Chapter 17
Three months in this tiny Bavarian town, and Veloura had finally started to feel human again.
She’d settled into the rhythm of small–town life, getting to know her neighbors, learning to sleep without nightmares, even managing to laugh without that hollow ache in her chest. For the first time since she was fifteen, she felt like she belonged somewhere.
Marlon Brandt had become a fixture in her daily routine. American like her, he’d moved here with his remarried mother and brought his ten–year–old half–sister along.
Selina was this sweet, pale little thing with adorable dimples when she smiled, completely obsessed with Veloura’s violin. She’d sit cross–legged during every practice session, listening with pure fascination.
Veloura started giving her lessons, and Marlon always found excuses to stay nearby–bringing snacks, fixing things that weren’t broken, just being there.
Lately, she’d catch him watching her with this look she couldn’t quite read. When their eyes met, he’d get all flustered and suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere.
Marlon was everything Nikolai wasn’t. Warm where Nikolai was cold. Easy where Nikolai was complicated. Safe where Nikolai was dangerous.
With him, she could actually relax. She didn’t have to guess his moods, didn’t have to worry about him suddenly ignoring her, didn’t have to walk on eggshells or sacrifice her own happiness.
It felt like breathing after years of holding her breath.
After today’s lesson, Marlon approached with two cups of coffee–the good stuff from the fancy shop in town.
“Hey, Val I’ve been thinking–you should open a music studio. There’s this perfect little space for rent downtown. You’d kill it.”
The suggestion caught her off guard. She had money saved–investments she’d learned to make during her Nikolai years. The hundred million from their divorce settlement sat untouched, like dirty money she couldn’t bring herself to spend.
But she wanted to build something meaningful. Something that was hers.
You know what? Let’s do it.”
Marlon’s face lit up like Christmas morning.
With Marlon’s help, Veloura rented the space. The Brandt siblings came every day to help clean and renovate, wearing paper hats to protect against lust while painting murals on the walls.
Today they were working on the studio walls. Veloura accidentally splashed paint on Marlon’s face. When he reflexively tried to wipe it off, he ended ip with streaks everywhere.
Veloura lost it–real, ugly, snorting laughter that she hadn’t felt in years. Selina joined in, pointing at her brother and giggling helplessly.
Oh, you think this is funny?” Marlon grabbed his brush with mock menace. “Selina, hold still. Your turn.”
No!” Selina shrieked, diving behind Veloura for protection.
The three of them dissolved into chaos–laughing, dodging paint brushes, completely ridiculous and perfectly happy.
Then Veloura’s laughter died in her throat.
The paint bucket slipped from her hands, hitting the floor with a crash, Blue paint exploded everywhere, soaking into her canvas shoes, but she didn’t notice any of it.
Because Nikolai was standing in the doorway.
The world tilted sideways. Her vision tunneled. Every muscle in her body went rigid with terror so pure it felt like drowning.
17:16
Go Play Your Duet with Your
Chapter 17
Three months of healing, of feeling safe, of learning to breathe again–gone in an instant.
No joy at their reunion, no happiness at seeing him again–just thick, overwhelming fear wrapping around her heart.
“No,” she whispered, so quietly only she could hear it. “No, no, no.”
Her hands started shaking. Then her whole body. She could barely think through the panic screaming in her head.
Beneath Nikolai’s calm expression lurked turbulent rage. He crooked his finger at her like she was a dog he was calling to heel.
“Baby, come here.”
Two words. Said so softly, so gently. But Veloura heard the command underneath, the expectation of absolute obedience.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Marlon stepped protectively in front of her, and she’d never been more grateful for another human being in her life.
“I’m sorry, but this is private property. You need to leave.” His voice was calm but firm, protective without being aggressive.
Nikolai’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he sized up Marlon, who was taller and broader than him. His attention shifted like a predator sizing up competition.
‘Veloura, I’m here to take you home.” He completely ignored Marlon, said it like her choice didn’t matter.
Marlon looked back at her with concern and confusion. “Val?”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “He’s… he’s my ex–husband. Veloura was my old name.”
Baby, don’t be dramatic. We were never really divorced. It was just temporary–we can fix the paperwork anytime.” Nikolai’s tone stayed gentle, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.
The casual dismissal of her autonomy, her choices, her entire new life–it hit her like a physical blow.
he was fifteen again, standing in that penthouse, learning that her opinion didn’t matter. That her wants, her needs, her very existence was subject tc is approval.
he girl she’d been building in this little town–strong, independent, free–started crumbling like sand.
nd Nikolai smiled like he could see it happening.
17:16
