It isn’t violent, but it’s firm and unforgiving as he pulls me closer until my back hits his chest. The suddenness of his proximity knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Let go of me!” I shout, twisting and panicking, even if it only makes the situation worse.
“I don’t care how angry you might be with me, and I don’t care if you think you can wing it out there on your own,” Ivan utters, far too close to my ear. “You’re not leaving like this.”
“Get off me!”
Regardless of my struggle, it’s useless against him. He’s bigger and stronger in a way that doesn’t leave any room for me to assume otherwise.
In a smooth, sure movement, Ivan lifts me like I weigh nothing at all.
The feeling of my feet leaving the floor catches me so off guard that my protests trail off into breathless nothingness as he carries me down the hall.
“Ivan, please—”
Ignoring me, he pushes a door open and passes through before setting me down on the edge of the bed, repositioning me into a sitting position. He’s more controlled and intentional than rough, but the action alone makes my stomach twist.
He meets my gaze, close enough that his cologne surrounds me, keeping my hands pinned to the mattress before slowly letting go and showing me a placating palm.
“Stay.”
Chest starting to heave, I mutter, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, expression far too focused on me. “You hate that you misjudged me, and now I’m not letting you have your way.”
The accurate assessment stings, and I grit my teeth. “You don’t know me.”
He huffs to himself. “You might be surprised by how well I pay attention.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“No, but you’ll get used to it, just like you do with everything else.”
My brows pinch together at that, not knowing exactly what he means. But before I can question it, he leans forward, bracing a hand on either side of me, careful not to touch me directly.
I pull in a breath, suddenly aware of just how close he really is. How invasive it should feel, despite how I don’t push him away.
“Convince yourself that you hate me if you must, and picture all the ways you’d like to run if it makes you feel better, but I’m not changing my mind,” Ivan utters, low and rough. “And you’re not running back into the mess you came from. I won’t let you.”
Blinking back in him, I can’t shake how…familiarly he looks at me, or how he talks like he knows me. It’s unsettling, and none of it makes sense.
But maybe that’s just how he is. So confident that he’s more convincing than he has any right to be.
Still, the certainty that comes with his claim is enough to rock me all over again, reminding me of just how stuck I am. How no matter how hard I might try to fight him, I’ll never be strong enough. I’ll never outrun him.
I’m just as trapped, and just as out of control.
My chest tightens, and as hard as I try to breathe deeply, I can’t while panic surges in, disorienting me on the spot. Pressing a hand to my sternum, I try to slow my heart down and to calm myself before it gets out of control, but my body refuses.
I barely register that I’m shaking my head over and over, as if that might accomplish something.
“No…this can’t be happening…”
As my breath turns sharp and so shallow that they almost hurt, I can only sit there and curl inward. For a long, horrible moment, I assume he’s prepared to ignore it and let me sort it out myself.
Instead, Ivan drops into a crouch in front of me, and his hand sends a rush of warmth through my knee where it rests.
“Mila,” he says, steady and firm, yet not unkindly. “Look at me.”
