We fall into easier conversation after that, about the house, how Maxim is already getting on my nerves, how cold and controlling the entire place feels.
I keep the worst parts to myself. I don’t tell her about the choking. I don’t tell her how my body betrayed me, how I moaned, how I’ve been dreaming about his hands on me again. I hate that I enjoyed it. I hate that I keep thinking about it. I hate that just the memory makes me wet and aching.
I catch Maxim’s eyes from across the room.
He’s watching me. Intently. That dark, heated stare sends a shiver down my spine. I quickly look away, focusing on Kira again.
She smiles softly. “Irina and I are having drinks on Wednesday. You should come. It would be good for you to get out.”
“I would love that,” I say honestly. “The company would do me good.”
We talk about the upcoming wedding then. Kira tries to get me excited, asking about flowers, centerpieces, colors, what kind of dress I want. I shrug.
“I honestly don’t care,” I tell her. “I don’t give a fuck what the flowers look like or what the centerpieces are.”
“Even if he’s not the man you wanted,” Kira says gently, “you should still have the wedding of your dreams.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t care, Kira.”
She squeezes my hand. “Okay. We’ll talk more about it when meet up.”
I nod, but my eyes drift back to Maxim across the room. He’s still watching me.
The silence in the car on the way back to the estate is deafening.
I keep my face turned toward the window, staring out into the dark city lights blurring past, my brother’s words still ringing in my head.
Maxim’s voice cuts through the quiet from beside me. “Are you alright?”
I snap without looking at him. “What the hell do you care?”
He doesn’t respond. The rest of the ride passes in heavy, suffocating silence.
When we finally arrive at the mansion, he follows me inside. I head straight for the stairs, but his voice stops me.
“I’m going to pour myself a drink. Do you want one?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do,” I bite out.
His tone sharpens. “Watch your tone when you speak to me.”
That’s all it takes. “Or else what?!”
He raises his hand, and I flinch immediately. I squeeze my eyes shut, body tensing, shoulders curling inward, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the familiar crack of pain across my face or the back of my head. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.
But nothing comes. I slowly open my eyes.
Maxim is staring at me with a stunned expression, his hand frozen halfway to his head. He was just running his fingers through his hair. Not hitting me. Not even close.
The realization crashes over both of us at the same time.
“Did you think I was going to hit you?” He asks, voice low and dangerous.
I try to deny it, shaking my head quickly. “No. I didn’t —”
He blocks my path when I try to walk away, his big body filling the space. “You flinched. Did someone hit you?” His eyes darken. “Did your brothers?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “It wasn’t them.”
