“Yeah.” My voice feels too thin.
He studies me again, slower this time. “You okay?”
“Yes.” It comes out too fast.
His brows tighten slightly, but he lets it go for now.
The drive home is quiet. Heavy. Thick with everything I’m hiding and everything he’s not saying. His hand rests on the console, fingers tapping lightly, a habit he only has when he’s thinking too hard. I stare out the window, clutching my bag on my lap like it’s a shield.
When we pull into the driveway and walk inside, his phone rings immediately. He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening.
“Father,” he mutters, then answers. “Yes.”
I stand near the stairs, pretending not to listen, but the tone of his voice gives away everything he’s not saying.
“Tomorrow morning?”
Pause.
“I’ll be there.”
Another pause.
“Yes. Alone.”
He ends the call and puts the phone in his pocket, exhaling slowly. I try to keep my face blank.
“Meeting?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Yes,” he says. “Something he wants me to deal with.” He steps closer and brushes his thumb across my cheek, making my breath stutter. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
He leans in, kissing me softly, slowly, too gently for how tense he is. My stomach twists because he doesn’t know where I’ll be at dawn. He doesn’t know what I pulled out of my bank account. He doesn’t know I’m going to meet Lucas before the sun rises.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kira
Artyom follows me upstairs without saying much, one hand resting low on my back as if he’s still grounding himself, and I wish I could relax into it the way I did last night. I wish I could let myself feel safe, let myself breathe, let myself be the woman he thinks I am, the one who doesn’t hide things from him. But the money in my bag feels heavier than it should, and the promise I made Lucas hangs over me like something sharp waiting to fall.
When we reach our room, he shuts the door behind us and stands there for a moment, looking at me with that steady gaze that always makes me feel like he sees too much. The dark circles under his eyes look deeper today. His shoulders are tight like he’s been holding tension since the moment we woke up.
He walks toward me slowly, stopping close enough that I feel his breath on my cheek. He touches my jaw with the back of his fingers, gentle in a way that messes with my chest.
“You’re quiet,” he says softly.
“I’m tired.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, and we both feel that.
He studies me for several long seconds, his thumb brushing a slow line under my lip. “Last night felt like something good,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to wake up and feel like you’re slipping away again.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not.”
“Then look at me.”
I lift my eyes to his. There’s something raw there, something honest, and it makes everything inside me twist. He’s trying. He’s opening a door I never thought he’d even acknowledge, and I’m about to walk through it holding a lie behind my back.
“Promise me something,” he says.
