Shorty just nodded.
I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched—shoulder against shoulder, thigh against thigh, her hand occasionally brushing mine as we sorted through documents. Each contact sent electricity through my system, a reminder of the boundaries we’d crossed and the ones still waiting to be crossed.
This wasn’t just about physical attraction. This was about connection—about recognizing each other, about choosing to stand together as a team against whatever came next.
It strangely felt like accepting fate—when I’d never believed in fate before.
I’d never allowed myself to need anyone beyond my siblings. Had never trusted anyone else enough to lower my guard. Yet here I was, sharing intelligence, revealing secrets, making promises I intended to keep no matter the cost.
The realization should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like stepping into a room I hadn’t known existed—one filled with possibilities I’d never allowed myself to imagine.
As night deepened around us, we continued working side by side, our partnership cementing with each passing hour. Whatever came next, we would face it together. Not as kidnapper and captive. Not as enemies or reluctant allies.
But as equals. As partners. As something I wasn’t ready to say out loud but could no longer deny.
21
ISABELLA
My eyes grew heavier with each passing second as I tried to focus on the files spread across my lap. Ivan’s body was a warm presence beside me on the sofa, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine as he pored over the documents.
The soft lamp in the corner cast long shadows across the room, and the lingering scent of Ivan’s shampoo and soap from our shared bath earlier wrapped around me like a comforting blanket.
“There’s a pattern here,” Ivan murmured, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room. “Grey’s been running unauthorized operations for years, siphoning funds from legitimate Paraskia ventures. He might have been restarting operations the Paraskia shut down, as well.”
I nodded, trying to process the information through the fog of exhaustion that had settled over me. It wasn’t so much the aftereffects of Grey’s truth serum still lingering in my system, but it was getting late, and sleep had been scarcethe last couple of nights before I got knocked out. My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish despite my determination to stay alert.
“The trafficking operation I shut down…” I said, stifling a yawn. “Was it on the Paraskia’s radar before I interfered? He was so furious about that one.”
Ivan shifted beside me, his warmth drawing closer. “Let me check. But even if it wasn’t, you probably did more damage than you realized. That operation alone was probably worth millions.”
I tried to reply, but my eyelids kept drooping despite my best efforts. The events of the past few days—the kidnapping, the escape attempts, Grey’s interrogation, and even the emotional impact from hearing Ivan’s story of his childhood—had drained me completely. I fought against the pull of sleep, determined to remain professional, focused.
“We should cross-reference these accounts with…” The words died on my lips as my head involuntarily dipped forward.
I jerked back upright, blinking rapidly. “Sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed. “I’m listening.”
Ivan’s eyes softened as he looked at me. “You need rest, Shorty. The drugs are still working their way out of your system.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, even as another yawn betrayed me. “We need to figure out what’s at the root of all of this and what Grey’s planning next.”
Ivan continued talking, his voice a soothing rumble that washed over me. I leaned closer, just to hear him better, Itold myself. My head felt so heavy, and his shoulder looked so inviting…
The next thing I knew, warmth surrounded me, and I was moving. Disoriented, I blinked my eyes open to find myself cradled against Ivan’s chest, his strong arms carrying me with surprising gentleness. His scent—sandalwood, clean soap, and something uniquely him—filled my senses and was oddly comforting.
“What…?” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.
“You fell asleep,” Ivan said softly, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “Mid-sentence. I’m taking you to bed.”
Under different circumstances, those words might have carried a completely different meaning. The thought sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach. I should have been offended at being treated like a child, should have demanded to be put down immediately. Instead, I found myself nestling closer to his warmth.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, embarrassed at my weakness. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You need rest,” he replied, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Your body is still healing.”
The tenderness in his expression caught me off guard. This was Ivan Zotov—dangerous, calculating, lethal—yet he was carrying me with so much care. Had been treating me with so much care. Like I was a precious object, one he truly cared about. The juxtaposition was jarring and compelling all at once.
He laid me down on his bed, and his hands beneath me lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. In the soft glow from the bedside lamp, his features seemed lessharsh, the sharp angles of his jaw softened by shadows—even his tattoos seemed muted. He stepped back, clearly intending to leave.
