I pace once.
Twice.
The bedroom feels wrong now. Too intimate. Too full of Maksim. His watch on the dresser. His shirt half-folded over the chair. The smell of him in the sheets. Even the faint memory of the closet door opening and closing earlier.
All of it feels like evidence of something fragile I was stupid enough to touch with my bare hands.
Did he tell you he loves you?
I squeeze my eyes shut so hard it hurts.
No.
No, he didn’t.
That shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. I know what he’s done. I know what he’s put on the line. I know the shape of him better than almost anyone now. The way he protects. The way he claims. The way he looks at me like I’m carved under his skin.
Iamcarved into his skin.
But Gabriel knew exactly where to press. He knows where I’m weakest.
I go to the bathroom and splash cold water over my face. Once. Then again. I brace both hands on the sink and look at myself in the mirror.
My hair is wild. Marks on my throat. Eyes too wide.
You look like a woman who got comfortable.
The thought slips in so quietly it almost sounds like my own.
I stare harder. Maybe I have. Maybe I forgot what my plan was.
Survive. Leave. Start fresh.
My stomach turns.
Maksim said no one wants me dead.
But that isn’t the same as no one wants megone.
And if Gabriel’s right—if the men only obey because they fear Maksim, then what happens when enough of them decide I make him weak? What happens when his attention splits one second too slow because of me? What happens when someone gets close enough to use my existence as leverage again?
I know the answer.
I’ve already seen versions of it.
Men bleed. Women get hidden. Weak points get carved out.
I dry my face with a towel and force my breathing to even out.
Vasilisa and Adriana are coming.
I should get dressed. Fix my face. Smile politely. Pretend none of this got under my skin.
Instead I walk back into the bedroom and look around like I’m seeing it for the first time.
My bag is in the corner.
I stare at it.
