Megan studies me with the intensity of someone who's known me for three years, who can read my tells better than anyone except maybe Roman. "You're lying to me."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine. "Eva, you're my best friend. You can tell me anything. Is your boss… is he dangerous? Are you in trouble?"
Yes. The word sits on my tongue, desperate to escape. Yes, he's dangerous. Yes, I'm in trouble. Yes, I had sex with him in his office, and I can't stop thinking about it, can't stop wanting him despite knowing he's probably a criminal.
But I can't say any of that, can't drag Megan into Roman's world, can't make her a target by association.
"I'm fine," I say instead, squeezing her hand. "Really. The job pays well. The security is just part of the package. I promise I'm okay."
Megan doesn't look convinced, but she lets it drop. We talk about safer things, her latest social media campaign, Tyler's continued attempts to ask me out, and the new Thai place that opened down the street. But the SUVs remain visible through the window, a constant reminder that my life isn't normal anymore. That I've crossed into territory I don't fully understand.
When we part ways, Megan hugs me tightly. "If you need anything," she whispers against my hair, "anything at all, I'm here. No questions asked."
The words make my throat tight with unshed tears. "I know. Thank you."
The SUVs follow me to the office. They follow me everywhere.
The forty-second floor feels different today. The air is thick with tension, crackling with unspoken words every time Roman and I occupy the same space. I can feel his presence through the glasswall separating our offices, can sense his attention on me even when I'm not looking.
I bring him his coffee mid-morning. I've perfected his preferences and can prepare it without thinking. But today, my fingers shake, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing, how the scent of his cologne fills my lungs with every breath.
"Thank you, Miss Markova." His voice is low, controlled, but I hear the roughness beneath it. The same roughness that colored his words when he was inside me, when he was making me gasp his name.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and turn to leave. But I feel his eyes on me, tracking the movement of my body, and heat floods my cheeks. Does he remember? Is he thinking about it too? About the way I came apart in his arms, the way I kissed him back with desperate hunger despite every logical reason I should have pushed him away?
Through the glass wall, I catch him watching me. His blue eyes are intense, unreadable, but there's something in his expression that makes my pulse quicken. Want. Need. The same hunger I'm fighting every moment we're in the same building. And even when we're miles apart.
I force my attention back to my computer screen, to the files that need attention, the calls that need returning. But my mind keeps drifting to the memory of his hands on my skin, the way his body felt pressed against mine, the controlled power in every movement. I had sex with my boss. My dangerous, possibly criminal boss. The shame and desire war inside me constantly, neither winning, both consuming me.
Natasha appears at my office door around lunch, her pale blue eyes red-rimmed like she's been crying. Again. She clutches a tissue in one hand, her cardigan wrapped tightly around her soft frame.
"Do you have a minute?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Of course." I gesture to the chair across from my desk, and she settles into it with the careful movements of someone perpetually afraid of taking up too much space.
"I've worked here for three years," Natasha says, her accent thicker than usual. "And I've never seen Mr. Sokolov like this. So… distracted. On edge. He snapped at me this morning over a filing error that wasn't even my fault."
Guilt twists in my stomach. "I'm sorry. That's not fair to you."
"It's not your fault." But the way she looks at me suggests she knows exactly whose fault it is. "Just… be careful, Eva. Whatever is happening between you two, be careful. Men like him, they don't know how to be gentle with the things they want."
The words settle over me like a shroud. She's right. I know she's right. Roman Sokolov is dangerous, violent. A man who operates in shadows and blood. I should quit, should walk away before this situation destroys us both, before I become another casualty of his world.
But I need the money too desperately. Babushka Sasha's medications. Alexei's education. The debt that never shrinks, no matter how much I pay. I'm trapped by my own desperation, by the impossible mathematics of survival.
After Natasha leaves, I pull up my budget spreadsheet for the hundredth time. The numbers stare back at me, unforgivingin their honesty. Even with the triple rate from Sokolov Financial Group, I'm barely staying afloat. One emergency, one unexpected expense, and I'll drown.
My phone rings, the screen lighting up with a Russian number. Alexei.
"Sestrichka!" His voice is bright with excitement, and despite everything, I smile. "You won't believe what happened today!"
"Tell me." I lean back in my chair, letting his enthusiasm wash over me.
"My physics teacher called me into his office after class. Eva, he thinks I should visit American universities! He says with my grades, my project work, I could get scholarships. Real scholarships to places like MIT or Stanford!" His words tumble over each other, fast and eager. "He wants me to see them in person, to understand what I'm working toward. To meet with admissions counselors and tour the engineering departments."
My heart stops, then shatters.
