“Dangerous.” She paused. “But… fair.”
Fair. The word surprised me more than it should have. I took my bowl to the long kitchen table, leaning over it as the heat warmed my chilled fingers. Marta busied herself at the counter while I tried to make sense of the mess inside me.
He saved me. But he locked me down.
He comforted me yet argued incessantly.
He held me while I shook apart, but smirked at me like he could read every stubborn thought in my mind.
He could still be like them.
The last thought tightened around my ribs like a fist.
A man like Avgust, someone with power, money, and authority was exactly the kind who could bend someone’s will until they broke. Men like that didn’t need to hit. They didn’t need to shout. They controlled by simply existing. Just like the ones who had kidnapped me and sold me.
Who was to say Avgust wasn’t the same? Just slower, gentler and smarter.
Maybe saving me wasn’t kindness but a strategy.
I pushed the bowl away, my appetite vanishing.
Marta paused by my side, noticing the shift. “Something wrong? You don’t like the soup? Want me to make something else?”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Just tired.”
She hummed, clearly not fooled, but didn’t pry. She handed me a piece of warm bread before moving on to the next task. I took a bite only because she looked so proud of it. As I ate, my gaze drifted towards the open archway that led into the living room, where the paintings hung.
His paintings.
Or more technically, his possessions.
I wandered over slowly, fingers brushing the edges of the frames. Renoir. Monet. A contemporary abstract piece worth more than the average car. He didn’t love them. I could simply tell it by the way they were placed. Perfectly spaced. Perfectly lit but untouched. Half unloved. He collected art the way some men collected weapons, simply because he could buy them. Because it showed power, wealth and reach.
But he didn’t feel them.
I laughed under my breath. “What a waste.”
A voice came from behind me. “I thought you liked my paintings. Why are you judging them now?”
My heart shot to my throat as I spun around. Avgust stood in the archway, arms crossed again, but different now. He looked a little less guarded and more curious as he watched me.
“I wasn’t judging,” I lied.
“Yes, you were.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said everything with your face.”
I scowled. “Maybe your art deserves judgment.”
“Oh?” He stepped closer. “Educate me.”
I inhaled sharply. “Art should belong to people who understand it.”
He raised a brow. “And you do?”
“I would like to believe I do,” I said simply.
