Fragile

Chapter 5 .

The days blurred into a strange rhythm for Yakov. Amara had become an unexpected fixture in his life, her persistence both irritating and intriguing. She had a way of worming into his routine, pulling him into her world—a world that, on the surface, seemed so innocent, so bright. But Yakov wasn’t a man who appreciated brightness. He thrived in the shadows, in the quiet places where the world’s chaos couldn’t reach him.

One Saturday, she had dragged him to her favorite café, a quaint little spot tucked away in a corner of the city. The air smelled of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, and the chatter of patrons filled the space. Yakov had sat there, stiff and silent, while Amara prattled on about her day, her classes, her dreams. He didn’t care. Not really. But there was something about the way her eyes lit up when she talked—something almost captivating. Still, he kept his distance, his expression unreadable, his responses curt.

But today, something was off. They had a standing arrangement to meet at the university field, a routine Yakov had begrudgingly accepted. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, the cool autumn breeze brushing against his face. The minutes ticked by, and Amara didn’t show. He checked his watch, then his phone. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t like being stood up. It was inconvenient, disrespectful. He tried calling her once, twice, but she didn’t pick up. His green eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation sparking in his chest. Where was she?

He decided to check her apartment. The walk was brisk, his steps purposeful, his mind ticking through possibilities. Was she hurt? Unlikely. Was she ignoring him? If so, she’d regret it. The thought sent a dark thrill through him, a familiar craving gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

When he arrived, the apartment was empty. The door was locked, but that didn’t stop him. He picked it with ease, slipping inside like a shadow. The place was quiet, untouched. He took a seat in the corner of the living room, where the darkness clung to him like a second skin. And he waited.

Hours passed. The city outside grew quieter, the hum of traffic fading into a distant murmur. The apartment remained silent, save for the occasional creak of the building settling. Yakov sat perfectly still, his breathing even, his mind calm. But beneath the surface, a storm brewed. His patience was wearing thin.

At 11 PM, the sound of keys rattling in the lock broke the silence. The door creaked open, and Amara stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway light. She flicked the switch, flooding the room with light. And then she froze.

Yakov was sitting there, his green eyes fixed on her, his expression unreadable. He looked like a predator in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Amara’s breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her ribs. Fear prickled at the edges of her mind, but there was something else too—something deeper, more primal. Submission.

“Yakov,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What… what are you doing here?”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His gaze bore into her, stripping her bare. “Where were you?” His voice was soft, almost calm, but there was an edge to it—a warning.

She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the strap of her bag like a lifeline. “I—I was at the library. I lost track of time, and my phone died. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “You don’t get to make excuses. You stood me up. You ignored my calls. That’s not how this works, Amara.”

She flinched at the sound of her name on his lips, the way he said it like a weapon. Her pulse raced, her mind scrambling for something, anything, to say. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It won’t happen again.”

He finally stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked toward her, each step measured, each second stretching into an eternity. Amara’s breath hitched as he closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming. She wanted to back away, to run, but something held her in place. Fear? Yes. But something else, too. Something she couldn’t name.

He stopped inches from her, his gaze locked onto hers. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low. “It won’t happen again. Because if it does, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her throat dry, her body trembling. “Yes.”

“Good.” His hand reached up, brushing a curl away from her face. The gesture was almost tender, but there was nothing gentle about it. His touch was possessive, controlling. “I don’t like your behavior tonight, Amara. Don’t make me remind you of your place.”

Her heart pounded, her mind racing. She wanted to protest, to tell him he had no right to speak to her that way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she felt a strange sense of surrender, a willingness to submit that both terrified and exhilarated her.

Yakov leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “Remember,” he whispered, his voice like ice. “Everything comes with a price.”

And then he pulled away, leaving her standing there, breathless and shaken. He turned and walked to the door, pausing briefly to glance back at her. “Don’t make me wait again.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Amara was left alone, her mind spinning, her body still trembling. She sank to the floor, her legs giving out beneath her. What had just happened? What had she gotten herself into?

But even as the fear coiled in her chest, she couldn’t deny the thrill that had coursed through her when he’d touched her, when he’d spoken to her like that. It was dangerous, reckless. But it was also intoxicating.

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to escape it.

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