Viktor pauses, mug halfway to his lips.
His eyes narrow, calculating. Weighing risks.
My heart thuds—will he buy it? It's half-true… Robbie probably is worried. But mostly, it's a test. Get my phone back, then sneak a real SOS later.
After a long beat, he sets the mug down. "Fine. But I watch you type. And after…" He holds out his hand. "I keep the phone. For safety."
"What? That's not fair!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "It's my phone! I need?—"
His demeanor shifts lightning-fast from calm to incoming storm. Viktor’s eyes harden, and his jaw clenches. That Daddy glare pins me like a butterfly.
"Fair? This isn't a game, malysh,” Viktor warns. “You message. I supervise. Phone stays with me. Argue again, and no message. Keep arguing, and you know what happens next. Understand?"
I swallow hard, my defiance wilting under that intensity.
Back down, Eddie.
Live to fight another day.
Keep him onside for now.
"Okay. Fine."
He pulls my phone from his pocket—he’s had it ever since we got in the car on the ride here—and hands it over. I unlock it, open my messages to Robbie. All the while, Viktor’s strong frame looms behind me, breath warm on my neck as he peers over my shoulder.
I begin to type…
Eddie:Hey Robbie, feeling super sick—flu or something. Won't be in today or tomorrow. Cover for me? Sorry! Xoxo.
Simple. No codes. No hints. He'd spot it. I’m playing this perfectly.
He reads, nods once. "Send it, boy."
I hit the button. The message whooshes off. Then, reluctantly, I hand the phone back. He pockets it, satisfied. "Good boy."
The praise hits low in my belly—like a traitorous warmth I try to resist it but it’s no good. It’s like I’m yearning for compliments and praise from a man who I hate. I need to focus, damn it.
We finish breakfast in semi-silence. The avocado on toast is the bomb—creamy, zesty, just how I love it. I scarf it down, my energy surging as I finally feel like I’m eating like normal. And that’s a good job too as I’m gonna need all the energy I can get for my escape.
Viktor clears the plates, then nods toward the hall.
"I prepared something for you,” he says. “Come to the living room after your done with your breakfast."
And sure enough, once I’m done I pad into the living room—in daylight it’s a big space, leather couches, floor-to-ceiling windows on the lake. It’s actually totally dreamy and I could see myself using it as an art room. I mean, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Viktor’s house.
And there, on the rug… a colorful play mat spread out, wooden toys scattered, blocks, a train set, animal figures. A stack of cute picture books beside the toys… stories of fluffy animals, fairy tales, the kind with big illustrations and simple words.
Kid stuff. But alsoLittlestuff.
My heart flips—equal parts thrilled and suspicious. He did this? For me?
I turn, and Viktor is in the doorway, arms crossed, pride gleaming in his eyes. Like a Daddy showing off.
Then I realize and my joy turns to something I can’t quite explain and barely want to admit to.
These were his ex-Little’s things.
And I feeljealousof whoever he was…
