Stiva does not make empty threats. He does everything he says he’s going to do to her, every time: every agony and every pleasure. Because this is the kind of man he is, the kind of man who takes the things he loves and rips them apart to their very core, the kind of man who pins things down with his body and makes them his over and over. Stiva is the kind of man who takes what he wants, who thinks of life and of the people in it as nothing more than things to dominate.

Usually, he doesn't care if he even likes the things he comes to possess. He doesn't really care. It's not the point. But, he does like Satine. Quite a lot, in fact. He likes how very special she is, and how she seems drawn to him despite everything. He likes it when she dances, twirling about in her sequins and silk. And he likes how pretty she looks when he makes her cry, how she's desperate to please him every time.

But what he doesn't like is how slippery she can be, how she thinks she can sneak things by him. He owns all of her. And that includes her secrets. The fact that she thinks there could possibly be any part of her that she can keep for herself or for anyone else is...annoying.

Stiva walks in to the familiar dressing room, tossing off his tailored jacket carelessly, letting it fall over the back of a tufted chair. He sees Satine, (his beautiful diamond, his most prized possession) there but barely acknowledges her, only glances over her before looking back down as he undoes his cufflinks and the top most buttons of his shirt. After a few moments, he says, "So, it looks like you do in fact know how to keep your appointments. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what your priorities are."

He finally looks at her and he does so as if he wants to get inside her skin, deep in her bones, like he’s about to drive her into the ground just to see if anything walks away alive.