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That was understandable.

I could've lived with that.

I was just a girl trapped in an awful situation, and I did what I needed to do to survive.

Survival was acceptable.

What I did wasn't about survival.

I gave myself over to it, to him.

It didn't matter that I hated him.

I didn't want what happened, but I didn't fight it either.

I submitted to him, to his power.

My body responded in ways that it shouldn't have.

I didn't recoil from his kiss.

I melted into it.

Into him.

When he put me on my knees, warmth sparked between my thighs, then grew, spreading to my limbs.

No. That wasn't true.

If I was going to be completely honest with myself, I was aroused the second our eyes met.

My heart caught in my throat, some emotion that I should not have felt at that moment.

That was why it took me a moment to run.

That was why I couldn't escape that moment.

I was struck by him, by his handsome features, his air of dominance and power.

For a second, I was frozen in admiration for the man I saw in front of me.

He wasn't a coward who would sell his daughter and mother out to cover his gambling debts.

He wasn't a loser who would cheat on a woman and then throw her out.

Pavel Ivanov wasn't some little boy who would take from those he loved.

He was a man.

A warrior who would protect his family.

For just a moment, I allowed myself to fantasize what it would be like to have a man wrap me in his arms and tell me that everything was going to be okay. That I didn't have to worry. That he would handle everything.

That I wasn't alone anymore.

That just for one fucking second, I didn't have to be the strong one. The independent one. The responsible one. The one who wasn't allowed to buckle under the weight of all her problems.

That just once, I could hear someone else say “I got this” and be able to believe it. Trust in it.