“I just wish I had my… clothes and things.”
“Your disguises?” he asks, eyes cold.
“I like to dress up.” I shrug. “So maybe I like a little cosplay.”
When he crosses his arms on his chest, his eyes grow colder. “Maybe you like to hide.”
My heart thumps. I get the message loud and clear:There is no hiding here.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear, Anissa. You could walk around in a fucking sack for all I care, and it wouldn’t matter. My parents will still hate you because you’re mine. And Rafail won’t forgive you for what happened, but he’ll eventually forget.”
How does he see right through me? How do I see right throughhim?
I freeze as our eyes lock. This is fucked up and inevitable, and I don’t know how to handle it. This is some kind of freaky soulmate-level shit I’m unprepared for.
I shake my head, feeling uncomfortable.
We’re wasting time.
“Where’s your washer and dryer?”
"I might as well give you the tour."
“Yeah.”
He doesn't touch me but stands so close I can feel his heat licking up my spine. My hands are eager to touch him, to ground myself in the reality of Matvei, the man who… owns me.
I could lean into this.
My heart beats faster, and I hate myself for it. I've been dragged through hell by the men who thought they owned me. I've been beaten, abused. It forged me into who I am today.
I won’t think of that now.
I look away because I don't want him to somehow read my mind. I'm afraid that if he meets my eyes again, he'll see the replay of that night over and over and over again… just like I do when I close my eyes to sleep. When I run my hands over the scars on my belly.
I follow him as he points to the kitchen, the entryway that leads to the garage, a large sitting area, and a paved patio on the other side of glass doors, barely visible now that it’s dark out.
And as he gives me the tour, he looks over his shoulder at me from time to time.
It’s unsettling. No one’s ever looked at me like this—like I’m a challenge and a prize, an answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. And I know then that if somehow I did manage to escape tomorrow, he would burn down the world to find me.
For better or for worse…
“Since you live here now?—”
"I live here?" I interrupt. My voice is dry and mocking because if I don't make it a joke, the truth might slip out—and I can’t have that. "Bold of you to assume."
He doesn’t blink. "It’s a fact, and you know it, you little brat."
"You’re very bold, Mr. Cliché.She’s going to have my babies; she’s mine,” I mock. “Yeah, I got you ever since the time you wrote on my wall in that red." I tip my head to the side. "How did you get rid of it so fast anyway?"
He shrugs. “A magician never shows his hand."
I point my finger in the air with a dramatic flourish. "So you admit you did it.”
His eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes. Any other motherfucker did that, I’d kill him."
I swallow. He’s telling the truth.
