Trapped In Sin: Ava’s Story

The Mask Unmade

Ava POV

The food was set in front of us with the quiet reverence of someone placing an offering before a God—one who might smite them for breathing too loud.

The waiter’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he placed the plate before the man across from me. A perfectly cooked steak, bleeding just enough. My own dish followed, a juicy-steak and salad.

“Enjoy.” The waiter murmured, backing away like he feared turning his back on my client. I didn’t blame him, this Volkov man was really intimidating.

‘Mr Volkov’ hadn’t said a single word to the waiter. Not a thank you. Not a glance. Just a quiet, icy presence that made the air feel thinner.

I picked up my fork, forcing my hand not to shake. Everything in me screamed that I didn’t belong here. Not at this table. Not in this dress. Not under his gaze.

A burst of laughter came from a nearby table, the sound was shrill, and deliberate. The laugh was loud enough to startle everyone in the restaurant, it was coming from a table in the corner— a few woman were seated, and looking directly at me. I instantly turned my attention back to my food.

“Oh, look—it’s her again. The town’s harlot.” One of the women said, just loud enough to carry. My body instantly tensed. “Yes, that’s her. The black-dressed bargain bin.” Another woman muttered bitterly.

“Does she even eat, or just sells herself at dinner?” I clenched my jaw. My fork hovered over the plate like a weapon I wasn’t brave enough to use.

“I’ve seen prettier girls working the bar downstairs.” I decided to drown out their voices, I’ve heard enough of their insults. I can’t afford to make Esmeralda angry, I’m already walking on thin ice.

The sound of glasses clinking, and soft gasps followed as the women pretended to be subtle. But they weren’t. I felt their judgmental eyes crawling across my back like roaches.

I didn’t turn. Because I didn’t need to. I already knew who they were—rich parasites with nothing better to do than rip apart someone who wouldn’t bleed in front of them.

I stared down at the food I couldn’t eat. My appetite had vanished the moment I heard the first insult.

Across from me, Volkov cut into his steak with the precision of a surgeon. Calm. Exact. And Unbothered. “You gonna let them get away with that ?” He cut through the silence, his voice was as cold as the blade in his hand.

I blinked, and creased my brows in confusion—lifting my eyes to his, I spoke calmly. “What do you mean?”

He chewed slowly, watching me like he was dissecting something fragile and annoying. “Are you gonna let them talk about you like that. Laugh at you, and do nothing while they grind you into the floor.” His grey eyes narrowed on me, and his tone conveyed just how bored he was.

“They’re not worth reacting to.” I said softly, trying to keep my voice even. People’s negative words don’t hurt me like it used to, I honestly don’t care what anyone thinks of me, anymore..

“They think you are.” He gave me a weird look before he continued. “That’s why they want to see you crack.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. He leaned back in his chair slightly, his gaze was still on me. “You hate them.”

“Yes.” I admitted, I clenched my fists at my sides, and sighed.

“Then hate them better.” His words hit harder than they should have. Sharp and clean. Like a slap that didn’t leave a bruise.

“I didn’t come here for a fight.” I muttered softly.

“No.” He spoke, while slicing into his steak again. “You came to be seen. And now you are—”

Another shrill laugh from the table behind me interrupted our conversation. One of the women whispered something deliberately loud, and loud gasps reverberated through the restaurant, followed by a cruel giggle from the old-witch that kept belittling me.

My heart skipped a beat as I watched his eyes darken, and jaw clenched. He paused mid-bite, and set his knife down. Every move he made felt calculated, he looked nothing like the calm man from earlier.

He turned his head to the table with the women seated — only for a second. But the atmosphere instantly shifted.

It was like the temperature in the room dropped. The laughter stopped mid-breath. A silence fell across those women’s table—not sudden, but slow and choking.

A moment ago, the women across the restaurant had been loud, sneering, and throwing snide remarks my way, that echoed off the marble floors. Their laughter had grated my ears, sharp and deliberate—designed to humiliate me. I felt their eyes on my dress, my posture, and the way I held my glass.

Then everything shifted. Not because of me. But, Because of him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But something about the way he looked—a flick of his eyes in their direction—shut them down completely. Like flipping off a switch.

One of the women’s hands trembled around her wine glass. Another leaned in to whisper something to her friend, and suddenly none of them would meet his gaze. Or mine.

I blinked, watching it all happen. They weren’t afraid of me, that much was evident. They were afraid of him. But why?

He remained silent beside me, as if the entire table of women no longer existed.

I turned my head to him slightly. “You know them?” I questioned with a raised brow, but I wish I hadn’t. The look he gave me was lethal, and sharp enough to kill.

“No.” He said flatly, and stared at me like I was some weird creature.

“Then why are they suddenly terrified?” I pressed, those women’s face’s held true terror, and shock. And I wanted to know why.

He picked up his glass, slow and deliberate. “They’re not terrified. They’re just remembering their place.” His tone was dismissive, but his eyes whispered dark secrets.

There was no emotion in his voice. Just something low and final. Like a closing door.

I looked at the man across from me. Unbothered. Cold. Like he didn’t even notice the chaos he left in his wake.

“You really expect me not to ask who you are?” I said, picking up my fork.

He didn’t look up from his plate. “I expect you to understand that names mean very little in rooms like this.”

I paused. “And rooms like this… what? Obey you?” He finally looked up. “No. They fear me. There’s a difference.”

His eyes locked with mine—calm, detached, and unreadable. I felt heat crawl up my spine, not from attraction, but something darker. It felt like I was standing too close to something i didn’t understand yet.

He cut into his steak like he’d done this a thousand times. Like this wasn’t strange to him. Like women being silenced by a single glance, and waiters trembling in his presence were just a routine.

“You enjoy this?” I asked, I was staring at him hard - he was a mystery puzzle that I really wanted to piece together.

His expression didn’t change, and no warmth was in his words either. “I exist in it.”

“That’s not an answer.” I shrieked, and glared at him like he lost his mind.

He smirked, and I almost melted. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

I let the silence stretch. The food tasted like nothing. Every cell in my body told me to be careful. To ask less. Feel less. Need nothing. But still I leaned in. “What exactly do you want from me?”

He looked at me for a long moment—long enough to make the room feel smaller.

“Clarity.” He picked up his glass, and swirled his drink. “I want to see whether you break… or transform.” The ice in his tone made me gulp.

There was no kindness in him. No warmth. Just a quiet, lethal kind of interest. Like a man who collected broken things not to fix them, but to understand how they shattered.

—————————————

We left the restaurant without a word. No bill was settled. No keys exchanged. Just a silent command in his posture, and the staff parted like water before him. Even the elevator attendant, who didn’t exist moments ago, appeared with a keycard, and kept his eyes to the ground. As if, even looking at the man beside me was forbidden.

The walls of the elevator closed around us, sleek and mirror-lined, trapping the silence between us like something alive. I could see his reflection beside mine—calm, precise, and deadly in the way still water can be before it drowns you.

I folded my arms, and decided to break the silence. “You really don’t say much, do you?” He didn’t look at me. “Most words are wasted on people too distracted to hear them.” He muttered bitterly.

I scoffed. “And I’m supposed to be different?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He said bluntly as he pushed the doors opened.

Revealing a room bigger than the one Esmeralda booked for me. Natural stone floors. A fireplace flickering low, against floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a view of the city like it belonged to him. Maybe it did, I honestly wouldn’t know.

I stayed just past the doorway, like if I crossed further, something would change in me that I couldn’t undo. He poured two glasses of something dark and expensive-looking, then handed one to me. “You’re still shaking.” He whispered, I accepted the glass with trembling hands.

“I’m not afraid.” I said quickly, I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. He didn’t contradict me, so I continued. “I just don’t like not knowing what I’ve walked into.”

“You walked into exactly what you were meant to. Whether you understand that or not is irrelevant.” I hated the conviction in his tone, he talks like he knows me, and it’s pissing me off.

I stepped forward then, finally. And set the untouched drink on the table, I gave him an icy glare.

“What do you see when you look at me?” I asked, my voice was quiet but firm. “Do I look like someone you can mold? Break? Or Collect?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You look like someone who still thinks they have a way out.”

The words hit deeper than they should have. Something inside me cracked—a splinter, not a shatter. Not yet, I swallowed the lump in my throat.

And turned towards the window, my eyes sweeping the skyline. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as I stared off into the distance.

“You still pretending to be someone you’re not. And I find that… interesting.” I clenched my jaw. “You don’t even know me.” I whisper-yelled, I was on the verge of leaving, I couldn’t care less what punishment Esmeralda gave me. But his words stopped me in my tracks.

“I know enough. I know your name isn’t really Lilith. I know you hate the perfume Esmeralda makes you wear. I know you flinch every time someone calls you ‘good girl,’ even though you pretend to like it.”

My blood ran cold. I turned to him sharply, my heart was beating out of my chest. “Have you been watching me?”

He put his hands in his pockets, and looked at me like I said something stupid. “I don’t watch. I observe. There’s a difference.”

“And what—are you some kind of sadist? Is this a game to you?” I yelled, my composure flew out the window.

“NO, but It will become a game if you lie to me again.” His voice was dangerously low, and that calm demeanour of his finally cracked.

The air between us thickened, colder than the polished floors beneath my heels. I could barely breathe, not with the way he was looking at me—like a predator that had grown bored of pretending.

“You lied to me.” His voice was low, almost bored, but there was a coiled threat beneath every syllable.

I blinked at him, my heart drumming a frantic beat. “What are you talking about? I haven’t lied to you.” My eyes were narrowed in confusion, because those words sounded eerily familiar. I’ve heard those words before, but only in a dream..

He leaned back in the chair, as if he had all the time in the world to dismantle me piece by piece. “You didn’t tell me you remembered.”

My lips parted. “Remembered what?”

“How we met in that awful club.” His gaze was glacial, he looked at me like I committed a grave sin.

My stomach sank. My thoughts began to stitch together the broken fragments—the flashing club lights, the scent of his cologne, the way the shadows seemed to wrap around him. “That was…you?” I muttered in disbelief, it felt like a bomb exploded inside me.

The realization hit me like a thunderclap. He was the man i met in the club corridor, the one who touched nothing, and yet, he stirred everything. And worse—he was the man from my dreams, two nights in a row. The same cold eyes, same rich voice, and the same suffocating aura of control.

“How…?” I whispered, barely able to form words. I don’t understand how this is possible, how is he here.

“I didn’t think you’d forget so easily.” He said as he inspected me like I was something pathetic, but amusing. His eyes darkened, and he smirked at me. “But you didn’t. You dreamed of me. Didn’t you?” The smug smirk never left his face, he was taunting me - I could feel it.

The blood drained from my face. I didn’t answer. That slight curl of his lip—the faintest smirk—told me he knew. And he enjoyed the effect he had on me.

“I saw you.” I whispered breathlessly. “In my dreams. And then… then I saw the news. That man was murdered.” I was a stuttering mess, I couldn’t even understand what I was saying - my body was in shock.

I stared at him now, really stared. The weight of the news headlines slammed into me. The man had been found dead in the men’s bathroom. He was murdered the same day, and in the same place I saw this man last.

“Are you here to silence me?” My voice cracked, and my nerves were starting to spiral. “Are you—”

“Careful.” He said, the word like a blade. “You’re asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

The floor seemed to fall out from under me. The Beast. That’s what they called him. The killer with no face. The one who always walked away without a trace. My throat tightened. Could he be the Beast? I was the only one who saw him walk out of that bathroom, I saw his face…

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked with mine. “You’re trembling.” He observed. “I haven’t even touched you.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, terrified of the answer. I only wanted to run away from him, but I felt trapped in this room.

“Earlier you were eager to know who I was.” His eyes glistened with mischief. “I’m Azrael… Azrael Volkov.”

My breath hitched. The name hit me like a hard slap to the face, I’ve heard it before. Whispered by elite men with too much power, and blood on their hands. Most said this man was a myth. And others said his name was a warning.

Now he was sitting inches from me. “I don’t understand.” I murmured. “No.” Azrael cut me off, tilting his head slightly. “But you will. I always finish what I start.”

He rose to his feet like a shadow stretching across the floor. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my legs stayed rooted. All I could do was watch as he circled around the table, slowly, and deliberately, like a wolf closing in.

“And Ava…” His voice was a lethal whisper in my ear. “You’re far more interesting than you look. I don’t like being lied to. But I hate being underestimated even more.”

His breath ghosted against my neck, and my skin crawled— He knew my name, he was playing me all along.

“Now.” He spoke while stepping back, his eyes sparkled when he saw the horror on my face. “Are you going to come with me willingly… or do I have to drag you?” The venom in his voice made me flinch.

The room was spinning. My heart was trying to claw out of my chest. My knees felt weak, and my mouth was dryer than the Sahara desert. I had no idea what kind of hell I was walking into—but I knew one thing for certain:

Azrael Volkov was here to silence me.