Page 103 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

Anyone who saw that scene would misunderstand, especially given my other connection to Victoria.

Even if that connection was dead, it still raised questions.

So she minded. That disappointment in her eyes—I couldn't forget it.

Maybe I really needed to define our relationship. Then she wouldn't overthink anymore.

I took a deep breath.

"Anna, give me some time tomorrow. I have things I need to say to you. Everything—I'll tell you everything, okay?"

I'd come clean. Show her the real me. No more hiding, no more hurting. I'd open every door to my world for her.

Silence inside the door. No response.

But that was okay. I knew she'd soften. Anna always gave me endless chances, like how even after I hurt her, she still cleaned my wounds.

I leaned against the door for a long time, until the hallway motion lights went dark.

A soft sound came from inside. Stifled, rapid breathing seeped through the wooden door.

I sighed long and deep.

Don't push her anymore. Give her space.

Don't dominate her time so forcefully, her body, without ever giving her room to breathe.

Anna was right. She wasn't a pet for my entertainment. She was a person. She needed her own space.

I pressed my forehead against the cold door. "Anna, I'm going back to my room. I'll come to you tomorrow."

I took one last look at the closed bedroom door and turned away.

Wait a little longer. Give her time to cool down. We had a lifetime ahead. No rush over a day or two. Once her anger faded, once she was willing to hear me out, I'd confess everything. I'd tell her about my identity. Tell her how terrified I was of losing her. Tell her I loved her.

There was still time for everything.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Anna

Ivan left.

He said he'd come to me tomorrow. He begged me to give him time—he'd tell me everything.

I didn't know if I should believe him.

That image consumed my mind.

The wine-red velvet slip dress, slit all the way up to her thigh. She sat in his lap, arm hooked around his neck, body pressed against his. Her skin glowed ivory white under the light, hair spilling down like rumpled silk. Her fingers worked at his belt.

My fingertips still rested on the door handle, cold metal against my skin, but my whole body burned—that fire churning up from my stomach, tightening my chest until my breath came short and sharp.

I saw it. Every single detail, crystal clear. Her collarbone. Her slipping strap. Her knee pressed between his legs. And that heavy perfume of hers drifted through the crack in the door, sickeningly sweet.

How long did I stand there?

I don't know. Maybe three seconds. Maybe five. Maybe longer. Long enough to see her pull down her strap. Long enough to see him sitting there, not pushing her away.