Page 3

It just closes, so silently it's like it never opened in the first place.

A heartbeat later, footsteps pound past the other side of it.

I stop breathing.

The room is dim, lit only by a lamp somewhere behind me, and the hard, warm thing I crashed into is a chest. A man's chest. His hand is still wrapped around my arm, and when I finally dare to look up⁠—

Oh…wow.

He's so tall I have to tip my head all the way back just to see his face, and that face…

Dark hair.

Dark eyes.

A mouth that looks like it's never smiled at anyone in its life, and the kind of beautiful that makes my brain forget, for one completely inappropriate moment, that I'm about to die.

He lifts a finger to his lips.

Quiet.

I nod.

And nod.

And keep on nodding, because apparently my head has forgotten how to stop, until his hand moves from my arm to my shoulder and presses down once.

Right. Okay. Nodding over.

Out in the hallway, Konrad snaps at someone. I can't make out the words through the door, but I don't need to. That tone says everything.

The footsteps slow right outside our door.

Every muscle in my body locks up, but the stranger doesn't move at all. He doesn't glance at the door, either. His eyes stay on me the whole time, calm, dark, completely unbothered, and for some reason I can't explain, that's the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

Then the footsteps move on.

They fade down the hallway, farther and farther, until the only sound left is my own heart, beating so loudly I'm scared Konrad can hear it all the way from the elevators.

The stranger lets go of my shoulder.

"Speak."

It's just one word, and it's not even loud, but it hits me harder than any of Joel's yelling ever did.

Because nobody has ever told me to do that before.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I try again. Still nothing. I want to. I really, really do, but because my whole life, I've been taught to shut up and I don't know how to do anything else…

He waits.

No sighing. No eye-rolling. No telling me to spit it out already. He simply stands there like he has all the time in the world, like he'd wait all night if that's what it took…

And then everything comes out in a rush.

My stepfather losing his job. His gambling problems, which I later found out were behind my mother’s death. His debtors had killed her as a warning, and he'd been so terrified he'd be next that he flew us to Moskra, where he has every right to choose my husband…and get paid for it, too.

I think I say a lot more after that, but it’s hard to remember my own words. Having to recount my past has me crying and shaking and hyperventilating and⁠—