I don't care about luxury. That's not why I'm here. That's not why my heart races when he touches me or why I stayed when I could've run.
I want HIM.
But what if I say no?
What then?
Go back to normal. Face reality. Live a safe, boring, completely ordinary life where nothing ever happens, and nobody ever makes me feel like I'm on fire just from being in the same room.
But relationships like this don't have happy endings.
Right?
But what if it does? What if this is exactly like the books? What if love really does conquer all the logical reasons why this is insane?
How do I go back to normal when normal means?—
"Lila?"
His voice cuts through the spiral.
How long have I been sitting here in silence? Seconds? Minutes?
"I need a moment." The words come out shaky. "Just—give me a moment."
His eyes sharpen. Does he think I'm going to say no? Does he think I'm going to choose normal over him?
"Take all the time you need."
The words are patient, but there’s tension in his jaw. His hand tightens slightly on my thigh. He's nervous. Ivan Petrov, who never shows fear, is nervous about my answer.
That should make me feel powerful. Instead, it makes me even more terrified.
I stand too quickly. My chair scrapes against high-end flooring. People at nearby tables glance over.
"Bathroom," I manage, not looking at Ivan. I can't look at him. "I just need—bathroom."
I walk before he can respond, passing tables full of people who know who they are and what they want. Passing waiters who move like dancers, perfectly choreographed. Passing wealth, certainty, and belonging.
The bathroom sign points left, but the glass doors leading to a balcony call to me. I need air more than I need a mirror. I need space. The ability to think without Ivan's hand on my thigh and his eyes seeing straight through every defense I try to build.
The balcony is empty. Thank God. Cold air hits my face.Sharp. Clarifying. The river reflects city lights below—gold and white and impossibly pretty. Like a postcard. Like someone else's life.
I set my purse down on the ledge—the designer one Ivan bought me this afternoon. It’s light with the essentials: lipstick, wallet, and a tiny bottle of jasmine and amber perfume Ivan had sourced for me this afternoon, as promised.
I see my reflection in the glass doors and hardly recognize myself.
Valentino dress. The red one from the boutique that Ivan bought without blinking. Diamonds at my throat that he fastened himself this afternoon. Hair professionally styled because he called someone to the penthouse. Makeup applied by trained hands that weren't mine because apparently, Mrs. Petrov doesn't do her own makeup.
I look like someone who belongs in his world.
Someone elegant. Sophisticated. Rich.
Am I ready for this life?
The question sits heavily.
He won't take no for an answer, right? He's a killer. The Pakhan.
