I’m lying on the bed, pretending to read, when a loud noise cuts through the quiet. I pause, listening. Laughter. Real laughter. I set the book down and hurry to the window, peeking through the curtains.
Outside, a few of the guards are gathered near the courtyard, playing some kind of game. They’re drinking, throwing dice, teasing each other. One of them shoves another, and the rest break into laughter again.
It’s…strange.
Back home, my father’s men never laughed. They were shadows in suits. Silent, stiff, terrified of making the wrong move. Here, even the soldiers look human. It’s wrong, unsettling even. Because if monsters can laugh, what does that make the man leading them?
My gaze drifts back to the window, and another thought slowly creeps in—what if I can escape through there?
I push at the frame, testing it. It doesn’t budge. The lock is solid, the kind that would take tools—or brute strength—to break. My stomach sinks. Of course it’s locked. I sigh and turn to climb back into bed—
And gasp.
Roman is standing at the doorway.
It’s been two days since his last visit, and somehow, he looks even more dangerous in silence. His shoulders fill the frame, his eyes catching the dim light like they were made to see in the dark.
“Looking for a way out?” he asks, voice low and calm.
My pulse spikes, hammering against my ribs. Still, I lift my chin. “Wouldn’t you?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Just stands there, watching me like he’s deciding what I’m worth. Then he moves. He’s fast, deliberate, crossing the room in a few strides.
He stops in front of me and braces one hand against the wall beside my head. The closeness steals my breath. He smells like leather, smoke, and something darker—control. Up close, his hazel-brown eyes are even more arresting, with gold flecks and a honeyed tone, too sharp for comfort.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says quietly, voice smooth as a blade. “Not until I know whether you’re my enemy…or my leverage.”
I press against the wall, feeling his heat wrap around me and tug me in place I haven’t felt in a long time.
I clear my throat. “Has my father started looking for me yet?”
Roman shakes his head, just as I expected. Of course he hasn’t. My father definitely isn’t going to look for me. He might not even have realized I’m gone.
Roman’s eyes burn into mine, and for one terrifying heartbeat, I feel something spark between us—hatred, yes, but also heat. I push it down and push against his chest.
“Let me go.”
Surprisingly, he lets me go without force. He just steps aside and lets me walk to the bed.
“Can you please leave?” I whisper, curling up on the bed and wrapping my arms around myself as if I could make the world smaller.
Without hesitation, he turns and leaves the room. The door clicks softly behind him, but it doesn’t erase the lingering weight of his presence.
I press my face into the pillow, heart hammering against my ribs. Every nerve in my body is still awake, screaming, but not from fear. Not entirely.
Roman Rusnak isn’t just my captor. He’s a storm, a force that could tear through me and leave nothing but wreckage behind. And somehow, part of me wants to be in that storm.
I clench my hands against the sheets, trying to deny it. My pulse races with something I can’t name at first, something hotter, sharper than fear or fury. When I think back to how he stepped into the room, so close, so impossible to ignore, I feel it again: a dangerous pull, a thrill I don’t want but can’t shake.
Attraction.
I shove the thought away, harder this time, because acknowledging it feels like surrender. But my body betrays me anyway. My cheeks burn, my stomach twists. I feel exposed and alive in ways I shouldn’t with a man who could destroy me without a second thought.
And yet…there’s no denying it. When he looks at me, when he enters a room, the world narrows to him.
Roman doesn’t come to see me for a whole week. A week. By now, I’m fraying at the edges, losing track of time. Days blur together. I don’t know if it’s morning or evening, if the sun is up or down. I stare at the walls, counting cracks in the plaster, counting nothing at all.
I feel myself slipping, teetering on the edge of despair. What’s happening in the outside world? Are people laughing? Working? Living their lives while I rot in this gilded cage?
