The rage I felt turned into texture, and the confusion I had been surrounded with for days now turned into lines on paper. The ache I felt became color, and I barely noticed when the front door opened and closed in the chaos of it all. It wasn’t until the air shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, that I felt it. Eyes. His eyes. On me.
I didn’t look up immediately and kept sketching, deliberately, making sure that he continued to watch me as much as I wanted. I was letting him see that I was not pacing, or crying, or shrinking, but instead I was taking up space. Iwas turning his penthouse into mine. Only when the room grew quiet did I glance toward the entryway and notice that he still stood there, suit jacket still on, while his expression remained unreadable.
Viktor and Mikhail lingered right behind him, clearly in the middle of a briefing. He raised a hand slightly, and they stopped speaking at once. Then he said one word and dismissed them just as easily as if nothing was more important in the moment than I was.
“Later.”
The men nodded and withdrew without argument, closing the door behind them. The hall was drenched in silence while Fyodor continued to stare at me, but he didn’t approach immediately. He simply watched. His gaze moved from the shifted furniture to the new fabrics displayed all over the place. A half-clothed mannequin was also placed right beside the sofa.
“I gather that you redecorated,” he said finally.
“Well, I used the resources already available and improved the place.”
A faint flicker emerged in his eyes for the tiniest of seconds before he hid it behind a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did. I am sure you can see how much better the place looks now with all the changes I have made.”
He stepped further into the room, his shoes quiet against the marble.
“So I believe you must have issued orders to my men, guards, and servants.”
“Yes.”
“And did they comply as well as you wanted them to?”
“They did. I know how to make people listen.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
I set my pencil down carefully as he continued to look at me.
“I am surprised that you’re not asking to leave, which only means you must not be angry.” The bluntness of that made my spine stiffen.
“You’re not preventing me from doing anything, or restricting supplies, or hovering.”
“Why would I do any of that? This penthouse is yours. You can do whatever you wish.”
I stood slowly, wiping charcoal from my fingers with a cloth.
“That’s confusing,” I admitted, and he tilted his head slightly.
“Cruelty would make more sense to you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not cruel.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I married you.”
“That does not make it better.”
He didn’t argue, but his gaze drifted to the mannequin, which was now just beside him. The bodice was draped with a neckline made of red silk.
