Delivered.
How long has this been in motion?
Nausea licks up the back of my throat. I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles ache.
Maksim… stocked shelves. Lined up bottles like offerings.
Control.
Dressed up in comfort.
Typical of men like him.
On the counter, there are two of everything. Toothbrushes. Razors. Even perfume.
I pop the cap and smell it. It smells like… marshmallows in cream.
He didn’t just make space. He filled it. For me.
Panic claws at my ribs, sharp and frantic. How long is he planning on keeping me here?
The closet confirms it, when I pull it open. Designer clothes. New. Still crisp. All my size. I pull out a t-shirt and jeans, then stop. I open a dresser drawer. Men’s boxer briefs. Folded. Black. Too big. Next drawer. Women’s underwear.
I freeze.
Tags still attached.
They’re new.
I take in a steady breath.
Shower first. Deal with the rest after.
I grab one without thinking and shut the drawer like it might accuse me of something.
The shower water is hot. The bathroom fills with steam. For the first time in longer than I want to admit, I let myself stand under it without watching the door.
By the time I finish and dress, Maksim is standing in the bedroom. He’s leaned against the doorframe like he’s been there a while, arms crossed, watching. His eyes drag from my damp hair braided down over the black shirt that actually fits me, across the dark denim hugging my hips, all the way to my bare feet on the hardwood.
Slow. Assessing.
I fight the urge to fold my arms over my chest. The clothes feel… wrong. Too new. Too soft. Like I’ve walked into someone else’s life and pulled it on over my skin.
His jaw ticks once.
“You look good,” he says quietly.
I glance down at myself, then back at him. “You bought more clothes.”
“Yeah.” No apology. Just fact.
Heat prickles at the back of my neck. I roll a shoulder, pretend it doesn’t land. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did.” His gaze sharpens. “Can’t be in my house looking like shit.”
A beat passes. My fingers toy with the hem of the shirt. It’s soft and smooth and definitely not from a bargain bin.
“If you’re looking for shoes,” he adds, chin tipping toward the closet, “bottom shelf. Couple more boots.”
