Page 108 of His Stolen Bride

I should be offended. Instead, I laugh quietly because it’s too true.

Sofia’s grin turns soft. “Go. I’ll keep Oisin busy.”

“Oisin.”

Sofia lifts a hand like she’s swearing again. “He’s painting. It’s safe. I removed anything sharp, and yes, that includes his opinions.”

I shake my head and head for the office. My legs feel weak halfway down the hall. I push anyway.

When I reach the door, it’s closed. I knock once and open it. Mikhail is standing behind his desk, phone in his hand, eyes on a folder. His jacket is off again, sleeves rolled. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hand through it more than once.

He looks up the moment I enter.

His whole body stills. He hangs up the call without saying goodbye to whoever was on the other end.

“Are you supposed to be up?” he asks.

“Probably not,” I answer.

His gaze moves over me fast, then slower, checking for sway, checking for color, checking for any sign that I’m about to collapse. “I’m fine,” I say, because he’s doing that thing where he tries to control the room with his eyes.

He doesn’t buy it.

“Sit,” he says.

“I’m not⁠—”

“Alina,” he cuts in, not harsh, but final.

I sit in the chair across from him. He walks around the desk instead of staying behind it. He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel heat off him.

His eyes drop to my throat.

“I hate that mark,” he says quietly.

“It’ll fade,” I reply.

His jaw flexes. “It shouldn’t exist.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

So I say the thing that’s been lodged behind my ribs since I woke up. “I meant it,” I tell him.

His gaze lifts back to mine. “What?”

“I’m staying,” I say. “I’m not saying it because I’m scared. I’m saying it because I chose it.”

His face doesn’t change much. It never does. But his eyes do. Something loosens and something settles. “Okay,” he says.

Just that. No big speech, demand for proof, or pride.

He believes me, and that should make me feel calm, but it makes something inside me shake instead. I swallow. “Vladimir?”

He studies me for a beat. “He went quickly. Do you want details?”

I think about it.

I picture Vladimir’s hands on my chair. His finger under my chin. His smug smile. The way he said my mother was collateral like she was nothing.