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It doesn’t matter who I am or who my father is. When push comes to shove, I’m unable to do anything except for playing by the rules.
My focus falls on Aleksander’s car across the street and I hide my phone, then quicken my pace to inside the building, my mind nearly exploding with a thousand thoughts.
If I suspected it before, then I’m sure about it now.
I’m a danger to Knox.
If I don’t stay away from him, he’ll sure as hell get killed.
My heart squeezes, then thumps loudly in a sporadic rhythm. The possibility of something happening to him churns the contents of my stomach until I feel like I’m going to throw up on the sidewalk.
I place a hand on my chest, trying to quench the nausea rising to my throat.
But it only gets worse.
I shouldn’t have slept with him that day.
I shouldn’t have been selfish and wished for something I’m not allowed to have.
What’s more, I should’ve run as fast as I could the day I met him again. Just why the hell did I let it go so far?
Why did I allow him to become such a vital part of my life that I feel physically sick at the thought of parting from him?
“What is it?”
I jolt near the reception area and nearly spill the coffee. I realize I’m grasping the holder in a death-grip and my whole body is tight as I look over my shoulder.
To where I left Aleksander across the street.
I didn’t even notice Knox approaching me. He’s standing in front of me now, wearing a sharp gray suit and holding his leather briefcase.
Lauren and Chris are a few steps behind him. They’re going to a hearing, I recall. Sandra’s. I said I wouldn’t be able to attend today, because I’m sure Adrian or Kirill will be there. Or worse, someone else.
And if I were to see any of them, I’d have a meltdown of epic proportions.
“Jane.” There’s a warning in his tone, a demand for me to answer his question.
On one hand, I’m thankful he respects my choice about my public persona and didn’t call me Anastasia. But on the other hand, I’m starting to hate this name.
The fake one.
Thewrongone.
“It’s…nothing.”
He grabs me by the elbow and pushes me to the hall, away from eavesdroppers.
Then he’s towering over me, his height and presence blocking any outside interference and causing my stomach to tighten. I’ve always loved having him so close that I can’t see anyone past him.
When did this position become my favorite?
He observes me for a second, his lethal eyes narrowing for a beat. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“There’s really n—”
“Don’t finish that lie.” His features harden and a muscle works in his jaw. That’s when I know that I won’t like what he’ll say next. “You think I haven’t noticed your jumpy, shifty attitude since I caught you packing and ready to run? I’ve given you enough time to mull it over and I need an answer now.”
My focus shifts sideways when someone passes us by. “This isn’t the time or place. Don’t you have a hearing?”
