Page 24 of The Russian's Bought Bride

I shouldn’t push, but I can’t just ignore it either.

She needs to eat even if she feels sick. She needs someone to show her this isn’t the end, regardless of how it feels. I’m not sure I’m the best person to do that, but to keep all of this clean, I’m the best she’s got.

Before I can keep going, the soft sound of a door opening cuts through the silence, and I freeze.

A moment later, Danielle’s standing at the end of the hallway, and for a second, I don’t move. I didn’t expect her to come out on her own.

She looks smaller, somehow.

Not physically, even if she’s lost some color, has shadows sitting under her eyes, and her frame is a little more fragile than it was when I pulled her out of that place, but there’s something else. More like something in her has dimmed, and the rest of her hasn’t caught up yet.

Her gaze meets mine, and there’s hesitation there. The wariness tangled in it is to be expected, but it isn’t the raw, explosive anger from before.

That’s something, and I know I have to be careful moving forward.

Hoping to make myself less imposing, I lean back against the counter and relax my posture.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Danielle doesn’t respond right away, but steps further into the space as her eyes flick briefly around the room like she’s reorienting herself.

“I was getting tired of staring at the same walls,” she murmurs, her voice rough and quieter than before.

Keeping things neutral, I nod and gesture to the undelivered plate nearby. “There’s food if you want it.”

She glances at it with disinterest, then away. “I’m not hungry.”

As I expected…so I don’t push it. “Alright.”

Silence settles for a moment while I watch her, not sure what to expect from her now.

She moves slowly, walking into the living area and lowering herself onto the edge of the couch. She doesn’t curl in on herself this time, and rather than hiding, she seems more present.

That’s new.

Staying where I am for a second, I give her time to settle before I move to the chair across from her, maintaining a comfortable distance.

Giving her space in all this is step one.

She rests her forearms on her knees and stares at her hands for a moment before she speaks. “The people you mentioned…the ones behind the clinic.” She glances up at me as the words leave her quietly. “Who are they?”

I study her briefly and consider my words before answering off the cuff. There’s something less frantic and reactive in her tone, with a focus I didn’t think I’d hear from her this soon. But I’ll take it.

“They’re an organized group,” I tell her, straddling the line between answering her questions and not revealing too much. “And it’s not just one clinic. They have multiple locations and different fronts. They move operations and change names when things get too visible.”

She nods faintly, seemingly absorbing it. “And the doctors? They were all in on it?”

“For the most part,” I reply evenly, feeling that familiar spike of irritation in my gut at the thought. “Some might not have known the full extent, but enough did. At the very least, they knew not to ask questions.”

Her jaw tightens, showing me a new spark of conviction in her eyes. “They knew what they were doing.”

“Yes.”

Danielle swallows and keeps quiet, her focus dropping momentarily before lifting back to me. “And you? How do you fit into that?”

And now we’ve found the line.

I exhale slowly. “As I told you, I have connections.”