Page 17 of Twisted Pact
I make it to my bedroom and lock the door behind me. Strip off my clothes and step into the shower. Hot water pounds my skin while I clean away the evidence of tonight. There’s blood. Not much, but enough to confirm what just happened.
Alexei Kozlov took my virginity in an empty safe house—and he doesn’t even know it.
The water runs clear after a minute or so. I dry off and climb into bed wearing nothing but an old T-shirt. Sleep should come easily after everything my body’s been through tonight.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I lie awake replaying every moment. Every touch. Every word. The way he looked at me afterward like I was something precious instead of just another conquest.
Like I already belonged to him.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to my normal life. My studies. My carefully planned routine without dangerous men with wolf tattoos and knowing hands.
Tomorrow, I’ll pretend tonight never happened.
But right now, all I can think about is the way he said my name when he came.
Morning arriveswith Papa pounding on my bedroom door.
“Mila! Get up. We need to talk.”
I groan and check my phone. Seven thirty. Too early for whatever crisis he’s manufactured.
“Give me ten minutes,” I call back.
“Five.”
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. My reflection shows what I’m afraid of. Finger-bruises on my hips. A hickey I missed last night. Evidence that needs concealing before I face my father.
Concealer and foundation work miracles. By the time I emerge from my room, I look like a respectable graduate student instead of someone who just had the best and worst night of her life.
Papa waits in his study. The door is open, which means this conversation is happening whether I want it to or not.
“Close the door,” he tells me without looking up from his computer.
I do. Then I take a seat in the chair across from his desk and wait.
“Photographs are circulating.” He turns his monitor so I can see. “From the wedding.”
My stomach drops.
The images are grainy but clear enough. Alexei and me in the garden. His hand under my dress. My head thrown back in obvious pleasure.
“Where did you get these?” I manage.
“They were emailed to me this morning from a throwaway account. No message.” He closes the laptop. “Someone wants us to know they’re watching.”
“Who?”
“Good question. Could be rivals who want to disrupt any potential alliance between our families. Could be someone inside the Kozlov organization testing our response. Could be a lot of things.”
I force myself to breathe normally. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Yet.” He studies my face for a long moment. “But I need to know. Is this real or just physical?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play stupid, Mila. Are you involved with Alexei Kozlov, or was this just champagne and bad judgment?”
