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He smirked again, his eyes still focused on mine. Almost like he couldn’t take them away. His hand went to his pocket, and from the corner of my eyes, I saw him taking out a lighter.
My eyes drifted downward as I watched him click the lighter open, my gaze mesmerized and my mind fascinated by the swirl of his thumb around the little fire. He kept clicking it on and then off. He repeated the process again and again, and my gaze never wavered.
Until he shut it off completely and my eyes went up to his face again. He nodded, as if he approved of me looking up at him. My heart did a little crazy beat again, and I pressed my shaky hands against my thighs.
It was weird, but this close, he was making me nervous, and my stomach kept dipping dangerously.
“So?” he asked, still looking at me with a strange expression. I couldn’t quite read this man. For years, I had learned how to read people’s faces and their reactions—it taught me what to expect and how to prepare myself.
But this man, he was a big mystery, and I couldn’t figure him out. It was a strange combination.
We stayed like this for a few seconds before he shook his head and then chuckled, his perfect white teeth showing.
“Oh right. You can’t speak,” he said, still shaking his head. “I forgot. My bad.”
My eyes narrowed on him, feeling the lash of his words almost as bad as Valentin hitting me. He knew I couldn’t speak yet he still asked. Why? To hurt me more? To make me feel the loss more than I already do?
It appeared like he was tsking at me. “How unfortunate. My sincere condolences.”
There was nothing sincere about his words.
His lips tilted up in an amused smirk, his gaze moving to my lips then my eyes. In his eyes, there was no sympathy or any care. Instead, all I saw was amusement, almost like he was taunting me.
This beautiful man was mocking me.
He was mocking me for not being able to use my voice—for losing a beautiful piece of myself.
His callous smile made my heart ache, because for a brief moment I thought he was different. When I had seen him behind that door, he seemed…different. The look in his eyes, it appeared almost like he wanted to run in and steal me away from this dark chaos.
But now that he was standing in front of me, his body so close to mine, it seemed like he was just the same as my husband.
Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself? Maybe I was just trying to instill fear in me, believing something that wasn’t there.
He leaned forward, and my breath caught in my throat. When he touched me, it felt like my skin was on my fire—like I had been touched by a bolt of electricity. So hard and vibrant. One touch and he had my stomach in knots. My body trembled, but I stayed still, my eyes wide as I stared into his face.
His index finger trailed up my neck, leaving goosebumps behind and causing me to shiver again. He touched my hair before twirling a blonde lock around his first knuckle. When I felt a tug, my body moved against my will.
We were so close, our faces almost touching. I could feel him breathing, and his eyes bored into mine, holding me captive.
Strangely, I didn’t want to escape. He wasn’t hurting me—something I wasn’t accustomed to. For the first time in many years, a man was touching me, speaking to me without hurting me.
So our gaze stayed locked while I stared into his chocolate brown eyes. I could see my reflection in them; I could see what he was seeing.
I wondered if he saw a weak, broken girl—something dirty, a whore?
Or does he see me, the real me?
He tugged at my hair again, bringing me closer until our noses were touching. “What happened to you, silent myshka?”
I almost missed his words. My body felt overheated being in his presence. His warmth seeped into my pores, feeding my insides until I was no longer cold.
He spoke again, but I didn’t get it. It felt like I was submerged underwater. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
I could only stare into his eyes that had captivated me and weren’t ready to let me go.
I wanted more of his warmth. After feeling cold for so long, I craved this feeling, whatever it was. My heart did another dance again, beating a little faster.
Thump. Beat.
It wasn’t the same beat when I was with Valentin.
It was different. A different melody.
I should have stopped it. I should have pulled away. I should have remembered the rules—the punishments.
Thump. Beat.
But I couldn’t.
Who are you? I wanted to say. My lips begged to say those words, to whisper them to him. My throat closed and nothing came out. No voice. No sound.
