg over the other and quietly tapping my heel on the floor—a rhythm I didn't intend to stop. It felt like my only form of resistance, a small sound that broke the silence imposed by Roman. I waited, letting my heel tap louder, hoping to crack his composure—or at least his patience. But Roman didn't waver. Instead, he glanced at my foot for a moment before focusing on my face again, unblinking.

The tension became almost unbearable, a silent battle of wills simmering beneath our shared looks and unspoken words. Finally, Roman broke our eye contact, slightly turning his head toward Kirill, who sat awkwardly in his chair. But even in that brief moment of distraction, I knew Roman noticed every movement I made, every thought I dared to entertain. His gaze still lingered in my mind, holding me, challenging me, reminding me of the hold he still had on my life, even if I didn't want to admit it.

Finally, Kirill cleared his throat, breaking the silence. Roman sat at the head of the table, each movement calculated, as if he had planned this meeting down to the smallest detail. I watched him, still defiant, still allowing my heel to tap, my gaze unwavering.

When he finally settled, he leaned back in his chair, a faint smile appearing on his face that barely reached his eyes. A smile I once found irresistible now seemed like a mask—covering something darker, something I never fully understood. I waited for him to speak, to explain why he had summoned me here, but he remained silent, holding me in his impenetrable gaze.

And at that moment, I realized that whatever words we exchanged, the real battle would happen without a single word.

The silence stretched as we continued to sit in Roman's office, the tension in the air becoming almost tangible. My gaze shifted between Roman and Kirill, who sat across from me at the wide, polished table. My fingers tapped the edge of the table, unaware that this rhythm was as constant as a heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

After a long pause, Roman cleared his throat, shattering the silence as if breaking glass. His presence was imposing even before he sat, but now, seated at the head of the table, he looked like a figure of unshakable authority. His eyes, sharp and calculating, met mine once more. I held his gaze, unwilling to show any weakness, though a hard knot twisted in my stomach.

Kirill, sitting across from me, looked almost bored, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of a glass. But I knew better than to mistake his indifference for carelessness; Kirill's apparent nonchalance hid a calculating mind, always observing, always weighing every advantage.

With a slight nod, Roman seemed to acknowledge some thought, glancing at his cousin before focusing his attention back on me, his expression unreadable. The steady ticking of the clock was the only sound, and the weight of unspoken words hung in the room.

Roman's voice, when he finally spoke, was calm but carried an undertone of restrained anger. "You know why we're here." Oh, so this is the tone that meant, "Mel, you've killed too quickly again, or perhaps even the wrong person."

I maintained a serene expression, though inside, I wanted to scream. I hadn't asked for this gathering; in fact, I'd long dreamed of avoiding this conversation. I raised an eyebrow, my voice steady. "I have a guess."

A brief smile flashed across Kirill's face, and I felt his judgmental gaze. He had always seen me as a burden, a complication in the otherwise orderly world of Roman. Now, the room seemed to close in around me, the walls and windows felt more like barriers than exits.

Roman's fingers tapped the table once, his gaze intensified. "Good. So, we don't need to waste time on explanations."

My heart beat faster, but I maintained a calm expression. The irony of my situation wasn't lost on me. I, once a trusted partner, a confidant, now felt like a mystery in the very place I once considered home.

I could feel their eyes fixed on me, assessing, calculating, waiting for me to break the silence.

I shifted slightly in my chair, memories resurfacing — moments that seemed both distant and painfully close. The face of a girl twisted with fear flashed in my mind. I shook my head slightly, trying to dispel the image, but it lingered, like a ghost at the edge of my thoughts. We weren't here to relive the past; we were here to dissect it.

Finally, the tension reached a breaking point, and I decided I wouldn't be the first to yield. "So what do you want from me this time, bastards?" I shot out, the words cutting through the silence like a gunshot. They expected me to justify myself, but I would never do that.

Kirill leaned forward, slowly stretching a grin across his face that sent chills down my spine. "As Roman said, you know why we're here, Melissa." He replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble lately, and now it's time to make it right."

"Trouble?" I echoed, confusion filling my voice. "You call it trouble? I call it survival." A defiant feeling simmered in me, fueled by memories of that night. It wasn't exactly a choice; it was instinct, an overwhelming urge to protect myself from a threat far greater than the girl whose life had been so carelessly taken.

Roman cleared his throat, drawing my gaze back to him. "You killed her, Melissa. You need to understand that. It wasn't just a defensive act; it was murder. And now we have to deal with the consequences. Killing a traitor or a mafia enemy is one thing. Killing an entirely innocent person is another."

It wasn't entirely that. Admittedly, I did it because, first, she angered me... and second, I was bored and curious if a killing outside of the mafia would stir any emotions within me. What? I'm not a good person.

I narrowed my eyes, challenging him. "You care more about your precious reputation than the life that was taken! What about her family? What about the people who cared for her?"

Kirill's gaze darkened for a moment before he continued. "Spare us the moral high ground, Melissa. Do you think we haven't made sacrifices? Do you think any of us are innocent in this? We do what we have to do to survive. You need to prove to the brotherhood that you won't make impulsive decisions again."

"Prove?" I retorted, my heart racing. "What do you expect of me? Kill again? Just the right person this time. That's how I'll prove my loyalty?"

"Not necessarily," Kirill replied, his tone softening slightly. "But you need to show that you can handle this world without letting guilt control your actions. This isn't a game, Melissa; this is life and death. The brotherhood cannot afford weakness." Seriously? He says that to a woman who's survived here for almost five years? What a jerk.

"I am not weak," I insisted, clenching my fists in my dress. "I did what I had to do. I defended myself. That girl didn't deserve to die, but I didn't deserve to die either."

I should clarify, shouldn't I? I was at the club. I often lost myself in the music to drown out the pain, doing it secretly. But... a psychopath decided it was a good idea to play with a knife near me. And here we are.

Kirill chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You're trying to rationalize it. You know what they say: 'In our world, weakness is a death sentence.' You want to keep breathing, don't you? You want to hold onto what's yours?"

"Don't lecture me on survival," I said, anger rising within me. "I know what's at stake. I've fought with everything to be where I am. But this — this isn't just a chess game where we sacrifice pawns to protect the king. This is life. A life was taken, and it can't be replaced. So what are we even discussing here?"

A heavy silence filled the room, the weight of my words lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of regret in Roman's eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Kirill's expression remained rigid, devoid of empathy.

"You can't afford to be sentimental, Melissa," Kirill said, his voice calm. "This isn't about morals; it's about power. If you show weakness now, everyone will see it, and they'll use it. You need to demonstrate your commitment to us — show them that you can do what's necessary."

"And if I refuse?" I challenged, anger coiling in my heart. "What will you do then? Threaten me? Is that how you solve your problems?"

Roman stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he approached me. "We don't want to threaten you. We want you to understand what's at stake. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not. Actions have consequences, and you have to be prepared to face them."

"Prepared for what?" I replied, bewilderment washing over me. "For me to drown in the same mess? Oh, my dear husband, mess has been my entire life since I became your wife."

"You're fighting the inevitable," he said, clenching his jaw. "You can't turn back time, krasavica. You have to decide: will you be with us by our rules, or will you fall?"

I met their gazes, bracing against the onslaught of doubts and fear. This was my moment, a turning point in a life that had spiraled into chaos. I wouldn't let them break me. Not now, not ever.

"I'll find my own way," I declared, my voice unwavering. "But it won't be on your terms."

Kirill's smile faded, and Roman's expression remained inscrutable. The lines had been drawn, and at that moment, I understood that I was ready to fight for my freedom, even if it meant standing alone against the tide.

"You can't carve out your own path here if you keep making such reckless decisions," Kirill said, his voice confident with a sharp edge. His cold, calculating eyes met mine, searching for any sign of weakness. God, he really repeated those stupid words again. Every time.

I clenched my fists, feeling a flame of defiance ignite within me. The last few months had changed me even more. I had fought through tides of chaos, breaking free from the dark depths that threatened to consume me. And now, here I was, reduced to a pawn in their games once more, a thought that set a fire blazing in my chest.

"Reckless decisions?" I asked, my voice low, intensifying. "Is that really what you think of me? After everything I've done?"

Kirill leaned back in his chair, a smirk crossing his lips. "It's not just what you've done, Melissa. It's what you might do next. The brotherhood doesn't trust you anymore. You've become a liability, and that's dangerous."

A wave of frustration washed over me. How could he expect proof from me? That I'm not a burden? They had cornered me, and now they wanted me to dance to their tune. I thought of the sleepless nights spent planning my escape, the moments of vulnerability I had to endure, and the sacrifices I had made.

"What exactly do you want from me?" I snapped, my voice rising. "What do you want me to do? Jump through hoops to satisfy your fragile egos? I'm not your toy, Kirill. I've worked hard to achieve what I have, despite all of you."

Roman shifted in his seat, standing silently beside me, a quiet observer in this escalating battle. His presence felt like a shadow, a constant reminder of the stakes at hand. I could feel his gaze on me, weighing my words against the silence surrounding them.

He wouldn't interfere as long as my life wasn't in danger. At least, that's what I believed, since he always claimed I needed to win battles of words on my own. Oh yes, I'm aware my husband is a jerk.

Kirill frowned again. "This isn't a game, Melissa. The brotherhood is watching. They need assurance that you're no longer a risk. You have to show them that you've changed. You have to make a statement."

"A statement?" I asked skeptically, my voice starting to tremble. "What exactly do you expect me to do? I won't be a puppet for your twisted ideals."

"So what's the alternative?" Kirill pressed, leaning forward, his tension palpable. "Sit back and let them think you're weak? Or worse, let them believe you're a traitor? You know what happens to traitors."

The threat hung in the air, a cold reminder of the dark world they lived in. My breathing quickened as I considered my options. I could play their game, pretending to be who they wanted, or I could stand my ground and risk everything I had fought for.

"Maybe I don't owe anyone anything." I replied, my voice now firm. "Maybe it's time I started making my own decisions, free from your shadow."

Kirill's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading. "You think you can just walk away? You're in this, whether you like it or not. Choose wisely, Melissa."

"Shut your mouth, Kirill." Roman's voice sounded above me. "Get up and leave. My wife doesn't owe you anything."

I stood abruptly, feeling his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't you dare," I looked at him. "I can stand up for myself." I turned to Kirill. "And you... I really owe you nothing. Know your place, and if I have to face consequences for my actions, I'll do it myself. This conversation is over."

I turned on my heel and headed for the door but stopped quickly.

"Kirill," Roman finally spoke, his voice even but with a hidden sharpness. "You should leave. I need to talk to Mel."

His words cut through the silence, and I turned to look at Kirill, whose face twisted in dissatisfaction. "What? Are you serious?" he protested, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape against the floor. "You think she'll just sit here and accept everything you tell her?"

"Leave," Roman repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With an irritated sigh, Kirill stood up, giving me one last look that was both accusatory and conspiratorial. "You know this isn't over, right?" he muttered before leaving the office, slamming the door behind him. The final echo of the sound reverberated through the air, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

A surge of mixed emotions washed over me: relief that Kirill was gone, but horror at what lay ahead. I hesitated in the doorway, feeling caught between two forces, my instincts screaming at me to leave, but something compelling me to stay. This damn obsession.

"Krasavica," Roman began, his voice now softer but still carrying an icy undertone. "Now we need to talk alone."

I slowly turned, my heart heavy, and stepped back into the room. The imposing desk between us seemed like a chasm, dividing two worlds that were once intertwined.

"What's there to discuss, Roman?" I replied, crossing my arms defensively. "You've made your feelings clear."

"Made my feelings clear?" He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you think this is easy for me? Watching you spiral out of control? Do you think I want to have this conversation? But I can't just sit by while you disgrace yourself."

"Disgrace myself?" I repeated in confusion. "Is that really how you see me? Because I'm not the one pulling strings from the shadows. You made your choices, Roman. Don't pretend I'm the one tearing everything down. And you? Do you think you're not disgracing yourself when you drink every single day?" I snapped.

He smirked, but there was no hint of humor. "You don't even understand, do you? You've let those idiots manipulate you. You think you're in control, but they're using you. They're all using you."

"And you just watch and let it happen?" I stepped closer, challenging him. "You think you're any better? You've surrounded yourself with your own vultures."

"Vultures? Is that how you see me?" He straightened, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. "I'm trying to protect you, Melissa! Everything I do is for us, for our future. But you seem set on destroying it."

"Protect me?" I laughed bitterly. "You think sending me out and letting Kirill lecture me is protection? You think controlling everything I do is love? I don't need your protection—I need your respect!"

Roman clenched his jaw, pulling back from the table, standing to his full height. "Respect? You think you deserve respect after everything you've done? You made choices, Melissa, and now you're paying the consequences. The brotherhood doesn't play games. You should know that by now."

The reminder struck me like a slap, raw and unforgiving. The weight of my past decisions bore down on me, but I refused to show him I'd given up. "I made a mistake," I admitted, my voice quieter. "But I'm trying to fix it. I'm trying to be better."

"And that's not enough?" he shot back, his frustration spilling over. "You think they'll just let you walk away? You think they'll forget what you did? You're in too deep to realize that."

"So what do you want from me? To sit in a corner and let you make all the decisions? I'm not who I used to be."

"Then prove it," he challenged, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming me. "Prove that you can stand on your own, that you're not just a puppet on strings. Because right now, you're still playing their game, and it will end badly."

"And you think you're the one who can dictate my life? You think you can control how I feel or what I do?" My voice shook with emotion, the walls of my composure crumbling. "I'm tired of being your pawn."

"Then you'd better start acting like it," he shot back, his voice cold. "Because if you think you can do this alone, you're gravely mistaken."

I felt tears welling up, but I held them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. "I'm not asking you to save me, Roman. I'm asking you to support me. To stand beside me." Well... when you screw up in front of the whole brotherhood multiple times... hmm, maybe it's time to try trusting my husband again.

For a moment, his gaze softened, and I saw the man I once loved so deeply, the one who believed in me. But just as quickly, the walls rose back up, firm and unyielding.

"Support you?" he said, his voice low. "How can I support someone who refuses to see the danger they're in? You're blind to your own choices, and I can't be a part of this."

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I swallowed, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. "So this is the end?" I whispered, the question hanging like a verdict. "You're giving up on me? Physically, you already did mentally long ago."

"I'm not giving up," he replied, but the conviction had left his voice. "I'm protecting you. Protecting the little we still have."

"Enough, Roman," I snapped. "I'm done playing your games. Sometimes, you say things that make me feel alive, but then you're either drunk or acting like a complete jerk like now! And what? Now you're shocked I'm going against your 'brotherhood,' breaking your rules?"

Roman leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in a mix of surprise and irritation. His brows furrowed, the look he got when he was trying to process an unexpected response. "You think you can just walk away from this? After everything we've been through?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Everything we've been through? You mean everything you've dragged me through? I'm not your pawn anymore, Roman. I won't let you manipulate me or use my past against me."

The spark of disbelief in his eyes only fueled my resolve. I stepped forward, my heels clicking against the polished floor, punctuating every word. "You have no idea how suffocating it is to live in your shadow, always being the one questioned, always having to prove myself. I won't do it anymore."

Roman's face shifted from surprise to a hardened glare, his anger intensifying. "You think you can just walk away from me? After everything I've done for you? You owe me more than that."

I crossed my arms, refusing to let his words seep into me, a new determination surging within. "Owe you? What exactly do I owe you? Just because you provided for me, you think I should be submissive? No, Roman. You don't have the right to control me or my life. You never did, and you never will again."

A moment of silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. I felt the weight of his gaze as he tried to intimidate me into submission. But I wasn't backing down. Not anymore.

"You took everything from me—my freedom, my happiness, even my sense of self," I continued, my voice rising with passion. "But no more. I've found my voice, and I'm reclaiming my life. I refuse to let you dictate who I am."

Roman moved even closer, his hand wrapping around my throat, his expression darkening. His grip was firm, but I could still breathe. "You'll regret this, Melissa. You'll come back to me on your knees."

I shook my head, gripping his throat in return. "Oh no, if I escape, it'll be *you* crawling to me on your knees, darling." I rose onto my toes to whisper in his ear. "I'm your obsession, aren't I? That's why I'm still alive despite everything I've done against your rules. You want to let me go, but you just can't."

And I can't either. But now I know I only have one match left. When it burns out, I'll leave this world forever.