ELI
It started subtly at first. A few shopping bags on the dining table after my morning nap. A couple of high-end name brands I didn't even know Damir paid attention to. The first time I saw the pastel-pink Balenciaga slides with my initials embroidered into the strap, I thought he had gotten them for someone else.
But then I saw the matching short shorts, barely reaching mid-thigh, the lace-trimmed crop tops, and the glittering boxes of jewelry. Rings, chokers, bracelets custom-made, each one either screaming my name or whispering it in gemstones. It was insane. Every piece more feminine than the last. And he loved seeing me in them.
He never asked me to wear them. Never pushed. But his gaze would light up, eyes raking over me with that mix of pride and pure possession whenever I stepped into his study in something tight, glittery, or soft-toned. I started wearing them just to feel that look. To bask in it.
One afternoon, I complained offhandedly about how exhausting it was to walk around the estate just whining for the sake of being dramatic. The next day, two luxury sedans and two SUVs were parked in the garage. Each one sleek, different in color, and absurdly over-equipped. Four drivers were suddenly employed, rotating shifts like they were guarding a royal.
"Pick whichever car fits your mood, zvezdochka," he had said casually, ruffling my hair like I was some pampered kitten. I felt ridiculous but also… adored. Worshipped. Like I could ask for the moon and Damir would find a way to hang it over my window at night.
The laptops? He bought four. Four.
"Why would anyone need four laptops, Damir?!"
He just sipped his coffee and shrugged, eyes never leaving the morning paper. "To match your outfits, maybe. Or moods. You get bored easily."
I pouted but used them all. One for schoolwork. One for games. One for watching dramas. One just sat in a pink case with a glitter keyboard I never touched, but he still updated and cleaned it weekly.
The staff began calling me 'Molodoy Master'….Young Master.
The chef cooked whatever I mentioned in passing. The housekeepers never scolded me, even when I left clothes scattered around like flower petals. It was like I was the prince of some tiny kingdom. Or a spoiled, ridiculous doll. And I loved every moment of it.
Damir encouraged it. Fed into it. Smiled every time I whined about not having enough flavors of tea or missing my skincare package. He handled everything. Managed the house, my schedule, even my moods.
It was… addictive.
Then one afternoon, I woke up from a nap, hair tousled and shirt slightly slipping off my shoulder. I had been dreaming something soft and warm. When I opened my eyes, the emptiness of the bed and silence in the room left me restless.
"Damir?" I called out, voice scratchy.
No answer.
I pouted to myself and dragged my feet out of bed. I wanted to see him. I always wanted to see him. That constant craving for his presence had become a habit now, almost like I was wired for it.
I descended the stairs barefoot, blinking sleepily, still tugging at my oversized pink shirt . As I turned the corner into the lounge, I spotted him…Damir, in his crisp black shirt, standing tall.
He wasn't alone.
A man sat across from him. Broad-shouldered, suited, scar across one cheek. Something about him screamed 'danger.'
But I didn't care.
"Damiiiir," I whined, trotting over and throwing my arms around his waist like a sleepy child.
His body went stiff. Rigid. I felt his muscles tighten beneath my hands.
"Eli…baby….what are you doing downstairs?" His voice was soft but clipped, like he was trying not to sound panicked. One of his hands curled around my waist protectively.
"I was bored," I muttered into his chest, not even glancing at the guest. "Why didn't you wake me up before leaving the room?"
The guest stared, amused and curious. Damir turned slightly, shielding me from view with his entire body.
"I'll be with you in a moment," he told the man coldly.
"But…."
"Leave."
The finality in his voice made even me flinch. The man stood, smirked, nodded, and left without another word.
I blinked up at Damir, confused.
"What's wrong?"
He cupped my face, his eyes scanning every inch of me, every exposed bit of skin.
"You can't come downstairs like this when I have visitors. Especially not him. You should've stayed upstairs, malyshka."
"But I wanted to see you…" I mumbled, shrinking into his chest.
He sighed, kissed the top of my head, and picked me up…yes, actually carried me back up the stairs like I was five.
I didn't mind.
That night, I was curled up in one of the many beanbags in his study, flipping through a catalog of new shoes he had someone send me, when I heard him speaking on the phone in the next room. The door was slightly open.
"Yes… I don't care what it takes. Every time he steps out, I want guards within ten feet. Invisible ones. And if he even so much as sighs at the gate, I want you to tighten the perimeter. Double it. I don't want my baby breathing near danger."
My heart stuttered.
It wasn't what he said…it was how he said it. The sheer intensity. The underlying fear.
Something was going on. Something he didn't want me to know.
I pressed my hand against my chest. But even with the creeping suspicion, even with the unease beginning to lace into my thoughts… I smiled.
Because he always protected me.
Even when I didn't know what I needed protecting from.
And that was enough.