Punish Me, Daddy: Chapter 25

Sloane

I didn’t sleep right away.

After dinner, after the necklace, I made my way back to the bedroom. The penthouse was dim by then. Quiet. Like even the space all around me was holding its breath.

With everything that had just happened, my head was spinning.

I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, eyes closed, heart pounding against my ribs like it was looking for a way out. I could still feel his hands on me, hear the way he spoke about his mother, see the way he looked at me when he fastened the necklace: gentle, reverent, real.

Too real.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? This man wasn’t supposed to be real. He was supposed to be the villain. The Bratva brute who pinned me down, spanked me until I sobbed, and made me come on his thigh like a needy little thing who forgot how to be herself. I was supposed to be plotting. Planning. Whispering my way out of this place like I always did.

Instead, I let him feed me. I let him talk—and worse, I let myself listen. Now I was standing there, in the soft glow of his bedroom, wearing his mother’s necklace, and wondering how the fuck I let this happen.

I dropped down onto the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, hands on my knees, fingers digging into the space behind them. My skin still smelled like the food he made. My ears still felt the echo of his voice calling me his future wife.

I didn’t hate it. I didn’t fight it. Honestly, I had fucking melted.

Now I didn’t know who I was anymore because I wasn’t the girl who got softened. I was the girl who cut back before anyone had a chance to see she was bleeding. I flirted like it was defensive armor. I lied like it was instinct. I caused problems so I didn’t have to sit still long enough to feel the ones already inside me.

But Nikolai…

He saw all of it.

He saw the fire and the fear, the pride and the mess, and he held me anyway. He wanted me anyway.

That was the most terrifying thing of all.

I drew my knees up, pulled the blanket up over my shoulders like a shield, and lay back on the bed, the ruby cool against my skin. I stared at the ceiling, fists tight around the fabric, heart still pounding.

I told myself this softness was just a detour. That the moment I found my phone or a door or a weakness in his system, I’d run and never look back. But even as I said it, I wondered what he was doing in the other room.

I wondered if he was still thinking about his mother. About Moscow. About me. I hated that it mattered to me.

I turned over and buried my face in the pillow. I’d figure it all out. Tomorrow.

I woke up warm and alone.

The sheets still carried the imprint of his body, but the man himself was gone. The pillow smelled like his cologne—dark and expensive, something leathery, old world, and incredibly masculine. I breathed it in for a second too long, eyes closed, and my body still sore in the best possible way.

But the quiet hit me next.

Not the peace of solitude. Not rest.

It was emptiness.

I sat up slowly, pulling the silk robe from the bedpost and shrugging it around my shoulders. The necklace was still there—his mother’s—and it felt heavier now. Not just sentimental. Not just symbolic. Heavy like a chain. Like a vow I hadn’t agreed to.

I padded into the hallway barefoot, steps light and careful. The penthouse had that same early morning hush—still, expensive—like even the air was curated.

There were muted voices near the entry. I stopped. Just around the corner, I heard the shift of boots and a quiet, clipped exchange.

It was Nikolai and someone else. One of the guards, maybe? I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t lean out and look for fear of getting caught.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Nikolai said, his voice calm, casual. That same authority he always wore, buttoned up and quiet. “I’ve got a meeting with my brothers. We’ll be going over the Murphy import routes, checking in on the new docks.”

My heart pounded.

So this was real Bratva business. No performative crime lord shit. Just logistics, power consolidation, the kind of stuff that ran this city under the surface.

“She stays in the suite,” he continued. “No visitors. No calls. No wandering.”

I leaned a little closer, chest tightening.

“And if she tries anything?” the guard asked.

A beat of silence.

Then Nikolai’s voice, quiet and self-assured.

“Don’t stop her.”

The guard shifted. “Sir?”

“Let her think she’s being clever,” Nikolai murmured. “Let her make the first move.”

My mouth went dry.

“She’ll be easier to tame when she learns I already know all her tricks.”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was already moving, quietly backtracking through the hall before either of them noticed me. My heart hammered against my ribs.

So he knew I was playing him. That should have thrown me for a loop, but it didn’t. Instead, I felt a sense of relief because I was done being docile. Done being dressed up in the clothes he picked out for me, waiting for the next command, the next kiss on the forehead, the next soft look that made me forget I was in a gilded cage of his making.

This was my chance.

The moment he walked out that door, he’d be expecting me to get lazy. Maybe he thought I was softened by sentiment. Seduced by the necklace around my throat and the plate of pelmeni he made with his mother’s recipe.

But he didn’t know I’d been casing this place since the second I got there. Every hallway. Every locked door. Every camera blind spot. Every passcode typed in too slowly.

He didn’t know I had Ghost.

I had time.

I slipped back into the hallway and down the hall toward his office. I tried the doorknob and found it locked.

Bastard. Little did he know that a locked door wasn’t enough to stop me.

I’d picked locks harder than that in six-inch stilettos with a hangover.

It took me twelve minutes. Two broken pins. One whisper of victory as the latch gave way and the door opened with a soft click. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

The room was colder than the rest of the penthouse. It smelled like him, and I breathed in deep, trying not to let his scent comfort me. The desk sat like a royal thing, the computer screen asleep, although it wouldn’t be for long.

I slid into his chair and reached for the keyboard, heart racing as I tapped the spacebar. The screen bloomed to life, and I didn’t waste a single second for fear of getting caught.

No texts. No email. Too traceable. But Ghost?

Ghost was the one thread I trusted.

I downloaded and opened a hidden messaging client and logged in using the alias he built for me—the one I’d used for years, the one that had never once been compromised.

The screen stayed quiet.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then—

I stared at the blinking cursor, fingers poised.

Ghost’s response came fast. He was always better at this than anyone should have been. Like he’d been born in the firewall, like code was just another language he could use to bend the world to his will.

I hesitated before I typed the next line.

He didn’t respond for a full minute.

Finally, the three dots started bouncing and then he responded.

I leaned back in the chair and smirked. Just a little.

I stared at the screen. Ten minutes. One shot. I could do that.

If I stayed there, I wouldn’t just become Nikolai’s bride. I’d become his possession. I’d stop being Sloane Kingsley and start being some rebranded, repackaged version of myself that fit neatly into his kingdom. Polished. Obedient.

Kept.

I couldn’t let that happen, even if part of me wanted to.

Even if some sick, stupid part of me ached when I thought about the way he looked at me the night before, like I was his world. Like I was something worth holding. Even if I could still taste his mother’s recipe on my tongue and feel the weight of her necklace against my skin. That necklace felt like a collar now.

I didn’t wear leashes.

I didn’t care how good his hands felt or how soft his voice got when he called me baby girl. I wasn’t his. Not yet. Not if I moved fast.

Not if I was smarter.

I stared at the screen again for a long time. Was I sure? No, but that didn’t matter.

I could want him and still leave him.

I killed the program, wiped the cache, and locked the screen before slipping out of the office with no one the wiser.