Page 46

Turns out, if you hurt yourself, it hurts. Would not recommend it, zero out of ten.

I open the cabinet, expecting it to be half-empty, only to find my entire skincare routine lined up neatly on the shelf, every bottle brand new.

Sweet mother of God.

Now he knows the skincare products I use? And he had the gall to look offended when I called him a pervert?

But it doesn’t stop the slow smile from spreading on my face.

“I’m ready, where are we off to?” I clap my hands with excitement when I make my way downstairs.

Sergei is perched on the couch, a laptop in his hands as he slowly looks up.

“Elara!” He turns at the sound of my footsteps, his gaze sweeping over me before a defeated sigh escapes him. “You can’t walk around in those joggers. They’re far too big.”

I glance down at the oversized joggers threatening to pool around my ankles. They’re at least four sizes too big, and the cuffs I’ve rolled up are already unravelling.

Well…The man is absurdly tall. And I wasn’t going to wear my shorts and tube top and have him look at my scars.

I don’t know when he’d found the time to make space for my things in his closet. But when I stepped into the walk-in wardrobe earlier, a small section had been cleared for me, my clothes hanging neatly among his.

It was such a welcoming sight, I couldn’t bear to see and it grabbed the first thing on his side without thinking.

“And that concerns you, how?” I walk past him, finally taking a good look at his penthouse.

It spans two floors, one entire wall made of floor-to-ceiling windows that flood the space with morning light, reflecting off polished marble floors and modern interiors.

A floating staircase leads to the private upper level, where his bedroom and walk-in wardrobe is, the only room on that floor.

The space is luxurious, and meticulously ordered, replicating his personality, nothing like my skimpy little messy flat.

However, the view is what steals my breath, a clear blue sky, with every street, every building in sight.

I would reconsider dying everyday if I woke up to a view this beautiful.

But I suppose even beauty can’t resurrect a rotten soul.

The beauty being the view. The rotten soul being me, of course.

“Elara.” His voice comes from directly behind me. I hadn’t even heard him move. “You’ve got to change, malyshka.” His voice drops into a whisper, his accent thickening. “Those sleeves are only going to irritate the rashes.”

Fuck me.

I don’t think I heard a single word after malyshka.

“What?” I reply just to hear him talk.

“Lift your hands up. I’m going to remove your clothes.”

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

I do just that.

My hands lift, resting on the glass wall. My eyes on the view outside but every nerve in my body is tuned into him.

His hands hover on my stomach, moving under the hem and when his rough hands come in contact with my raw skin, I hiss on instinct.

No part of him touches me except his hands, carefully guiding the fabric upwards, he tries to help me change. His breath brushes my jaw and I instinctively lean back.