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I push open the door to my workroom and gasp, my eyes widening. "Oh my god," I breathe, taking in the transformation before me.

The room is bigger—so much more than I thought possible. My eyes travel to the back and I notice a wall missing.

Of course. I remember Denis telling me once that there was a false compartment in the store. He’s pulled it down, giving me access to a larger space.

The once cramped room has been expanded into a light-filled oasis. Sunlight streams through new skylights, illuminating gleaming wood floors and crisp white walls. Where there was once clutter, there are now sleek storage solutions and ample workspace.

My feet carry me into the room of their own accord as I spin slowly, trying to take it all in. "I can't believe this," I murmur, running my fingers reverently over the smooth surface of a massive new sewing table.

The rich scent of fresh wood and paint tickles my nose as I explore further. Excitement bubbles up inside me, and I can't contain a delighted squeal as I discover shelf after shelf stocked with every type of fabric, notion, and supply I could possibly need.

"How did he know?" I wonder aloud, marveling at the thoughtful details. There's even a cozy reading nook tucked in the corner, complete with a plush armchair that looks perfect for curling up with my sketchbook.

I twirl again, my curvy figure swaying as joy overtakes me. A giddy laugh escapes my lips. "This is amazing!" I exclaim to the empty room, picturing all the creations I'll be able to bring to life in this space.

My fingers trace the spines of neatly organized fashion books, then dance across rows of colorful thread spools. It's like he read my mind, I think to myself, shaking my head in disbelief.

The possibilities seem endless, limited only by my imagination. For the first time in ages, I feel a spark of true creative excitement.

I quickly pull out my sketchbook and settle down in my new nook. But as I draw and find myself calming down, the initial euphoria begins to settle, and a knot forms instead. This generous gesture from Denis is… unexpected. I sink into the plush armchair, my brow furrowing as I wrestle with conflicting emotions.

"It's so thoughtful," I murmur, running my hand along the soft fabric. "But why? What does he want from me?"

My mind drifts to Denis's intense gray eyes, flecked with green, always watching me. There's kindness there in how he’s nice to me, and caters to all my needs in a quiet manner, from a respectable distance. Take this workroom, for example. He could have brought me in here himself, made it a whole show and tell. But, he did what he had to behind the scenes and let me discover it in my own time.

Yet, I’m also aware of how he’s always watching from a distance. Sometimes, he walks in here, watches me work undisturbed, and leaves. The door to his office remains open, and when I cross it, his eyes always find mine. He’s changed his mealtimes around, to ensure I have the company he thinks I need.

His quiet presence brings with it something… unspeakable. Something that makes my pulse quicken in ways I'm not entirely comfortable admitting.

I shake my head, trying to stop the anxiety coursing through me. I chuckle softly, picturing Denis meticulously planning this renovation. In my mind's eye, I see him with a tape measure, his tall, muscled frame bent over blueprints, that serious expression etched on his face. No, that's not quite right, I imagine him muttering, adjusting some minuscule detail to ensure perfection.

The mental image is so absurd—the powerful, enigmatic Denis fussing over fabric swatches—that I can't help but giggle. But even as laughter bubbles up, that nagging worry persists.

"He's being so nice," I muse aloud, twirling a strand of my dark blonde hair. "But what if it's just to… to keep me compliant? To make me forget that this isn't really my choice?"

I shake my head, trying to dispel the doubts. "No, Natalia," I scold myself. "Don't be ungrateful. Just enjoy this beautiful gift."

But as I gaze around the room once more, I can't shake the feeling that with every kindness, the invisible bonds tying me to Denis only grow stronger.

***

A sharp ring of the bell at the door startles me from my reverie. I head out to open it, knowing Denis will be working, to find a delivery man holding several large boxes.

"Delivery for Natalia Orlov," he announces.

"That's me," I reply, my curiosity piqued.

As I sign for the packages, I can't help but wonder what these packages are. The boxes are surprisingly heavy as I drag them into my new workroom. My fingers tremble slightly as I tear into the first one.

"Oh my god," I gasp, pulling out bolt after bolt of exquisite fabrics. Silks, velvets, delicate laces—each more beautiful than the last. The second box reveals an array of threads, buttons, and trimmings in every color imaginable. The third contains state-of-the-art sewing tools I've only dreamed of owning.

"This is too much," I whisper, overwhelmed by the generosity. My heart swells with gratitude, pushing aside my earlier doubts.

I have to thank him properly.

Impulsively, I decide to seek Denis out.

I approach Denis's office, my heart quickening with each step. The door, as always, is ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway. I pause, my hand hovering inches from the polished wood.

Should I knock?

Yes. I should.

Three swift tapes. I hear wood scraping against wood. Footsteps coming my way and I part the door just as it swings open by force not my own.

"Denis!" I gasp, stumbling back.

He fills the doorway, his imposing frame blocking the light from within. But it's not his presence that makes my blood run cold. It's the sight of him—disheveled, shirt torn, and unmistakably splattered with blood.

"Oh my God," I breathe, rushing forward without thinking. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

My hands flutter uselessly, wanting to check him for injuries but hesitant to touch, to hurt. His eyes widen with surprise.

"Natalia—” he tries to say something, his voice rough, but my mind is running in circles trying to comprehend what I’m seeing, to remember why I’m here.

"I was looking for you, I wanted to thank—" I shake my head, pushing aside my original purpose. It’s like my brain is on overdrive, refusing to work, unable to prioritize. I’m in shock, I think. "Never mind that. Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? What happened?"

There’s just so much blood. His collar, his entire chest, the sleeves of his arm—all rust over pristine white.

Denis catches my wrist gently as I reach for him. His touch sends a jolt through me.

"I'm fine," he says, his tone softening.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I swallow hard, a chill racing down my spine despite the warmth of his hand on my skin.

"How did—" I start to ask, but then his phone rings. He walks back, puts it on loud as he takes a seat, and settles into it.

He looks utterly exhausted, and for some reason, I’m worried sick for him.

A gravelly voice cuts through the tension, emanating from the speakerphone on Denis's desk.

"Excellent work, Denis. That kill was clean and efficient. The message has been sent loud and clear."

My eyes widen, shock coursing through my body like an electric current on hearing Abram’s voice. I stumble backward, my gaze locked on Denis's face. His expression hardens, those mesmerizing gray-green eyes now unreadable.

"A… kill?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. The word feels wrong on my tongue, alien and horrifying.

My mind races, desperately trying to make sense of what I've just heard. I take another step back, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might burst from my chest.

The reality of who he truly is crashes over me like a tidal wave. The man before me—bloodied, dangerous, a killer—how can he be the same person who made me feel so cherished, so seen?

Denis is still talking to Abram, something about how he made sure they left no trace. Something about a body being thrown in the Hudson.

My instincts scream at me to run, to get as far away from this man as possible.

I turn on my heel, moving with a speed I didn't know I possessed. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm as I flee the office, my footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away furiously.

"How could I have been so blind?" I whisper to myself, the words catching in my throat. The memory of his thoughtful gestures, the workroom he created just for me, clashes violently with the reality of what I've just learned.

The image of Denis bloodied and disheveled flashes through my mind. I shudder, entering my room and shutting my door behind me, before falling into my bed.

He’s not who I thought he was. He’s just like my brothers. Dangerous, a murderer.

And yet, I remember the gentleness in his eyes when he looks at me. The way his large hand feels when it rests on the small of my back, protective and warm.

Stop it, Natalia, I scold myself. You can't justify this. He’s the same as all the men in your life. He’s only better at pretending to be someone else. At masking it.