Page 42 of His Contract Queen

She’s down the steps before I even have the car door shut.

The moment her feet hit the drive, she runs for me. She’s already reaching for me, her eyes sweeping over my body and widening when they land on the dark stains streaked across my clothing. Blood has soaked through the fabric, smeared across the front of my jacket, seeping into the creases of my shirt. It’s still tacky in places, clinging to my skin uncomfortably.

There’s no mistaking what it is, no pretending it’s anything other than what it looks like.

“Are you hurt?” she asks breathlessly. Her hands hover over the stains on my chest, unsure where to start. “What the hell happened? Where did you go? Oh, my God, Aleks—why the hell didn’t you go to the damn hospital?”

Her voice quavers on the last sentence, anger and fear tangling so tightly together, they’re nearly indistinguishable from one another. She looks furious with me, eyes snapping between my face and my blood-soaked clothes, struggling to understand how I’m even standing upright with how much covers me.

Before she can start ripping my jacket off right there in the middle of the driveway, I catch her wrists gently. Her pulse jumps frantically under my fingers when I settle them over the delicate skin of her inner wrists. I brush my thumb over her pulse point, trying to anchor her.

“I’m fine,” I say, letting a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

Her concern is… unexpectedly charming.

“You’recoveredin blood!” she snaps. “Come inside. Oh my God, we need to call paramedics. You have medics on staff, right? What thefuck?”

For a split second, I consider deflecting, lying and telling her that it had been a business deal gone wrong and that she doesn’t need to know the details because they are mundane and unimportant. But then she grabs the lapels of my jacket, tugging me toward the steps with both hands, not caring in the slightest about the blood coating her palms, and I dismiss the thought entirely.

She deserves the truth.

Even if it breaks her.

I exhale slowly and plant both feet firmly on the ground, keeping her from dragging me another inch inside. Her head snaps up to glare at me, a silent, panicked demand for answers written across her face. Her eyes flick down again to my ruined clothes and uninjured frame. She registers the lack of pain in my posture the longer we stand here.

Confusion twists her features.

“Katerina,” I say quietly. Her body goes rigid at the use of her full name. “I went to see your father.”

For a long moment, she simply stares at me in disbelief. Her grip on my jacket tightens until her knuckles bleach white.

“He’s still alive,” I add before her panic can spiral.

The reassurance does absolutely nothing to soften the horror that floods her expression when she pulls her hands away from my jacket and looks down at the red smeared across her pale skin, soaking into the thin lines of her fingerprints. Her head shakes violently, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she stares down at them

“No…” she whispers.

My own fingers rub together at my sides, a restless, subtle motion I rarely allow myself to indulge. This… is harder than I thought it would be.

Contrary to popular belief, my wish isn’t to hurt her. Quite the opposite, actually. However, forcing someone to see the manipulation in which they were raised and accept that theperson they trusted most has used and abandoned them is not something that happens gently.

I knew going into this, far before I arrived back home, that she would push back. I knew she would refuse to believe me at first. That this breaking point would come before she pushed past the beliefs she’s been brainwashed into taking at face value.

I just didn’t expect the pain on her face to makemewant to hesitate.

“I found your burner phone underneath your mattress this morning.” I say.

She inhales sharply, the sound dangerously close to a sob. Her shoulders jerk with the motion.

I step closer, crowding into her space, forcing her eyes up to mine again. “I went to him to confirm some information.”

When she finally lifts her gaze, her lashes are wet. Guilt slices through me harsh enough to steal my breath from me.

“He lied to you, Katerina. About everything.”

12

KATERINA