Page 20 of His Stolen Bride

The hours drag.

I pick at my food. I sit at the desk again. I add to the list, cross things out, rewrite them. I try to remember the men who came around after my father started sending me those messages that were always cheerful and always slightly too eager.

It’s getting better, Alya.

It’s almost done.

Later.

Always later.

At some point, I hear footsteps in the hall that don’t belong to guards.

My skin tightens before I even open the door.

Mikhail steps in without knocking, and I hate that part of me is relieved, because it means the day is moving, and moving means I’m not stuck alone with my thoughts.

He looks tired. Not weak-tired. Controlled-tired. The kind that comes from being awake for too long and refusing to show it.

His eyes flick to the paper on the desk. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I reply.

Mikhail’s gaze stays on the paper for a beat, then returns to me. “Call.”

He holds out my phone.

My hands shake when I take it, and I hate that he sees it. I dial from memory, because I’ve dialed this number a thousand times. It rings once, twice.

No answer.

My stomach drops.

I call again. Same result.

My mouth goes dry. “Where is she?”

Mikhail’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen, and that scares me more than anger. He reaches for his own phone.

Before he can do anything, his device buzzes.

He looks at the screen, and something in him goes still. He answers. “Speak.”

I can’t hear the other voice, but I can see Mikhail listening. Then his gaze snaps to me, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I feel the room tilt.

He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t reach for me.

He says, “Where?”

A pause.

Then Mikhail’s jaw tightens until a muscle jumps near his cheek. He nods to himself and ends the call. He stares at me for a beat too long, then speaks, each word precise. “Your mother was shot,” he says. “Outside a grocery store.”

5

ALINA

The sentence doesn’t land, at least not for the first ten minutes. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The phone in my hand feels unreal. My fingers go numb. “No,” I whisper.