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I nodded, giving him a bright smile and before I even realized what I was doing, I pushed up on my tiptoes, leaned in, and kissed him goodbye on the cheek.

Time stopped.

It was such a small, simple gesture, nothing compared to the intense, kinky-as-fuck sex we had regularly, and yet—somehow—it meant more.

It wasn't some carnal need that was fueled by hormones or chemistry.

The kiss was affection.

Pure, simple affection.

It was a sign of care and tenderness.

One that slipped out like it was a habit.

Pavel's fingers brushed my lips. "Hurry back to me,moy kotyonochek."

My heart fluttered, and a calm warmth slid over my body.

When did that nickname become so endearing to me?

Unable to speak, afraid I might change my mind and spend the next hour in my husband's bed, I turned and rushed out.

The gallery visit started perfectly, but something felt off not long after I arrived.

The sun was shining and the second I stepped out of the car, Nadia pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back.

And I laughed. Really laughed.

I could breathe fresh air. I felt the sun on my face, and it was incredible.

The girls were thrilled to show me their progress; the business was thriving under their work, and I could see the positive effects of my guidance.

God, that felt good.

I had spent so long filling drinks and emptying garbage cans just to survive, that I forgot what it felt like to do something that had a direct impact.

Something that wasn't just supporting other people's work or self-destructive habits.

I felt normal for the first time in almost three years.

It was the first time since those men showed up that I didn't have a sword hanging over my head.

I wasn't waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I could just live.

I could just be me without the crippling debt pulling me down. There was no gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach, no worrying how I was going to make rent, or if someone was going to lunge at me. I was smiling, laughing, sharing in the excitement of women who I barely knew but who treated me like family.

As my grandmother would have said, I was finally acting my age.

But as we toured the gallery, I couldn't shake thefeeling we were being watched. More than once, I caught glimpses of unmarked cars lingering across the street, their occupants too interested in our building. When I mentioned it to Marina, she brushed it off as normal city surveillance, but the knot in my stomach only tightened and the unease persisted.

Pavel's guards kept checking their phones, their expressions growing grimmer with each message.

Something was happening, and they weren't telling me what.

When the guard, a man in a black-on-black tactical suit came into the gallery and tapped his watch, I knew the fun was over, but I wasn't sad.