Page 47 of Vendetta Vows

I feel safer here than I have in seven years.

What does that say about me? About him?

I press my forehead against the cool tile as steam curls up to caress me. Kristofer will never find me here. Not with Ruslan's men standing guard. Not with Ruslan's eyes tracking my every move.

Could I leave if I wanted to? The question twists in my mind as I shut off the water.

A more unsettling question follows: Do I want to?

Sighing, I turn the water off, wrap myself in a plush towel, and step out. My skin is flushed, and I know it's from more than just the hot water.

I emerge from the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to my shoulders.

On the bed, Daria has laid out a set of fresh clothes. A pair of black leggings and a collarless single-button blouse. Beside them sits a tray with a sandwich, some fruit, and a glass of orange juice.

I drop the towel and pull on the clothes, and find that they're close enough to my size to be comfortable.

Grabbing the cup of orange juice, I walk to the window, sipping slowly as I take in the view. The estate's grounds sprawl out below me. From this height, I can see the armed men patrolling the perimeter, their rifles glinting in the afternoon sun.

My stomach tightens. This isn't a sanctuary. It's a fortress.

I press my fingers against the cool glass, remembering the tower I spotted when we first drove up. The circular walls, the height... I'm definitely in it. Like some twisted fairy tale princess.

"Hannah must be losing her mind," I whisper.

My hand automatically reaches for my pocket before I realize. I have nothing. No phone, no wallet, not even my keys.

I left everything behind when I took Ruslan's offer.

The juice suddenly tastes sour on my tongue. I set the glass down, pressing both palms against the window as fresh guilt hits me.

Is Hannah home yet? What will she do when she finds a dead man in my room? What will she think? How will she contact me to know if I'm alright when she sees that my phone has been left behind?

A knock comes at the door.

I clear my throat. "Come in."

The door swings open, and Ruslan steps inside, ducking slightly beneath the frame. When those golden eyes meet mine, my heart does a completely inappropriate somersault.

My brain screams at me that this is wrong. He killed a man right in front of me not that long ago. His hands were literally stained with another human's blood.

But neither my body nor my mind seem to care about that.

Instead, they remember how those same hands saved my life, how they pulled me from danger, and how they offered me protection when I needed it most.

"Is the room comfortable?" His voice fills the space between us.

I gesture vaguely at the plush bed. "Haven't had a chance to try it yet."

He nods, a strange expression crossing his face as his eyes sweep over me in the borrowed clothes. "Are you alright?"

The question hits me with unexpected force. Those words feel so foreign after years of hiding, of never giving an honest answer, of never letting anyone close enough to ask.

Is he just being polite? Or does he actually care?

"I'm..." The automatic lie dies on my lips. "I don't know."

Ruslan approaches slowly, like I'm a frightened animal that might bolt. "Is there anything else you need?"

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