I grab her arm and start hauling her toward the stairs. My grip will leave bruises.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere with better lighting."
"Alexei—"
"Move."
I drag her up through corridors that are just starting to stir with the morning shift. Guards stare at her transformed dress, then quickly look away when they catch my expression. Good. They know better than to look at my things.
Her suite door crashes open under my hand. I shove her inside, lock it behind us. Morning light filters through the barred windows. Harsh white, unforgiving, revealing everything.
"Strip," I command, turning to face her. "I'm going to search you properly. Find whatever you're hiding."
She goes completely still. "What?"
"You heard me. Take it off. You're hiding something. A tool, a device, something that let you escape and break into my study. Strip, or I'll do it for you."
"I told you—"
"You told me nothing." I move fast, crowding her against the wall, her own knife at her throat. Not cutting, just promising. "This ends now. Strip."
Her pulse jumps under the blade, but her voice stays steady. "You'll have to do it yourself. I'm not making this easy for you."
Something dark flares in my chest.Upryamaya devchonka.Stubborn girl. Fine. If she wants to play it this way.
I reverse the knife, hook the blade under the strap she so carefully fashioned. Hours of work about to be destroyed.
"Last chance."
"Go ahead." Her chin lifts, defiant to the end. "Destroy something else of mine. It's what you're good at."
The knife cuts through the cotton like it's nothing. One strap falls away, then the other. I drag the blade down the center, and the fabric splits apart, revealing pale skin beneath. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't cover herself. Just watches me with those blue eyes as the ruined dress pools at her feet.
She's wearing nothing underneath. Of course she isn't. I gave her nothing to wear beneath the rough cotton. Another small cruelty that's backfiring now, because she's naked and unashamed, meeting my gaze like she's fully clothed.
She smells like defiance and something uniquely her. Not fear, never fear with this one.
"Hands on the wall. Spread your legs."
She complies slowly, deliberately, making me wait for every movement. Her palms press flat against the wall, feet shoulder-width apart. The harsh morning light plays across her skin, highlighting the goosebumps raised by the cold air. Her skin is cold under my palms, but warming quickly.
I search her thoroughly, trying to keep my touch clinical. My fingers tremble as they skim her ribs. I tell myself it's anger.
Her arms first. Running my hands from shoulders to wrists, checking for anything taped or hidden. Nothing. Her torso next.
I note each curve professionally. My body doesn't understand professional. My cock hardens despite every command to stop. This is about finding evidence. Nothing else.
Christ, her skin is soft.
Nothing hidden. Nothing but smooth skin that warms under my touch.
Her hips, the curve of her waist, down her thighs where her knife had been strapped. The skin there still shows faint marks from the sheath. The back and outside of her legs, behind her knees, her calves, ankles, between her toes.
Nothing.
"Turn around."
