I freeze. The wall goes up instantly with a force that makes my head spin. I pull my legs together, trying to slide off the vanity, but he holds me in place.
"It’s nothing," I say, my voice cold and hard. "A childhood surgery. Appendicitis."
"You're lying," Mikhail says, his eyes snapping to mine. The dark blue is now a piercing, investigative light. "This is lower. This is... different."
"It’s none of your business, Mikhail."
"Everything about you is my business!" he snaps, his temper flaring again. He grips my waist, his fingers digging into the skin near the scar. "You spent six months in Mexico.' You have a burner phone hidden in your robe. And you have a scar that you’re terrified of me seeing. Who did this to you, Irina?" he demands. "Was there someone else? Some man you're still trying to protect?"
He knows about the burner phone. I try not to flinch, to pretend I am not surprised and terrified at the thought.
"There is no man!" I shout, shoving his chest to put some space between us. I’m shaking, but I refuse to let him see it. "Youbought a wife, Mikhail, not a pass to my past. You got what you wanted—I’m here. Just leave it alone."
"Like hell I will," he growls. He doesn't move toward me, but I can still feel the weight of him in the room. "You're hiding something. I’ll find the phone, I’ll find the address, and I’ll find out exactly who did this to you."
"You won't find anything," I hiss, my eyes stinging with tears I refuse to let fall. "There’s nothing left to find."
The heat between us is gone, replaced by a cold, heavy silence. He looks at me for a long beat, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to see through the lies I’m telling. I realize then that he’s noticed way more than I ever wanted him to.
"Get out," I whisper.
Mikhail doesn't argue. He looks at the scar one last time, a dark promise in his eyes, then he turns and walks out. The door clicks shut with a finality that feels way worse than everything else.
I sink onto the floor, the cold marble a relief against my skin. I pull my knees to my chest, covering the scar with my hands.
What am I going to do?
CHAPTER TWELVE
IRINA
I think I'm going mad.
I lie perfectly still on the bed, staring at the elaborate crown molding while the gray October light bleeds across the ceiling.
My skin feels too tight, too heavy, too… skin. My head aches, my throat is dry, anxiety pounds hard in my chest and it feels like I’m hungover… from Mikhail’s hands in the bathroom last night. I can still feel the ghost of his palms—heavy, callous-rough, and utterly unyielding.
I need to move. If I stay in this bed for another five minutes, I'm going to scream and then I’ll really go mad.
Without another thought, I slide out of bed, as silent and graceful as I can. I can’t afford to wake the whole estate. Rightnow, I need to be alone. If I see one more face apart from mine, I’ll stab it.
I walk towards my huge walk-in closet and grab my gear. Black compression leggings that feel like a second skin. A fitted slate-gray tank top and sneakers.
I'm silent as I put on my outfit because even the sound of my breathing feels too loud right now and anything will tip me over the edge if I’m not careful. I’m double-knotting my sneakers when the atmosphere in the room shifts. A dark, sensual presence fills the room and I freeze.
Fuck…
"Going somewhere,dorogaya?"
His voice is like a low, gravelly vibration that travels straight up my spine and settles in my core.
I grit my teeth and make sure I don’t look up. I don’t even have to. Somehow, I know how he is probably standing behind me, head tilted, hair mussed and messy and so fucking sexy.
So annoying.
"For a run, Mikhail," I bite, my fingers yanking at the rope on my sneakers. "Unless you’ve decided oxygen is a luxury I haven't earned today?”
I finally stand and face him with a glare. Just like I thought, he is leaning against the doorframe, looking like the stuff from wet dreams, dressed in a white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the dark serpents coiling around his forearms, their ink-black tails disappearing into his cuffs. He looks devastating.
