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And eventually, he'll know the truth about me too.

Because at this point, I know for a fact that what he said about chasing me is true. And even if I could erase my existence—disappear off the face of the earth, never to be found—I know that’s not what’s tethering me to him right now either.

Deep down, I’m intrigued. Curious. No one has ever made me feel as alive as he does, even when that feeling is laced with danger.

And I can’t help but wonder—have I finally met my match?

I was interested in the Irish, only inasmuch as what they could offer me. But I didn't like any of them. They're too old-fashioned, too set in their ways.

And I thought I actually didn't have a romantic bone in my body.

Maybe I was wrong. Even now, when he tells me that he's going to punish me, excitement curls in my belly. Will he hurt me again? I want him to. It's strangely cathartic in a way I can't explain, and I’m not sure I would want to, even if I could.

"I'm going to get my clothes and wash them," I tell him softly, then mumble under my breath.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“I just wish I had my… clothes and things.”

“Your disguises?” he asks, eyes cold.

“I like to dress up.” I shrug. “So maybe I like a little cosplay.”

When he crosses his arms on his chest, his eyes grow colder. “Maybe you like to hide.”

My heart thumps. I get the message loud and clear:There is no hiding here.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear, Anissa. You could walk around in a fucking sack for all I care, and it wouldn’t matter. My parents will still hate you because you’re mine. And Rafail won’t forgive you for what happened, but he’ll eventually forget.”

How does he see right through me? How do I see right throughhim?

I freeze as our eyes lock. This is fucked up and inevitable, and I don’t know how to handle it. This is some kind of freaky soulmate-level shit I’m unprepared for.

I shake my head, feeling uncomfortable.

We’re wasting time.

“Where’s your washer and dryer?”

"I might as well give you the tour."

“Yeah.”

He doesn't touch me but stands so close I can feel his heat licking up my spine. My hands are eager to touch him, to ground myself in the reality of Matvei, the man who… owns me.

I could lean into this.

My heart beats faster, and I hate myself for it. I've been dragged through hell by the men who thought they owned me. I've been beaten, abused. It forged me into who I am today.

I won’t think of that now.

I look away because I don't want him to somehow read my mind. I'm afraid that if he meets my eyes again, he'll see the replay of that night over and over and over again… just like I do when I close my eyes to sleep. When I run my hands over the scars on my belly.

I follow him as he points to the kitchen, the entryway that leads to the garage, a large sitting area, and a paved patio on the other side of glass doors, barely visible now that it’s dark out.

And as he gives me the tour, he looks over his shoulder at me from time to time.

It’s unsettling. No one’s ever looked at me like this—like I’m a challenge and a prize, an answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. And I know then that if somehow I did manage to escape tomorrow, he would burn down the world to find me.