Then—his voice. Masculine. Sharp. Terrifying.
“Elena—stop!”
Ruslan. Her brother. Behind me, so close I could feel his breath on my neck, his rage radiating like heat.
“Stop hitting her. Right now. That’s an order!”
I tried. I really tried. But my fists moved on their own.
And then his hand closed around my throat from behind. Iron grip.
Fingers digging in, thumb pressing into my windpipe. Cutting off air.
Cutting off thought.
“You heartless woman,” he snarled. “After years of chasing you... I finally caught you. You killed my sister.”
His grip tightened.
I clawed at his wrist.
I fought. I twisted.
Every technique I had ever learned failed.
My knee drove back, but he was unyielding.
My lungs burned.
My vision darkened at the edges, everything collapsing inward.
And then—
I woke up.
Screaming.
“Please—please, Ruslan—”
My body jerked upright.
My hands shot to my own throat, gripping at nothing, searching for a hold that wasn’t there.
My chest heaved.
Air rushed in and out in desperate, ragged bursts.
Too fast. Too shallow.
Too much.
Sweat clung to my skin.
Soaking through the silk of my nightgown, sticking it to my body like a second layer of panic.
The room spun for a second.
Then steadied.
