Alexander.
Watching me like I’m prey. And knowing, somehow, that he’s never going to let me go.
* * *
The bathroom feels too quiet. Too still. Colder than the auction room, yet I’m burning up inside. My grip tightens against the porcelain sink as I stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like I just ran a mile.
Running.
Running from him.
Alexander Petrov.
The man who threw down half a million on a painting without blinking. I can still see it in my mind—the painting. A shadowed figure looming, predator-like, closing in on something smaller, fragile. Maksim painted that. But how? How did he know about the alley?
My curls slip through my shaky fingers as I drag a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself.Calm down, Lucas.I tell myself I lean down watching the sink like it’s going to give me strength. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a painting.
I feel the bathroom door creak open, and my heart leaps to my throat. I know it’s him before I even look up.
The air shifts, heavy and charged, like the pressure before a storm breaks. That scent—sandalwood laced with a hint of lavender, sharp yet clean—wraps around me, too familiar, too unwanted.
I glance at the mirror.
And there he is.
He enters with slow, deliberate steps, as though time itself bends to his will. The soft click of the door closing behind him sounds final, sealing us in.
I straighten, breath uneven, fists curling at my sides. The fear simmering in my chest tastes metallic, sharp. I try to bury it, but I know he sees everything.
He doesn’t speak. Just watches.
The weight of his gaze is unbearable. The silence stretches, coiling tighter, until it threatens to snap, sparking my temper.
I yank out my phone, my hands trembling as I type. The words glare up at me.
What do you want from me?
I face him, holding the screen up, but he doesn’t even glance at it. Instead, he takes another step closer.
My throat constricts. I type faster, fingers stumbling over the letters.
If you want to kill me, just do it already.
His eyes flick to the screen this time, and he stops. His head tilts, sharp curiosity breaking through his unreadable mask. And the Silence stretches thin… until he lets out a small, humorless laugh.
The sound is low, quiet, almost disbelieving, as though I’ve just told him the most ridiculous joke in the world.
“Kill you?” he takes one step. Then another.
I stumble back, the sink pressing hard into my spine, nowhere left to go.
His gaze never wavers. Those icy eyes, impossibly blue, pin me in place.
“If I wanted you dead,” he murmurs, voice smooth, dark, and intimate enough to scrape against my bones, “I would’ve done it that night at the alley.”
A chill races down my spine. My pulse hammers in my throat, but I force myself not to flinch. Not to look away.
“Try another question, Lucas.”
