I blink and let the stillness settle in.
This is wrong.
But my body doesn’t exactly protest. My chest tightens, a sharp squeeze of shame, and yet I don’t pull away. The pain in my arm doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier, thankfully. Or maybe it’s because it’s just buried beneath a need I don’t want to admit I have.Comfort.
She shifts slightly, and the movement makes her hair brush my forearm. She murmurs something, half a word and a breath. “Jude…”
I freeze. And then, without thinking, I tug her closer. My hand tightens around her waist, and I feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of her shirt. It’s not pleasant. It’s not even really comfortable.
It’snecessary.
I press my mouth into her hair, letting the scent of the hotel shampoo fill my nose. It’s a ridiculous comfort. And yet it works. My body relaxes…just a little. My breathing steadies, and the tremor in my fingers eases. The terror from earlier, the memory of Alexei’s voice, the image of the photo, the ache of knowing the woman I love could be taken and sold…
I will it all away, but am overtaken by the simple fact that Adriana is here, and I am holding her instead of that woman. I hate that I need it. I hate that my brain is so desperate for relief that it will take it from the only place available, even if that place is poisonous.
She sighs in her sleep, turning to face me. Her hand slides up and rests against my chest, like she’s trying to reach for me in the dark. I feel her breath on my neck as she tucks her head under my chin.
The sensation makes something deep inside me crack open. My eyes sting, and I fight the urge to cry. I don’t want to be here, lying beside this person. No. I still want...her. But I can’t have her. I told Micah to keep her away from me, and I trust him. There’s nothing any of us can do. My only escape will either be prison or death.
And at this point, I'd choose the latter if I had the choice.
I pull Adriana closer again, just a little, and bury my face deeper into her hair. The moment is so quiet it feels unreal.I swallow.
There’s something deeply fucked about the comfort in this. About the way my body just accepts it. About how easy it would be to pretend this is just two people clinging together in the dark because they’re scared.
I stare into the black and let myself feel the quiet and the absence of pain for half a second. No chains. No voice in my ear telling me what I am. Just warmth and breath and theillusionof safety. After Alexei, everything else feels like safer ground.
I think about power and how it shifts and corrodes. How people hold onto whatever scraps they can reach. How easy it is to confuse survival with connection when you’re starving.
Chapter twelve
EMMA EASTON
It’s been two days since the gala. Micah keeps insisting Rook is a man of his word and that he has a code fornotbreaking promises. I definitely want to believe him. Maybe it’s because Rook was honest about the fact that he considered killing me, then decided against it. I don’t know if that makes me feel weird. Okay…it definitely makes me feel weird.
I stand on the balcony of our hotel, coffee warming my hands even though the air is cold. Micah and Heather are still asleep behind me, and I glance back at them, watching their soft and steady breathing. I love Heather more than almost anyone, so having her here with me helps me not feel so lost. She’s been there for me through all of the good and the bad in life.
Then I turn back toward the skyline. New York is beautiful at this hour. I always thought Portland or San Francisco was big enough. Buthere?Holy shit.
I pull my phone out and log into my secret Instagram account. Jude has me blocked on everything, so this is my only way to check in without being obvious. I scroll and notice that he hasn’t posted since he left Seaside. My stomach sinks.
Then I see that Adriana has.
My thumb freezes over the screen as I click her profile. She’s annoyingly beautiful, with forty-seven thousand followers and the kind of smile that looks like it was designed for cameras. I snort. Being Jude’s fake girlfriend for that long clearly paid off in the one thing she probably always wanted: attention. Even though she has nothing on his one million followers.
Her feed is a carousel of selfies—perfect lipstick, flawless hair, nails painted. Her manicured hands holding a purse, a drink, a plane ticket, a luxury car. I take another sip of my coffee to steady myself. I can’t imagine my life being so full of so many fancy things. It’s crazy that Jude’s life is a lot of that now. While he was in Seaside with me, I wouldn’t be able to notice a change in him that would suggest he’s gotten used to a certain standard of living. Of course, aside from the Audi. And the beach house they rented.
Okay, never mind. But you wouldn’t know how wealthy he is by his personality alone.
I keep scrolling, and the lies reveal themselves one by one. There’s Jude on a chair with his arm around her, smiling. Her hand on his neck while he drives. A photo of him standing beside her, eyes half-closed, pretending he’s fine.
He looks…normal.
And then I realize what I’m seeing. He’s only normal when he knows he’s being photographed. Like he’s learned how to expertly fake it, and look alive enough for the cameras. I zoom inon the latest photo she uploaded. Jude, shirtless, standing near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking what looks to be a huge city. Maybe Moscow? The recent headlines and candid photo of them state as much, anyway.
My stomach twists.
He’s in his gray sweatpants I love. His tattoos carve over his lean, muscular frame in the light.
