And there it is, artificial light coming from the very end of the corridor lined by yet more doors.
I’m shocked that I’ve actually done it, that I managed to sneak in where no one else has been able to. I half expect a pack of Dobermans to rush out from behind the corner, teeth bared and ready to maul me. Nothing like that happens.
It’s only me and my desperately pounding heart.
The glow coming from under the half-open door ahead beckons me closer, and I swallow, my feet rolling over the concrete floor. Maybe he’s fallen asleep over a book? Maybe this whole abduction plan will be easier to carry out than I could have anticipated?
I’m out of my mind. What am I even doing? Has my obsession really reached the point at which I’m ready topoint a gun at my nemesis, tell him to kneel, cuff him, and—
A squeak makes me turn abruptly just as I enter the next corridor, but all I spot is a rat skittering away. I didn’t expect a rodent in this pristine house, but I guess even millionaires aren’t immune to pests. I bet someone as reclusive as Sevastyan wouldn’t be happy to have a team of exterminators running around and taking covert photos.
Which does make me wonder whether he cleans this whole place himself, but I’m not here to ponder his habits.
I didn’t pay much attention to the art upstairs, but when my gaze slides over the massive Rylsky that sold for millions last year, my hand trembles so violently I almost pull the trigger.
Maybe I should have spent more time at the range, but it’s too late now. Hopefully, the threat of the firearm will be enough to subdue the bastard who destroyed my one chance at a different life.
A life like... this.
I turn on my heel, about to face the door, but my heart freezes in my chest when I find the doorway filled by a tall silhouette. The warm glow I’ve seen earlier now frames his form while his features remain in shadow. He’s unarmed, but the casual way he’s standing has my body hair bristling. He’s not even bothered to put down the goblet he’s sipping from, as if intruders like me are his bread and butter.
I flinch, raising the gun when he touches the wall, and a bright light comes on near-instantly.
I should be worried about him getting a better look at me, but I’m too stunned as I stare back at him.
He’s… breathtaking.
Leonardo da Vinci himself would have sacrificed a finger from his favored hand for a chance to paint features so harmonious.
This must be an illusion. People like him don’t just walk among the rest of us mortals. Even celebrities, who appear perfect on screen or in magazines, have filters and photoshop to thank for, yet... here he is.
A demigod who somehow appears capable enough to take down a raging bull and recite poetry as the patron saint of beauty and art himself. He’s perfectly proportioned, with the features of an ancient Greek statue and eyes like shards of ice.
A picturesque strand of dark brown hair falls over his raised eyebrow as he cocks his head, watching me expectantly. He’s even wearing a black shirt like in one of his famous paintings, complete with rolled up sleeves and the top three buttons open.
Maybe I’m not really in his home? Maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown in the back of an ambulance, and my consciousness has retreated to the safety of my revenge fantasy?
My hands tremble, but I aim the gun at him. “On your knees,” I choke out, not even recognizing my voice through the rasp and the balaclava. I’ve replayed this in my head so many times, but now that fantasy has become reality, I’m adrift.
Sevastyan—or perhaps this is simply his favorite model whose identity he’s stolen?—finishes his wine, then drops the metal goblet to the floor, brows drawn in a frown that’s just as perfect as any other expression he could possibly make. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and even his Russian accent makes my heart skip a beat.
I’m at loss. I’ve broken into his house. I’m pointing a gun at him. My pulse thuds in my ears as if the monsterinside is trying to get out, and Sevastyan is standing there without a single worry.
I’m about ready to pull the trigger simply because of how angry he makes me. As if I’m not worth acknowledging despite having the means to kill him right this very second. As if someone like me is incapable of being terrifying.
“Are…are you not afraid?”
I can’t believe it when he chuckles, eyes shining with amusement as he takes another look at me, still as relaxed as ever. “Of what? Nobody knows you’re here, and you have no family to report you missing.”
My stomach sinks. How does he know that?
What the fuck?
“I… I’m not bluffing. This gun is loaded,” I try as a chill climbs up my spine.
He steps back, surely about to slam the door in my face and then call the police, but I won’t let him.
I’ve dreamed of this for far too long to let uncertainty thwart me now.
