"No," I mouthed. "No, no, no."
Hands grabbed me, hauling me up. I tried to fight, tried to scream, but nothing worked. I was frozen, helpless, drowning in fear.
"You should've stayed hidden," he said, his breath hot against my ear. "Now you're mine again."
"No!" I finally screamed.
I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs. My room was dark, the shadows thick and suffocating. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the phantom grip of hands on my arms, the terror clawing at my throat.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to ground myself.
You're safe. You're in the mansion. He's dead. He can't hurt you.
But the fear wouldn't leave. It wrapped around me like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until I thought I might shatter.
My door flew open.
Mikhail stood there, backlit by the hallway light, his hair mussed and his shirt wrinkled like he'd been sleeping. His eyes found me immediately, sharp and assessing.
"Shanice," he said, his voice rough. "You okay?"
I tried to answer. Tried to say I was fine, that it was just a bad dream. But the words got stuck, and instead, a sob broke free.
Then another.
And suddenly I was crying for the first time since the kidnapping. Two months of holding it together, of being strong, of pretending I was okay, and it all came pouring out in ugly, wrenching sobs that I couldn't control.
Mikhail crossed the room in a few strides and pulled me into his arms.
"I've got you," he murmured, his hand cradling the back of my head. "I've got you. You're safe."
"I'm sorry," I choked out between sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
But I couldn't stop. The words tumbled out with the tears, a torrent of everything I'd been holding back.
"I miss Zara," I sobbed into his chest. "We used to spend all day together, and now she's in school and therapy and I barelysee her. And Katrina, God, she's pregnant and happy and I'm so glad for her, but it feels like we're not friends anymore. Like she doesn't have time for me. And I know that's selfish, I know it is, but I miss her. I miss my best friend."
Mikhail's arms tightened around me. He didn't speak, just held me and let me fall apart.
"And it's my fault," I continued, the words spilling out faster now. "The kidnapping. I should've been smarter. I should've been more aware, more careful. But I wasn't, and I got grabbed. Now I'm a liability and everyone has to protect me which I hate. I hate being weak. I hate being scared all the time."
"You're not weak," Mikhail said, his voice low and fierce. "You survived, Shanice. You made it through something that would've broken most people. That's not weakness."
"I don't feel strong. I feel like I'm drowning." I clutched his shirt, my whole body shaking. "And I'm so tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm not. I'm so tired."
"Then stop pretending." He shifted, pulling me more fully into his lap, cradling me against his chest. "You don't have to be okay. Not with me. You can fall apart, and I'll hold you together."
The gentleness in his voice broke something in me. I buried my face in his neck and cried harder, letting everything out. The fear, the guilt, the loneliness, the exhaustion. All of it.
Mikhail held me through it all. His hand stroked my hair, his other arm banded around my waist. He didn't try to fix it, didn't tell me to stop crying or pull myself together. He just held me and let me feel.
Eventually, the sobs slowed. My breathing evened out. The tears stopped, leaving me hollow and wrung out.
"I'm a mess," I mumbled against his shirt.
"You're beautiful. Crying is human nature and you're hurting. That doesn't make you less than who you are. I say, you're the most exquisite woman I've ever encountered. "
