Still, my fingers brush the knob carefully, like it might burn me. Cold metal against clammy skin. My heart won’t slow down, no matter how many times I tell myself the same thing: He’s not here. He can’t be. It’s just me.
Just us.
With a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.
The hinges groan softly. The air feels thick, captive, like the cottage is holding its breath. I don’t flip on the light yet. I can’t bring myself to. I just stand there, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
And then I feel it. That crawling awareness along my skin. A prickle at the back of my neck.
He’s here.
I don’t know how I know, but I do. I can sense him the way you sense a storm before it breaks. My gaze sweeps the living room, corners blurred in shadow. Everything looks normal. Untouched.
But when I look again—really look—I see it.
A hulking silhouette in the corner, bigger than the shadows around it.
My throat tightens. My body reacts before my brain does, one foot already stepping back toward the door. But I don’t get the chance to move farther.
A voice cuts through the dark, deep and certain. Just one word.
“Don’t.”
2
SIMA
He found me.
The dread settles heavily in my stomach. I can’t move, can’t think, can barely even breathe.
The man in front of me doesn’t seem to have the same problem, though. He reaches over slowly, and the faint click of the lamp switch makes my heart leap.
The room fills with light. I squint, eyes narrowing against the glow, but I can’t make out much yet.
At first, it’s just outlines. The broad shape of him, the heavy shadows. Then, as my eyes adjust, the details emerge. One by one. Slow and merciless.
The line of his shoulders, wide and unyielding. The hard angle of his jaw. Those whiskey brown eyes I used to know so well.
It’s him. Really him. Not a dream, or my paranoia winding me up.
Petyr Gubarev. Sitting in my living room like he owns the place and everything in it.
Including me.
My stomach sinks. My chest tightens until breathing feels impossible.
He rises and steps forward. I should shrink from him, but I’m rooted to the spot. My mind races while my body stays frozen into place. Letting him get closer, God knows why.
He’s still as big and impossibly gorgeous as I remember. Every inch of him is commanding and solid.
But that teasing little hint of a grin I used to know so well is nowhere to be found. In its place is something furious.
My heel edges back an inch. My hand twitches at my side. Could I make it if I ran for the door?
No.The truth hits hard.Not like this.
It’s too late into the pregnancy for anything like that. If I tried to run, I wouldn’t get so much as a single pinky toe off the porch before he had me in his hands.
