Regardless, I couldn’t help but feel like the “game" had followed me here.
Seconds ticked by. The apartment was too quiet.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Just… empty in a way that pressed against my ears until I wanted to scream. Like the entire space held its breath.
I stood in the middle of the living room, barefoot on polished stone floors that probably cost more than my entire apartment building, and wrapped my arms around myself. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like an old-fashioned postcard, with snow drifting down in soft, deceptive flakes, traffic moving far below like veins of light.
Maksim should have been here.
Instead, all that remained of him was the faint scent of his cologne on the sheets and the weight of his words lodged in my chest.
You will be protected.
Archer stood near the entryway, silent as a statue, arms folded, gaze fixed on nothing and everything at once. He hadn’t spoken in over twenty minutes. The guy simply… existed. Watching. Guarding.
It was nerve-wracking.
“I don’t need you to stare at the door,” I muttered, trying to inject normalcy into my voice. “No one’s going to burst in.”
He didn’t turn his head. “People burst in when you least expect it.”
Great. How comforting.
“We’re more than a few stories up. How do you think they’re going to come in through the balcony?”
“You’d be surprised.”
With a roll of my eyes that belied my frazzled state, I exhaled slowly and headed for the bedroom. Ours, he’d said. Like it was that simple. Like claiming space made it safe.
Though I’d stayed with him a handful of times, I’d be lying if I said any of the details of his place stuck with me. It was almost like if I didn’t pay attention to the drastic differences in our lifestyles, I could pretend I was good enough for him.
The room was massive—king-sized bed, soft lighting, blackout curtains already drawn halfway. The chair in the corner where I’d caught him quietly sitting on the nights I’d stayed. There was a pair of dress pants casually discarded over the back, belt still attached. I sat on the edge of the mattress, the unfamiliar luxury doing nothing to soothe the tight coil in my stomach.
I was pregnant.
Alone.
In a Bratva fortress. Jesus.
I pressed my palm to my belly, a reflex I hadn’t meant to develop so quickly. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
A faint sound carried through the apartment.
I froze.
Not loud. Not obvious. Just… off.
Footsteps. Not inside the apartment—outside. Or was it the place above us? But how? As I’d said to Archer, we weren’t exactly ground level. And Maksim had said the penthouse above us was vacant.
My heart leaped into my throat. I slid off the bed and moved toward the door, listening. The apartment was high up, but sound traveled strangely up here, bouncing off glass and steel.
I stepped into the living room just as Archer moved like a wraith across the floor.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
