His hand stills on my ribs.
The shower pounds relentlessly, filling the space with sound, making it easier to say things you'd never voice in silence.
"You could have been killed," Ivan says.
"You would have been." I turn fully, ignoring the pain that bites at my side as I twist. I face him amidst the steam and water. "I can be replaced."
His jaw tightens.
"You can't," I add, because it is the truth of our world. "Not like that."
Something in Ivan's expression cracks—control slipping just enough to reveal the panic beneath.
His hand remains on my ribs. He doesn't pull away.
We are close enough that the water between us feels like a thin, constant curtain. I can see the pulse in his throat.
"You can't be replaced," Ivan says, his voice rough. "Do you understand me? I am not swapping you out like a guard on rotation. I am not filling your place with some other man because you decided your life is disposable."
The words hit my chest hard. They don't feel like praise; they feel like a claim.
"Ivan—"
"You are mine," he asserts.
He steps closer.
Steam, water, and the sharp awareness of how little space remains.
"You've been mine since I chose you," Ivan says. "And I am not losing you because you decided your life matters less than mine."
Air won't fill my lungs properly.
His hand slides from my ribs to my jaw, fingers curving around my face with a certainty that blurs my vision. His thumb wipes water from my cheek, and his eyes stay locked on mine.
I've been assessed by dangerous men. Evaluated. Checked for weakness. Treated like a tool.
Ivan is looking at me like he needs me.
Heat rises in my body, low and sharp. My hands itch to grab him. I want to close the last inch. I want my mouth on his. I want to feel him against me instead of this almost-contact that makes my skin crawl.
Want is a dangerous word for me.
I have spent most of my life killing it on sight. The facility made sure of that. Wanting made you easy to control.
Ivan's fingers tighten on my jaw as he tilts my head slightly.
My body leans forward?—
And I pull back.
It's a small movement—barely a space. But it breaks the line. It snaps the momentum in half.
Ivan's hand falls away.
His eyes flicker with surprise. Then something closes down fast, like a door being locked from the inside.
Water keeps falling, indifferent.
