Page 18 of Twisted Proposal

"Get some rest," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that seemed to vibrate through my bones.

Then he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and the cold certainty that my life would never be the same again.

I was no longer my father's prisoner.

I was Artem's.

And somehow, that terrified me even more.

CHAPTER7

VIKTORIA

Two weeks later.

I was a fool to think that Artem would really give me my freedom.

The very next day, the bursar's office asked me to come in to meet with them. When I did, they handed me a check for all the fees I'd scraped together to pay them for the current semester.

Artem had paid my tuition and room and board fees, not only for the current semester but for the next year and a half.

I just didn't know why. I knew he killed my father and younger brother, but men like Artem wouldn't put me through school as some kind of penance to soothe a guilty conscience.

From what little I had heard about the Ivanovs, if Artem was inclined to make amends for anything, I wouldn't even make the top one hundred.

Still, most mafia men would just marry me off to become someone else's problem. Or forget about me altogether.

Artem's presence haunted me, though I hadn't seen him since that night.

In the stillness of my dorm room at night, I'd find myself replaying our encounter—the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his touch.

Each night, I forced myself to push these thoughts aside, yet they returned with stubborn persistence, intruding on my dreams when my defenses were down.

I hadn't seen the rest of my family either, which confirmed my suspicions.

They were gone. Finally.

I knew I should mourn them, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

The only thing I felt was relief.

I let myself believe in the fantasy of freedom, and it felt amazing.

For a few brief, wonderful moments, I felt light.

I didn't look over my shoulder or overthink every action.

I could breathe.

I let the rush of adrenaline and the promise of having a life cloud my mind, so the first time I saw a man in a black-on-black suit following me, I thought nothing of it.

I was in Virginia after all, just outside the capital.

Maybe he was a secret service agent for one of the other students.

It had been made abundantly clear to me that most of the students came from the best boarding schools around the world. Many of them were the sons and daughters of diplomats, politicians, and CEOs. Surely one of them was important enough to warrant security.

Then I saw more.