My voice cracked.
“Just not Greece,” I begged. “That’s not starting over. That’s erasing me.”
He studied me for a long moment, head tilted slightly, grip steady but controlled.
“So,” he said quietly, “you are willing to sacrifice yourself to stay.”
“Yes,” I breathed, the answer escaping before I could think. “I’ll do whatever you want, Ruslan. Whatever it takes.”
My voice was small. Frightened.
“Just don’t take me that far away.”
The silence that followed was electric.
He studied me for a long, unnerving moment, his gaze stripping away every layer of pretense.
His thumb brushed along my jawline—slow, almost absentminded—as though he were testing the reality of me, confirming I was solid and not some illusion born of grief and rage.
Then, without warning, he asked, “What’s your body count?”
I blinked, my thoughts stumbling over the phrase. My pulse spiked. “My... what?”
A faint crease appeared between his brows. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” he said, impatience threading his voice. “How many men have you slept with?”
Heat rushed violently to my face, crawling down my neck. The question felt invasive, humiliating—but more than that, it felt dangerous. I shook my head hard, almost violently. “None,” I said. Then, quieter, steadier, because the truth deserved clarity. “With my consent.”
The word landed between us like shattered glass.
He went utterly still.
His fingers loosened on my chin as though the admission had burned him. Slowly—deliberately—he guided my hand away, his touch no longer iron-hard but cautious, controlled.
My heart was pounding so hard I was certain he could hear it. Fear still lived in my bones.
My gaze dropped to the carpet beneath us, its intricate patterns blurring as my knees began to ache.
I swallowed and forced the words out anyway. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you decide,” I said hoarsely. “Whatever consequences you think I deserve. But please—don’t take me away from my country. Don’t erase what little of my life I have left.”
Silence pressed in.
Then he asked, quietly, “Have you ever loved a man?”
The question caught me off guard.
Still kneeling, head bowed, I hesitated. My chest tightened as the truth rose up, uninvited.
I nodded once. Small. Almost imperceptible.
“Who?”
I lifted my head slowly, inch by inch, until our faces were level. We were close enough now that I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the faint scar along his jaw I hadn’t noticed before.
My voice trembled—but it didn’t shatter.
“You.”
His lips curved into a sharp, humorless smirk. “Do I look like a man in the mood for flattery, Elena?”
