My boss.
My aunt’s husband.
My therapist.
My ex-fiancé.
My husband.
My own father.
Men who used power to hurt me — to control me — to break me.
Trusting again felt like walking barefoot across broken glass.
Even now — even with Ruslan holding me — there was a part of me that hesitated.
That remembered.
That guarded itself.
How did someone heal from that?
A soft knock suddenly broke through the quiet bedroom.
“Sir...”
Petros’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door.
Ruslan’s arms tightened around me instantly — instinctively protective.
He exhaled sharply.
“Busy with my wife, Petros.”
The answer was blunt.
Petros hesitated.
“Sir... it’s a message. From Elena Senior.”
My heart jumped violently.
I jerked upright so fast the sheet slid down to my waist.
Ruslan reacted instantly — one hand steadying me, the other reaching for his discarded shirt.
“Stay,” he muttered.
He tossed the shirt toward me.
I grabbed it quickly, pulling it over my body as I scrambled off the bed.
My legs were still shaky.
Weak.
I reached for the nearest robe — his.
