Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Still, I ducked into the bathroom to check my reflection, smoothing out stray hairs and reapplying my lip gloss with hands that trembled more than they should have. Why did I care?
The last few months had been strange. I knew when I ran it was in vain, but I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. If I had stayed, it would have been a surrender.
So, in a desperate, reckless attempt to take control of my own life, I stole a car from Gregor Ivanov and ran.
Kostya had been on my trail before I even crossed the Virginia state border. I could feel him before I saw him, a dark shadow pressing against my skin. And when I finally glanced in the rearview mirror, there he was, behind the wheel of a sleek, black sports car.
One of Gregor’s favorites, Yelena had mentioned. One he never lets anyone touch.
But Kostya had taken it. Because this was personal.
I should have been terrified. I was. But there was another feeling there too, something hot and aching that I refused to name.
I was caught, and I knew it. Except...he never closed the distance. Never chased me down.
I stopped for gas twice, using a credit card I had stolen from his wallet like a taunt, daring him to react. But he didn’t.
Instead, he let me run.
And that scared me more than anything.
Had he finally given up? Decided I wasn’t worth the trouble? The second that thought entered my mind, I knew it was wrong. Kostya didn’t let things go.
By the time I reached my old, rented room in Chicago, my belongings were gone. All of them.
The only thing left was a note with an address and a key.
No threats. No commands. Just a simple, silent message.
He was still playing with me.
A slow, twisting fear wrapped around my ribs. Not because I didn’t know what was coming, because I did. Because I had fought so hard to escape, and yet some desperate, shameful part of me was already thinking about running straight back into his arms.
I sank onto the edge of the bare mattress, my hands clenched in my lap. This was it.
I had made my valiant effort. Time and time again. And now?
Now, it was time to face whatever punishment my husband had waiting for me.
And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I feared it…or wanted it.
The address led me to a penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Michigan.
It was stunning. Every inch of it was sleek and commanding, with dark furniture and bold, clean lines that reflected the steel and glass of the city outside. Depending on which room I was in, I had breathtaking views of the river, the lake, and the endless stretch of Chicago’s skyline. I was even close enough to Navy Pier to watch the fireworks in the summer.
If I was still here that long.
The place felt like Kostya. The power in the space was unmistakable. It wasn’t just the expensive furnishings or the luxury, it was him. His presence lingered in the walls, in the way the shadows stretched through the floor-to-ceiling windows at night. I had no idea why he had a penthouse here.
But I knew exactly why I was in it.
That first night, I sat in silence, breathless, waiting for the inevitable. I expected him to storm through the door, expected his fury, expected him to remind me exactly why running had been futile.
But he never came.
Night after night, I sat there, waiting for him. Dreading him. Hoping for him.
And still—nothing.
By the end of the week, my nerves were shredded. The waiting was unbearable. The silence was worse. Kostya was out there, watching, circling, and I had no idea when he would strike. Or if he even would.
At some point, I forced myself to stop living in limbo. If he wasn’t going to come for me, then I had to keep moving. I returned to my old job, not because I needed the money. He hadn’t even cut off his card. No, I went back because I needed something, anything, to hold onto. The restaurant had always felt safe, familiar. It was something normal.
For a little while, I let myself pretend.
But then, on my third shift, I felt it.
A presence. A change in the air.
Not the sharp, crawling sensation of a threat. This was different. It wasn’t someone hunting me. It was someone watching over me.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Kostya.
I didn’t know how I knew…I just did.
But the strangest part wasn’t that he was there. It was that he was still keeping his distance. He hadn’t stormed into my life, hadn’t dragged me back to wherever he thought I belonged. He hadn’t even spoken to me.
Why?
The question ate at me, gnawed at the edges of my resolve.
At first, my anxiety was unbearable. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment he would finally decide he’d had enough of the game. But the longer the days stretched without him making a move, the more that fear twisted into something worse.