Two days pass, and by the time the morning arrives, I'm more than ready to get out of this place. I dress in something simple but pretty, a casual dress that hugs my curves just right, one of the ones Ilay bought me during his endless attempts to keep me in his estate. I head down to the garage with my bag and my keys and slide behind the wheel of my car, but when I turn the ignition, the engine sputters pathetically and dies.
I frown at the dashboard, trying again. Nothing. The car refuses to start, no matter how many times I twist the key or curse under my breath. Didn't he say he had it fixed?
I search around the garage, looking for something obviously wrong, some loose wire or dead battery I can blame, but there's nothing. The engine simply won't turn over. And I'm already running late.
Annoyed, I head back into the house through the side door. I’m heading up the stairs when I sight Ilay in his floor’s foyer speaking to his Assistant Laura. When she sights me she nods, before walking off to do whatever Ilay had just instructed her to do. I’ve long learned that she’s the only one he trusts in here.
My eyes fall back to Ilay standing in the foyer, dressed in a suit. The dark fabric fits him like it was made specifically for his body, tailored to every hard edge and sharp angle of him, and his bodyguards flank him on either side as they prepare to leave for whatever important business fills his days.
My eyes light up despite my irritation. He looks good. Too good, actually, and I hate that my body reacts to him even when I'm pissed off. He smiles when he sees me, stretching out his arms expecting a hug. I sidestep him completely. "Can you give me a ride?" I ask flatly. "Also, can you call someone about the car? It won't start."
He keeps his arms open for a moment longer, disappointment passing over his face, before he slowly lowers them to his sides. "No. I can't give you a ride," he says, not missing a beat. "I'm going somewhere important." He pauses, then continues adjusting his wristwatch. "But yes, I'll call the mechanic." And just like that, he steps past me and walks downstairs toward the door ending our conversation.
I stand there, stunned. Did this man just tell meno?
I watch him climb into the back of his black car, and stubbornness flares in my chest. I don't think twice. I follow him outside, and before anyone can stop me, I slide into the seat beside him and buckle my seatbelt. "Just drop me off somewhere along the road," I say quickly, settling into the leather. Ilay's frown deepens, displeasure rolling off him in waves, and I can practically feel the driver starting to sweat in the front seat. The tension in the car is thick enough to choke on.
I lean forward slightly and soften my voice, making it sweet and gentle this time. "Mr. Driver... please. Drive." The engine starts immediately, and we pull away from the estate.
• • •
The drive is quiet. Awkward, really. Neither of us speaks, and the silence hangs heavy between us, filled with all the things we're not saying. Morning light cuts sharp through the tinted windows, making everything feel too exposed, too raw. Wehaven't gone far before I finally break. "I'm meeting a friend today," I say, staring straight ahead. "He just got back in town."
I don't miss the way his jaw clenches again at that single word.He.But Ilay says nothing, and I choose not to poke the bear. Not this time, I don't even know why I feel the need to placate him, we are not dating yet I feel the need to just explain myself.
When we get close to the train station, I sit up straighter. "You can drop me here. I'll take the train the rest of the way."
The car glides to a smooth stop at the curb, and I get out quickly, grateful to escape the suffocating tension inside.
The cold hits me the second I step onto the sidewalk. The wind is brutal, cutting right through the thin fabric of my dress and turning my skin to ice. God, why is it so cold? And why the hell did I think heels and this dress without a proper coat was a good idea?
I stand there shivering, teeth beginning to chatter, arms wrapped tight around myself in a pathetic attempt to preserve whatever warmth I have left.
"Wait." I turn around, confused.
Ilay steps out of the car, shrugging off his coat. Before I can protest or say anything at all, he drapes it over my shoulders, carefully adjusting it so it sits properly, his hands lingering just a moment too long. "I know you want to look good, and you always do" he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. "But you can't walk around in this weather without something to protect you. It's dangerous. You'll get sick."
I blink up at him, momentarily speechless. The coat is heavy and warm, wrapped around me like an embrace, and it smells like him. He always smells of citrus and bubbly gum. An oddsmell for a man you would think should smell like blood and gun powder.
"Thanks," I manage, my voice coming out softer and more shy than I intend. "I'll wash it and give it back." But in my head, all I can think is:This is so warm. I never want to take it off.He doesn't respond, just gives me a look that feels far too intimate for someone who told me five minutes ago that he wasn't giving me a ride. "Goodbye," I add awkwardly, and turn to walk toward the station.
The train platform is about a ten-minute walk from here, and I tell myself I need the exercise, need the power walk to clear my head and warm my blood. But something feels off almost immediately. People are staring at me. I frown, self-conscious. Is there something on my face? Is the coat that oversized? Sure, it drowns my figure completely, but that doesn't explain the wide eyes and the hurried steps of the pedestrians around me, all of them glancing back over their shoulders as they pass.
Then I turn around, to see it’s that cray stalker following me. It’s not just him though, Yuri, Mikhail and two other guards I can’t remember their names now. Planting my hands on my hips, I question. "Why are you following me?"
"Because I want to protect you," he says, as though this is the most reasonable thing in the world. "You don't know when some crazy pervert might try to kidnap you off the street."
I stare at him like he's grown a second head. "There's literally a pervert following me right now. You.You'rethe pervert I need protection from."
He's completely unbothered by my accusation. "Maybe," he says, a possessive glint in his eyes. "But I'myourpervert."
I sigh, long and heavy, and start walking again. In my head, I think:If he wants to follow me around like a stalker, thenhe better be able to keep up.I pick up my pace deliberately, practically running toward the station entrance, hoping to catch a free seat.
When we get inside, every seat is taken. The platform is packed with people and I sigh disappointed, I resign myself to holding onto a pole for the entire ride.
But of course, Ilay has other ideas. He locks eyes with two guys sitting near the door, and suddenly his men step forward, telling them firmly that they need to stand up. That someone important needs those seats. One of the bodyguards who’s name I can’t recall turns to Ilay, his voice deferential. "Sir, there's a free seat now." Guilt floods through me immediately, hot and uncomfortable.
"No, no," I say quickly, waving my hands. "I'm fine standing. Really."
