Because we both know the truth.
This isn't over.
Whatever this is, whether it's the Morozovs or someone else or my brother's schemes coming home to roost, it's just beginning.
"I want to take a shower," I say quietly. "I want to wash off this blood and pretend for five minutes that my life isn't falling apart."
"Sera—"
"Please." I look at him. Really look at him. See the fear in his eyes. The guilt. The determination. "Just—please. Let me have this."
He nods slowly. "I'll have clothes brought up. And food. You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're eating anyway." His voice hardens slightly. "For the baby."
Right. The baby.
The tiny life growing inside me that I need to protect. A child I have failed even before they were born.
I place a hand on my stomach. Still flat. Still showing no signs of what's coming. I want to crumble to the floor.
"Fine," I say. "I'll eat."
"And then we're talking. Really talking. About what happens next."
"What's there to talk about? You've already decided. You're going to lock me down. Keep me under guard. Make sure I never leave this building again."
"That's not?—"
"Isn't it?" I meet his gaze. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you're not already planning exactly how to keep me trapped here."
He doesn't deny it.
Of course he doesn't.
"Go shower," he says instead. "We'll talk after."
I nod. Turn toward the bedroom.
Then pause.
"Adrian?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you." The words taste strange in my mouth. "For—for coming. For caring. Even if I don't believe you can keep me safe, I—" I swallow hard. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me." His voice is rough. "You're my wife. Protecting you is—" He stops. Starts again. "You're mine to protect."
The possessiveness should grate. Should make me want to fight.
But I'm too exhausted to care what he calls me. As long as he keeps his word.
I just nod and walk away.
The bathroom is pristine. White marble and chrome. Completely untouched by the chaos that's consumed my life.
