Irina’s POV

I spun around.

Maxim.

No. No, no, no—

He stood there with his arms crossed. Relaxed. Like he’d just stumbled across me by accident. Like this was casual.

But his eyes told a different story. Dark. Hungry. Fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out strangled.

He smiled. That smile I knew too well.

"Can’t I check on my property?"

I took a step backward. Then another.

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. Just watched me retreat with that predatory stillness that meant he knew exactly how this would end.

"You’re not—" My voice cracked. "You rejected me. I’m not yours."

"No," he agreed, taking one casual step forward. "You’re the Mad King’s mate now."

Another step.

"But we both know the truth, don’t we, little rabbit?"

I bolted.

Turned and ran without thinking. Pure survival instinct taking over.

My bare feet slapped against stone. The courtyard blurred. I didn’t know where I was going—just away. Had to get away.

Three steps. That’s all I managed.

His hand locked around my wrist.

Pain exploded up my arm as he yanked me backward. My feet left the ground for a heartbeat before I slammed back down, stumbling.

"Let go!" I twisted, trying to wrench free.

His grip tightened. Fingers digging in so hard I felt bones grinding together.

"Where are you running to?" His voice was casual. Amused. "There’s nowhere to go."

I pulled harder. Clawed at his hand with my free one.

He just laughed.

Then he was moving, dragging me across the courtyard. My feet scraped against stone as I fought to keep up, to not fall.

"Stop! Please—"

A door. He shoved it open with his shoulder.

Small room. Dim. A narrow bed pushed against one wall.

One of those rooms. The ones Sofia had mentioned without saying. The ones clients used.

Terror flooded through me, cold and paralyzing.

"No!" I dug my heels in. "No, please—"

He hauled me inside like I weighed nothing. The door slammed shut behind us.

I opened my mouth to scream.

His hand clamped over my face, palm pressed hard against my lips. His other arm wrapped around my waist from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.

I thrashed. Kicked backward. Connected with his shin.

He didn’t even flinch.

"Shhh." His mouth was right against my ear. Hot breath making my skin crawl. "Quiet, little rabbit. We don’t want to disturb anyone."

I bit down on his palm. Hard.

He hissed but didn’t let go. Just pressed harder, cutting off my air until black spots danced across my vision.

I stopped fighting. Had to. Couldn’t breathe.

His grip loosened slightly. Enough to let me gasp in air through my nose.

"Good girl," he murmured.

My stomach turned.

His face moved to my neck. I felt his nose trace along my skin, inhaling deeply.

"You smell like him now." His voice dropped lower. Darker. "The king’s scent all over you."

His tongue dragged up the side of my neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Following the line of my throat to where Nicolas had marked me.

The sensation was wrong. All wrong.

Pain exploded from the mark—sharp and burning like acid poured directly onto an open wound. My entire body went rigid.

Not like when Nicolas had marked me. That had been intense, overwhelming, but somehow right.

This was violation. Pure and simple.

I made a sound behind his hand. Half whimper, half sob.

"Does it hurt?" Maxim’s tongue circled the mark. "When another alpha touches what’s his?"

Yes. God, yes, it hurt.

The bond screamed in protest. My wolf—what was left of her—thrashed weakly inside my mind.

Wrong wrong wrong WRONG—

His teeth grazed over the mark. Not biting. Just... tasting.

Claiming what wasn’t his to claim.

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, tracking down my face to drip onto his hand.

"I wonder," he continued, his free hand sliding down from my waist, "if he’s fucked you yet."

His palm pressed against my stomach. Then lower.

No. Please, no—

"Has the Mad King claimed his little mate properly?" His fingers found the waistband of my pants. "Or did he save you for later?"

I jerked backward, trying to put distance between us and his hand.

But there was nowhere to go. His body was a wall behind me, solid and immovable.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric.

I froze. Every muscle locking up.

"Let’s find out," he whispered against my mark.

His fingers pushed between my legs. Found my core through my underwear.

Started rubbing.

Hard. Rough. Nothing gentle about it.

My legs went weak. I would have collapsed if he wasn’t holding me up.

The sensation was horrible. Not pleasure—just friction and violation and the screaming wrongness of hands that shouldn’t be touching me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Tried to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But I couldn’t. My body was here. Trapped. Being used.

Again.

Always again.

His fingers moved faster. Pressing harder.

"So wet," he breathed against my neck. "Does he know what a little slut you are?"

The words barely registered. I’d heard worse. Been called worse.

My thighs trembled. My breathing came in short, panicked gasps through my nose.

His tongue found my mark again. Licking. Lapping at it like he could erase Nicolas’s claim through sheer persistence.

Each touch sent fresh waves of agony through the bond. Like someone was taking a blowtorch to my nerves.

I shook. Couldn’t stop shaking.

His hand on my mouth shifted slightly, fingers digging into my cheek.

"You’re mine, Irina." His voice was low. Possessive. "No matter who marks you. No matter where you run."

His fingers pressed harder against my core. Rubbing in tight circles that made my legs shake for all the wrong reasons.

"Say it," he demanded.

I couldn’t. His hand was still over my mouth.

He knew that. Didn’t care.

"Say you’re mine."

Tears streamed down my face now. Hot and shameful and useless.

The room tilted. My vision swam.

I was going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both.

His teeth closed over my mark. Not breaking skin. Just applying pressure.

The pain was blinding. White-hot and all-consuming.

My knees buckled completely.

He held me up easily. Kept touching me. Kept violating me.

This was it. This was how it ended. After everything—after being sold, after being marked by a king—I was still going to die here.

In this small, dark room. At Maxim’s hands.

Just like he’d always promised.

His breath came faster against my neck. His fingers moved with more urgency.

"I’m going to—"

Suddenly, there’s an angry roar from the doorway.