My pulse stutters.
“And you’re not?” I demand, incredulously.
His eyes darken. “No.”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think for one minute, any part of the last twenty-four hours, has been about my choice. Last night was the first and only choice I had. And I took it because I wanted to feel something other than pure fucking rage for a few seconds.”
Disappointment has my shoulders sagging, but it’s disappointment in myself.
“I may have brought you here by unconventional means—” he continues, and I cut him off with a snort. “But I did so you could stop running long enough to decide what you actually want. Who you want to be. Who you want to be with.”
I laugh again, but this time it’s broken. “I made my choice in that vault. I chose to leave and live, or die trying. Now I’m stuckhere with a man who watches me on monitors, who hasbeenwatching me for God knows how long.”
My shoulders slump. I’ve never felt so defeated in my life. Not even when Boris was at his worst.
“I watch you because I can’t take my eyes from you. I brought you here because I know I can keep you safe here. Not just from Boris, but from everyone who is circling because youfucking stole from them, Victoria. There’s damage control still to be done, but my priority was to find you first.”
“So what? You found me, you brought me here, whatever last night was happened…what am I supposed to think? Do? Tell me, Leonid, because I am going out of my mind.” I smack my fingers against my head because insanity feels all too fucking close.
“I want you to consider that I might be right. I know I’m meant to be with you. I wanted to give you space to figure it out too, but you’re so fucking stubborn. As for last night I think it woke something in you that you didn’t know was there because you’ve never let yourself believe it. You couldn’t even get yourself to come properly. How have you got to adulthood with so much fucking tension twisting you up?”
My breath shudders from me on a long exhale. I hate that he’s right. Hate that my body remembers the dark, the way his voice wrapped around me, the way safety felt like something real instead of a lie.
“You’re so busy being angry at me that you haven’t stepped back enough to consider the bigger picture. That perhaps, your anger belongs squarely at Boris’s feet and if you take a hot-fucking-minute, you’ll see I’m trying to help because I fell so fucking madly for the woman in that vault.”
I push my hands through my hair, unable to look at him because I know what he is saying makes some kind of sense.
He reaches out and tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch is steady and certain. Infuriatingly gentle.
“I left,” he says, “because I wanted you to choose me when you were awake. Not half-asleep. Not overwhelmed with something new and different. Not because you were afraid to be alone.”
My heart slams so hard it steals my breath all over again.
“And what if I don’t choose you?” I ask.
His thumb presses lightly at my jaw, just enough to remind me he’s solid. “You already did. And I’ll wait for you to realize it.”
My eyes narrow before I can control my expression. “When did I do that?”
He tilts his head to the side, “At the bar in the city.”
Something hot and reckless snaps loose inside me before slotting into place like it was always waiting for that last piece of information.
I’ve spent my whole life being oppressed by a man who wanted to break me. A man who cornered me to remind me how small I was, how dependent, how easily I could be put back where Ibelonged.
But Leonid doesn’t look at me the same way.
There’s no triumph in his eyes. No hunger to see me collapse. Just a sharp focus, like he’s watching something sacred decide whether it’s going to bolt or bare its teeth.
I press my back to the wall because it’s solid and cold and real, because I need something to hold me upright while my pulse starts doing traitorous things under my skin. My body remembers last night. The way his hands never rushed, never demanded, the way he stayed when I asked instead of taking that as permission to own me.
That’s the difference.
Leonid didn’t take.
He waited. He gave. He trusted I would react exactly as he knew I would.
If he wanted to force me, I wouldn’t be standing here arguing. If he wanted to hand me back to my uncle, he wouldn’t have let me run at all. If last night was just about control, he wouldn’t have left before dawn and let me wake up with the choice still mine.
