Page 10

The sunlight feels foreign against my skin, too bright after so many days locked away in that dim, suffocating room. The warmth of it should be comforting, should feel like freedom, but with the two guards flanking me, their presence a silent reminder of my captivity, nothing about this moment is peaceful.

I walk because I have no other choice.

Each step is slow, my body still weak from exhaustion, hunger gnawing at me despite my best efforts to ignore it. I focus on the sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the cool morning air.

It’s the first time I’ve been outside since Mikhail took me. Except, it’s not freedom.

It’s a leash. A carefully controlled allowance of air and sunlight, just enough to keep me from collapsing entirely.

I glance around, taking in the sprawling estate. The property is massive, lined with high walls and security cameras. There’s no way out, no gaps to slip through, no moment where I’m not being watched. I hate this place.

Then, something catches my eye.

A figure crouched near the garden, bent over, his hands moving with precise care. Mikhail.

My breath catches involuntarily. I freeze, watching him for a moment, my mind flickering back to the last time we spoke. After I broke down. After I cried in front of him like a weak, pathetic thing.

He had just stood there, watching me, silent and unreadable, before walking away.

Now, here he is, his back to me, his broad frame unnervingly still as he focuses on something in front of him.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I step closer, my heart pounding—not out of fear this time, but something else, something I can’t quite name.

The guards don’t stop me. Maybe they think I wouldn’t dare approach him without being forced. Maybe they don’t care.

That’s when I see it.

A small, injured kitten curled on the ground, its fur matted, one of its tiny paws curled at an odd angle. Mikhail is tending to it. The sight is so out of place, so wrong compared to the cold, ruthless man I’ve come to fear, that I almost laugh at the absurdity.

Mikhail Sharov, the man who put a bullet in me without hesitation, the man who looms over me like a monster in the dark. Here he is, tending to a helpless animal with more care than I thought him capable of.

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “You’re so cruel to humans but nice to animals.”

Mikhail stills.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Then, slowly, he straightens to his full height, towering over me as he turns to face me. His dark eyes lock on to mine, unreadable.

Something shifts in the air between us, the tension crackling like a slow-burning fuse. Then he speaks, his voice low, deliberate. “They are innocent and pure.”

His gaze dips lower, just for a second, his eyes flickering to my lips before returning to mine. My breath catches.

I feel the weight of it, the shift, the unspoken current running between us.

Mikhail’s gaze lingers on me, dark and unreadable. His presence alone feels suffocating, pressing against my skin like a weight I can’t shake.

For once, I’m not focused on him. My attention is locked on the small, fragile creature in front of me.

The kitten barely moves, its tiny body trembling, ears pinned flat against its head. Dried blood mats its fur, and one of its paws is curled unnaturally, injured. It looks pathetic. Vulnerable.

Just like I must have looked to Mikhail, crumpled in that cold room, crying and weak.

I swallow hard and kneel beside it. Pain flares up my arm from the gunshot wound, sharp and insistent, but I push through it. I refuse to let it stop me.

The kitten flinches at my touch, its thin body tensing as if expecting pain. I know that feeling.

Slowly, carefully, I scoop it up, cradling it to my chest. Its heartbeat flutters wildly, its small frame stiff, but I hold it close, stroking its head gently.

I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I murmur. My voice is quieter than I mean for it to be.

There’s a pause, and when he speaks, his tone is almost amused. “Oh?”

I nod, keeping my focus on the kitten. “You have to be gentle, but firm. If it thinks you’re unsure, it won’t trust you.”

Mikhail is silent, but I can feel him thinking, watching me.

I continue stroking the kitten’s head, whispering soft reassurances.

Slowly, its trembling subsides, its tiny body warming against me. I don’t know why, but something in my chest eases. It’s the first time since I was taken that I’ve held something fragile. The first time I’ve felt something other than fear, anger, or exhaustion.

The thought rises before I can stop it, slipping from my lips before I even consider what I’m asking.

“Can I keep it?”

I expect resistance.

Expect him to say no, to remind me that nothing in my life belongs to me anymore.

Instead, Mikhail exhales, running a hand through his short hair. “Take care of it,” he says simply, before turning and walking away.

I stare after him.

That’s it? No condition, no threats, no mocking remark?

I hold the kitten closer, pressing my lips together. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Maybe because, for the first time, I was given something rather than having something taken from me. Despite everything, I feel less alone with this small creature in my arms.

A moment passes, the air settling around me again.

Then I feel a sharp, prickling sensation crawling up my spine.

The unmistakable feeling of being watched.

I freeze. A chill spreads through my body, my grip tightening on the kitten as my pulse kicks up. Slowly, I glance toward the far edge of the estate.

A man stands there. He’s wearing dark clothing. He holds a casual stance, but too still, too deliberate to be anything but purposeful.

My stomach drops. I know him.

Not by name, but by face; he works for my father. He’s one of James Spade’s men.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me. Did they send him? Are they watching me, planning something?

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he’s gone. Vanished, slipping into the trees as if he was never there.

I stand frozen, my breath shallow, my pulse thundering in my ears. The man is gone, but the fear remains, sinking into my bones like ice. I grip the kitten a little tighter, needing something, anything, to ground me.

I should keep quiet, should pretend I saw nothing.

Unfortunately, Mikhail is already watching me, his expression shifting from mild disinterest to something far more focused.

I feel it—the shift in the air, the way his dark eyes narrow, the way he subtly straightens as if preparing for a fight.

“What is it?” His voice is sharp, cutting through my panic like a blade.

I shake my head instinctively, but the movement is small, uncertain.

His jaw clenches. “Don’t lie to me, Julie.”

I swallow hard. Lying would be useless. He’d see right through it. So instead, I carefully set the kitten down as I whisper, “I saw someone.”

Mikhail’s entire posture changes. The casual, cold arrogance is gone. In its place is something far more dangerous —a man slipping into Mafia mode, all sharp precision and ruthless intent.

His hand shoots out, gripping my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“Who?” His voice is deadly quiet, the kind that sends shivers racing down my spine.

I shake my head. “I don’t know his name, but… he works for my father.”

His fingers tighten fractionally before he releases me. Then he turns away, barking orders in rapid Russian to the two guards who had been standing nearby. They immediately spring into action, moving toward the area where I saw the man.

Mikhail doesn’t stop there. He pulls out his phone, pressing it to his ear as he strides forward. “I want eyes everywhere. Lock down the estate. Find him.”

My heart pounds harder. They’re coming for me.

A flicker of something like hope surges through me. Maybe my father sent someone to save me.

Maybe this is the moment I finally get out of here.

Mikhail’s sharp gaze snaps back to me, and suddenly, I know he won’t let that happen. Before I can react, his hand grips my wrist—tight, unyielding—and yanks me toward the mansion.

“No—!” I twist in his grip, struggling against him, but he barely reacts.

He drags me forward, his pace brutal, his strength overwhelming.

“Let me go!” I scream, jerking back, but it’s useless. His grip doesn’t falter.

“Stop fighting me, Julie.” His voice is calm, but I can hear the warning beneath it.

I don’t stop. I twist, kick, shove—anything to slow him down, to make it harder for him to take me back inside. If I go back in there, if I lose this chance… I might never get another.

My wild thrashing forces him to stop. For one brief second, I think maybe I’ve actually gotten through to him.

Then, in one swift movement, he yanks me forward, hoists me up, and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

I scream.

“Put me down!” I pound my fists against his back, kicking wildly. “Mikhail!”

Nothing. He doesn’t even stumble.

The guards standing outside the mansion don’t react, don’t flinch, don’t care as Mikhail carries me through the front doors.

“Someone’s looking for me!” I shout, desperate now, hoping—praying—that if my father’s man is nearby, he’ll hear me. “Help! Please!”

Mikhail growls, shifting his grip on me as he marches up the grand staircase. “Julie, shut up.”

I claw at his back, thrashing harder. “You can’t keep me here!”

“Watch me.”

I scream in frustration, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the heavy bedroom door slamming open.

Mikhail strides in and throws me onto the bed.

I land hard, my breath rushing out of me. Before I can scramble up, he’s already on me, pinning me down with his body, his large hands gripping my wrists.

“You think I’ll let you go because your father sent one of his dogs to sniff around?” His voice is a dark, angry whisper. “You think that makes a difference to me?”

I try to turn my head, try to push him off, but he’s too strong.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand.” His grip on my wrists tightens just enough to send a warning shiver through me. “No one is coming for you. Not your father. Not Sophia. No one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, trying to block out his words.

“They sent someone,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “That means they—”

“That means nothing.” His voice is ice. “James Spade sent a man to check on himself—not you. If he really wanted you back, he’d have stormed this estate with guns blazing. He didn’t. He won’t.”

I hate that his words sting.

I hate that I know he might be right.

My struggles weaken, exhaustion and hopelessness sinking into my limbs.

Mikhail watches me for a moment longer, then finally releases my wrists.

I immediately roll away, scrambling toward the edge of the bed, but I don’t run. There’s nowhere to go.

He exhales sharply, standing up. “Stay here.”

Like I have a choice.

He strides to the door, pulling it open. “Lock it,” he orders the guard outside.

The last thing I see before the door slams shut is his dark, unreadable gaze.

The second the door slams shut, I collapse back onto the bed, my entire body trembling. My pulse is still pounding in my ears, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Every inch of me feels wrong; like I’m suffocating, drowning, unable to claw my way back to the surface.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the feel of Mikhail’s hands on me, the way he effortlessly overpowered me, carried me like I was nothing.

He was right. No one is coming. Maybe I’ve known it all along, but hearing him say it out loud, so certain… it cracks something inside me.

They don’t care.

I curl up, wrapping my arms around myself, as if I can hold my own body together.

I wanted that man outside to be my rescue. Instead, I’m still here.

Still trapped. Still at his mercy.