Page 92 of Twisted Proposal

Out here, the dense forest and the wildlife limited the access points.

I outright criticized my cousin for putting his wife as his first priority in his choices. I openly mocked him for chasing this woman for three years and not being able to find her.

Now I knew that if Viktoria ran again, if she somehow got out of the city, it wouldn’t matter how long it took. I would search every square mile of this planet until I had her back in my bed.

There was no length that I wouldn't go to keep her safe.

The realization rattled me to my core. I'd been consumed by women before—by their bodies, by the conquest—but never by the need to protect. Never by the desire to see them smile. When had this little captive crawled under my skin and into whatever remained of my heart?

A crash sounded behind me, followed by several raised voices, ruining the calming effect of the view.

Getting up, I went to see who did what now, just to find Pavel clutching his sides as he laughed at two of the men trying to climb on top of a white sofa in their muddy boots to check a camera.

Viktoria did not deserve to stay in a home with dirty furniture.

"Get the fuck down," I barked, startling one of the men into falling backward onto the floor, breaking the coffee table on the way down.

With my jaw clenched, I waited for him to stand up and dust himself off before I laid into him.

"Now I have to get that table and the sofa replaced because you're not housebroken."

"I'm sorry boss, I'll pay you–"

"I don't give a fuck about the money. We are running low on time. I need this house secure and ready yesterday."

Pavel grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the office. I turned on my heel and returned to the window.

"Explain yourself," Pavel said.

"You forget who I am, brother, I don't have to explain myself to you or anyone else," I snapped.

"You just almost took one of our most trusted men's heads off because he put a footprint on a sofa, a leather sofa, by the way, where it'll wipe away cleanly. The coffee table he broke isn't even yours."

"I don't care. This place needs to be perfect."

"Why?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. Pavel always saw too much, and he already knew why.

"Because Viktoria isn't going to like being stripped of her freedom. She puts too much value on her independence. When she gets here, I need everything in place. I need this place to be good enough that she’ll choose to stay."

"I didn't realize you were giving her a choice," Pavel said.

"I'm not. But I have found things go far smoother if Viktoria thinks it's her idea."

"Is she, though? Is she going to think any of this was her idea?"

"No," I said, realizing that it didn't matter how nice this place was. When she got here, it would be a fight. It didn't matter if it was because of the house itself or how I was intending to change her last name.

I turned away from Pavel, unwilling to let him see the turmoil in my eyes.

This wasn't me—this obsessive need to please her, to keep her safe, to make her happy.

I was becoming a man I didn't recognize, a man weakened by emotion.

And the most terrifying part was that I couldn't bring myself to stop.

"You're in too deep," Pavel said quietly.

"Shut up," I growled, but there was no real venom in it. He was right, and we both knew it.