Page 131 of Captive Prize

He already knew that I wasn’t leaving.

I couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much I told myself over and over that it was the right thing to do. I knew deep down it wasn’t.

Roman was my home, too.

Maybe he knew I never intended to leave, not really.

I let out a long, shuddering breath. Then I stepped out of the car and into his arms.

The cold air bit at my skin as the wind whipped around us and together, we stepped over the wet ground, dodging puddles as I stared up at the church that would bind me to the one man who’d ever truly understood me.

He was the only one who would ever appreciate my value, as more than just being a woman, or being pretty.

Roman saw the woman I was and not just what I could give him.

He saw my drive. He was the only one who saw my intelligence, and he saw through the mask that I had spent my life carefully cultivating.

Hand in hand, we walked together up the concrete steps.

I turned to him before we got to the door, chest rising, heart hammering against my ribs.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, giving him one last chance to run.

His lips curved.

“I was sure the first time I put a gun to your head, and you smirked at me.”

A sharp, broken laugh escaped me.

He pulled me into his arms and placed a kiss on my forehead, making me feel cherished. “Let’s get married, my fierceprintsessa.”

This time I didn’t run.

Not from him, not from the life that I wanted but was too afraid I couldn’t have.

That little girl inside of me, the one who believed in happily ever after, wasn’t dead after all.

She was just waiting for her prince.

CHAPTER 31

ROMAN

Blood.

It flooded my senses. I could smell it, taste it, hear it dripping onto the white tile floor. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see it. I could feel it draining from my wife as she left me here, alone.

The bright white, sterile walls of the hospital were closing in on me as I paced the length of the corridor. My boots hit the floor in sharp, agitated strides, the only sound I could hear over my heart roaring in my chest.

My nose was filled with the stringent scent of antiseptic and the distinct metallic odor of blood. There was no escaping it.

Not just anyone’s blood. Zoya’s blood.

My hands were wet and stained as I ran them through my dark hair.

Not stained with blood, but with the sweat of helplessness—the one thing I had never been able to tolerate.

All my cousins were here with me. The men stood along the hallway like guards ready to jump to her aid. They weren’t here to save her. They were here to save the medical staff from me if something went wrong.

---