Page 41 of Maxim

I never would have thought that a bed would become my gilded cage.

How did I end up here? How has my life become this?

I know exactly how this happened, but that’s beside the point.

Quietly, I sigh.

I can feel Maxim’s eyes on me even though I have my back turned toward him. He’s always watching me. Or at least he has been since he found me.

Why didn’t he just let me die? Why did he have to save me? It’s not like my life matters to him.

I shift ever so slightly as I pretend to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake and have been,” he says gruffly.

Shit. Why can’t I do anything right?

I roll over and face him but keep my mouth shut. I know how this goes. Carefully I get out of bed. Once I’m sure I can stand without feeling faint, I move toward the bathroom. For a split second I contemplate closing the door to pee in peace, but I know how that will play out, so I keep the door open.

Not that he would tell me I couldn’t, but he would time me and burst in if I take too long. He’s already done it once this week. Leaving the door open seems to give him some comfort.

After doing my business and washing my hands, I walk back into the bedroom. He’s standing by the door and ushers me to walk in front of him. I make my way to a stool at the island and sit while he starts grabbing food for the both of us.

For the last three days this has been our lives. He doesn’t trust me, not that I blame him. Without thinking, I let out a heavy sigh.

“What do you need, Olena?” he asks without looking up as he puts toast in the toaster.

“Nothing. Sorry for disturbing you. It won’t happen again,” I say quietly.

He looks over his shoulder and quirks his brow. “What did I tell you about lying?”

Maxim told me he hates liars. At the time the remark stung because I feel like that’s all my life has been. One giant lie.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I contemplate telling him the truth. What’s the worst that can happen? He says no?

“I need some space. I’m not used to someone constantly hovering.”

“Your father didn’t have a guard permanently with you?” he asks, making me cringe.

“He did, but I was always allowed some alone time as long as I was home,” I tell him, honestly.

He’s quiet as he plates our food and then sets a plate in front of me.

“I’m afraid if I were to give you space like you wish that you would hurt yourself again,” he says bluntly.

“Why?”

He raises a brow, silently telling me to complete my sentence. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The man knows exactly what I’m asking.

“Why do you care so much?”

“I just do.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. You don’t know me.”

“You’re young, and your life has barely started. You deserve to live.”

“But I have nothing to live for,” I tell him softly.