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ELEVEN

MAXIM

T he feeling of helplessness is foreign to me, and I hate it. Sitting in the living room, nursing a bottle of whiskey, isn’t fixing anything, but I can’t bring myself to move. Sophia’s face—etched with utter fear and pain—is branded into my mind. It wasn’t me she was afraid of, at least not directly, but I was the one who caused her pain. My recklessness, my thoughtless actions, dredged up the worst parts of her past, and now, the weight of that guilt feels unbearable. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Dragging her like that—manhandling her, even in jest—when I know what she went through during the kidnapping. I’m supposed to be helping her heal, not ripping open wounds just barely beginning to scab over. She was doing so well this morning. Smiling. Laughing. For a fleeting moment, she was free of the weight she carries. And then, I had to go and fuck it all up.

I throw back the last mouthful of whiskey, its burn doing nothing to dull the ache in my chest. Slamming the bottle onto the coffee table, I push myself to my feet and head to my office.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve dealt with enemies, negotiations, life-or-death decisions—but this? Helping someone navigate trauma this deep? I’m lost.

But I’m going to change that.

Sitting down at my desk, I pull up my laptop and type: How to help someone with PTSD. A flood of articles fills the screen, and I begin reading, scrolling through tips and resources. I skim past the generic advice until something catches my eye: cold water. Apparently, shocking the body with cold water can pull someone out of a panic attack.

It worked earlier, didn’t it?

I dig deeper, searching for more. Hours pass in a blur as I absorb article after article. Trauma recovery. Anxiety attacks. Rebuilding trust. I can’t stop, even as the words blur together.

By the time sunlight filters through the office window, I’m exhausted but more determined than ever. I rub my hands over my face, trying to shake off the haze of sleep deprivation. My watch is nowhere in sight, but judging by the ache in my neck, I must’ve fallen asleep at some point.

Then, it hits me like a bolt of lightning.

Sophia .

Panic flares in my chest as I leap to my feet, the chair toppling over behind me. I left her alone. I wanted to give her space, but I wasn’t supposed to disappear for this long. The thought of her waking up alone—thinking I abandoned her or left her trapped—makes my stomach twist.

Fighting my instinct to be by her side every second has been a battle, but I’ve tried. I have to let her breathe, to let her feel like she has control. But my instincts, honed over years of protecting what’s mine, won’t let me rest.

Before I left last night, I’d stationed two guards outside my room. If anything happened, they would have come for me. Still, my worry claws at me as I make my way down the hall.

The guards step aside as I reach the door. Taking a deep breath, I push it open and exhale in relief at the sight before me.

Sophia lies curled on my bed, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. She’s safe.

But as I step closer, her peaceful appearance falters. Her brow furrows, her face etched with traces of pain even in sleep. My jaw tightens.

This place isn’t helping her. I’ve tried to make it a sanctuary, but the constant presence of my men, the weight of my world—it’s suffocating her. She needs freedom, space to breathe, somewhere she can heal without looking over her shoulder.

I strip off my clothes in the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the water warm as I brush my teeth. My mind drifts back to a night that feels like a lifetime ago.

We were eating ice cream outside a little mom-and-pop shop. She’d been radiant, the light catching her eyes as she laughed at something I said.

“Tell me, krasavitsa,” I’d asked, leaning closer. “If you could pack a bag right now and go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

She tilted her head, considering, as she licked her ice cream. The sight made my blood heat, my thoughts straying to places they shouldn’t.

“The French Polynesia islands,” she said finally, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always been a dream of mine to rent a water bungalow, wake up early, and watch the sunrise.”

She paused to wipe a bit of ice cream that had dripped onto the table. The gesture was simple, unremarkable, even, but in that moment, she was the most mesmerizing thing I’d ever seen.

“I’ve seen videos,” she continued, her voice growing more animated, “where people wake up, step outside, and jump straight into the ocean. Can you imagine that? Starting your day with the ocean right at your feet?”

Her laugh had been soft, a sound I could never get enough of. “And having breakfast delivered by canoe? That would be amazing.”

I’d been so captivated by her, so in awe of the lightness she carried even after everything she’d been through. Sitting there with her, I’d felt something I hadn’t in years—hope.

The urge to whisk her away, to give her everything she dreamed of, had been overwhelming. I’d gripped the table’s edge to stop myself from acting on it right then and there.

Now, standing under the steaming spray of the shower, I know what I have to do.

We’ll leave.

I’ll take her somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, a place where she can wake up to the ocean at her feet and the sunrise on her face.

She deserves that—and so much more.

As much as I’d love to make that specific dream of hers a reality, I can’t. Not right now. There’s too much chaos in my world to justify being thousands of miles away. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get us close to it, at least for now.

After finishing my shower, I throw on some clothes and check in on Sophia. She’s still curled up in bed, fast asleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest tugs at something deep inside me. She looks peaceful, and for someone who has faced what she has, that peace is a rare gift.

I don’t want to disturb her yet. Instead, I head to my office and make the arrangements for a getaway—something manageable but special. It takes longer than I expected. The hotel manager wasn’t making it easy, but money talks, and I made sure he couldn’t say no. I don’t care what strings he had to pull; it was only that he got it done.

Satisfied, I zip up my bag, having already packed hers earlier, and head to wake her. It’s late enough that the morning rush hour has passed, and I want to get us on the road before the day gets away from us.

When I walk into the room, she stirs, blinking at me through sleepy eyes.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, her voice soft and groggy as she sits up in bed.

A smile tugs at my lips as I take in the sight of her—messy hair, heavy-lidded gaze. It’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t try. “Good morning, krasavitsa,” I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Her expression shifts, a small, apologetic smile playing on her lips. “I’m sorry about last ni?—”

I raise my hand, cutting her off before she can finish. “Don’t you dare.” My voice is firm, the words low and rough in my throat. I move closer, crouching so I’m at her level. “Don’t ever apologize to me, Sophia. Not for last night, not for any of this.”

Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering in her wide eyes, but I keep going.

“Your feelings, your pain—none of it is something you should feel sorry for. Ever.” I brush my thumb along her cheek, watching as her breathing hitches. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I should’ve known better. I should’ve been better.”

Her eyes glisten, tears welling at the edges, and I know she’s on the verge of breaking again. But this time, I want her to break with me, not alone. “Can I hug you?” I ask, my voice softening as I wait for her permission.

For a moment, she stares at me like she can’t believe I’m asking instead of just taking. But then, slowly, she nods. I don’t waste a second, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close.

The weight of her in my arms feels grounding, and the scent of her shampoo—subtle and familiar—soothes something restless inside me. We stay like this, silent, just holding each other. Her face is buried in my chest, and I tighten my grip, willing her to feel every ounce of reassurance I’m trying to give.

When she finally pulls back, her eyes are glassy but dry, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

Go shower,” I say gently, my voice softer than usual. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her brows lift, curiosity flashing in her tired eyes. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I say with a small smile.

She narrows her eyes at me, hesitant. “Maxim, you know I hate surprises.”

I chuckle lightly. “I know. But trust me, this one’s different. Now, go get ready. I want to leave in forty-five minutes.”

The playfulness in her expression fades, replaced by a shadow of unease. She clutches the blanket tighter around herself, her voice dropping. “Leave? I don’t know, Maxim. What if something happens? What if?—”

I kneel beside her, my hands reaching for hers. “Sophia, look at me.” I wait until her eyes meet mine, her fear clear in their depths. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise. You’re safe now.”

Her lips tremble as she shakes her head. “You can’t promise that. Last time, I thought I was safe too.”

Her words pierce me, but I force my voice to stay steady. “I know,” I say softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “I know how hard this is for you. But you don’t have to carry this fear alone. I’ll be with you every second, and I have men watching every corner. You’re protected, Sophia. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She exhales shakily, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I’m scared,” she whispers, the vulnerability in her voice cutting straight to my heart.

I shift closer, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s okay to be scared,” I say, my voice as soft as I can make it. “But you don’t have to let that fear control you. You deserve to feel alive, to step outside without looking over your shoulder. Let me help you take that step.”

Her grip on the blanket loosens, but the way she clutches its edges betrays her lingering fear. She hesitates before throwing it back, the movement slow and uncertain, as if she’s peeling away a protective shield.

Before she can stand, I scoop her into my arms, holding her close. She lets out a startled laugh that sounds more like reflex than genuine amusement.

“Maxim,” she protests, but there’s a flicker of something lighter in her tone—a hint of warmth, maybe even trust.

I set her down carefully, my hands remaining at her waist for just a moment longer, grounding her. “Go shower,” I murmur, my voice soft but steady. “And don’t overthink it. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

She hesitates again, her gaze flickering between me and the bathroom. I see the battle raging in her—fear clawing at her resolve, warring with the fragile hope I’m trying to nurture.

“Trust me, please?” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper.

She takes in a shaky breath, her eyes a battlefield of emotions—fear, doubt, anger, and something fragile I can’t quite name. Finally, she nods, but it’s hesitant, almost reluctant.

Her agreement should feel like a victory, but instead, a weight settles in my chest. Why does it feel like no matter what I do, she might never truly trust me again?

I stay rooted in place, watching her go. My heart feels heavy, torn between the love I have for her and the crushing guilt of knowing I’m the reason she’s fighting this battle at all.