“I need you to get out of my room.”
The ice in her voice hit him like a slap. After everything that had just happened, after he’d just killed three men to protect her, she was throwing up walls again. Classic Anka, hiding behind anger when she was scared or vulnerable.
“Excuse me?”
She lifted her chin, and there was the fire he remembered, the defiant spirit that had first drawn him to her four years ago. “You heard me. I want you out.”
“That’s gratitude for you,” he said, his own temper starting to rise. “Next time someone tries to kidnap you, maybe I’ll just let them.”
“Maybe you should have!” She stood up too quickly, putting weight on her injured ankle, and immediately crumpled back onto the bed with a sharp cry of pain.
He was beside her in an instant, his hands gentle despite his anger as he helped her lie back against the pillows. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re hurt.”
“I’m hurt because of you!” The words exploded out of her like she’d been holding them back by sheer force of will. “This whole thing is your fault!”
“My fault?” He stared at her in disbelief. “How the hell is it my fault that some freelance kidnappers decided to target you?”
“Because you made me paranoid! Because your stupid fake kidnapping last week made me think every threat was just another one of your games!” Her eyes were blazing now, fear and fury mixing together in a combination that was both beautiful and terrifying. “When those men cornered me, I thought they were your men. I thought it was just Viktor playing another twisted prank on his wife.”
The words struck him hard. She’d known. She’d known about the fake kidnapping all along, which meant she’d known he was capable of that level of cruelty and manipulation.
“How did you—”
“I overheard you talking to Marcus about it.” She wiped angrily at her eyes, and he realized she was crying. “I heard you congratulating him on a job well done, heard you planning my psychological torture like it was just another business meeting.”
Fuck. The guilt that had been eating at him since he’d watched her shopping alone came roaring back with interest. She’d known, and she’d still gone out shopping, still used his credit card, still played her games. But now he understood why. She hadn’t been testing him or trying to manipulate him. She’d been getting revenge.
“Anka—”
“So when those men showed up today, I thought it was just round two. I thought you’d decided to escalate things, make it more realistic this time. I walked right into danger because I assumed it was another one of your sick jokes.”
The self-recrimination in her voice was devastating. She was blaming herself for what had happened, for trusting that the threat wasn’t real because he’d taught her not to trust her own instincts.
“That’s not...” He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “You couldn’t have known it was real.”
“Couldn’t I? Maybe if my husband wasn’t actively trying to terrorize me, I would have been more careful. Maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on your stupid games, I would have noticed them following me sooner.”
She had a point, and they both knew it. His fake kidnapping had made her complacent, had blurred the lines between real danger and manufactured threat. If she’d been hurt today, if he’d been even five minutes later getting to her, it would have been partly his fault.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw. “I’m sorry about the fake kidnapping. I’m sorry I made you doubt your instincts. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner today.”
She stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What?”
“You heard me. I fucked up. The whole thing was cruel and stupid, and I’m sorry.”
For a moment, her anger seemed to deflate, replaced by something that looked almost like surprise. Then she looked away, her hands twisting in the towel around her shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said quietly. “What’s done is done.”
But he could see the tremor in her hands, could hear the way her breath was still coming too fast. She was scared, more scared than she was letting on, and all that anger was just a shield to keep him from seeing how badly today had affected her.
“Anka,” he said gently. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. You’re shaking, and not from the cold.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar her injured ankle. “Something about today triggered something else. Something deeper.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
