I don’t move.
I’m still trying to make sense of what just happened.
I’m pretty sure Nikolai is lying on the makeshift bed a few feet away, but I stay completely still—the room is so dark I can’t tell if he’s actually there or somewhere else.
But after a few minutes pass, and I don’t hear anything, I ask into the darkness, “You don’t want to fuck me?”
I’m pretty sure I’m drawing on my insecurities from Elijah, but I have to ask.
“Malyshka, I want nothing more than to fuck you senseless until you can no longer walk and are begging for my cock inside you. But I meant what I said, I do not force women to be with me. I will wait for you to ask for my touch.”
Yep, I hate him.
I hate how I want nothing more than to crawl onto that floor and seduce him into breaking that promise. But I can’t because I’m trying very hard to show that this man means absolutely nothing to me.
“I’ll try a different approach tomorrow.”
He says it so quietly I don’t think he wants me to respond.
I sink into the pillows, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. My body feels heavy and worn down.
I’m on the edge of sleep when a sharp thought slices through the haze—the knife.
There’s no way.
He left the damn knife on the table beside my bed.
For a second, I don’t believe it.
I hold my breath and my pulse spikes. I’m afraid even the rise of my chest might give me away.
Then, as slowly and as quietly as I can, I roll onto my side.
The silk sheets whisper under me, smooth and cool against my skin, every movement exaggerated by the silence.
I lift my arm, fingers spreading as I move inch by inch, tapping softly at the empty air, barely brushing the surface beside me, until something cold meets my fingertips.
Metal.
A shock goes through me. My lips twitch, forming a smile I haven’t felt in…God, it feels like forever. Not since Adrian. Not since I remembered what it was like to have something—someone—light enough to make me forget where I really was.
The knife feels heavier than I expected when I curl my fingers around the handle. Power in my hand for the first time since they took me.
I bring the blade close to my chest, holding it against my heartbeat. I can feel the thrum of adrenaline through my ribs. My body can barely contain the rush.
I could stab him right now.
Kill him and get away while the house sleeps.
But the room is pitch-black. I don’t know how many locks stand between me and freedom. I don’t know the hallways, or the guards, or how long it would take before someone noticed Nikolai wasn’t breathing anymore.
My fingers tighten on the handle.
I think about it—really think about it.
Then I breathe out slowly.
Not yet.
