I step out of Knox’s office, but I couldn’t follow Sandra even if I wanted to. My legs shake so badly that they’re hardly holding me up.
So I lean against the wall in the corner to catch my breath. I really don’t think I’m fit for comforting people.
I’ve never been good at it.
Being raised to remain in the background put shackles on me—like never standing out. Never offering a hand or a shoulder to cry on.
My cousin, Rai, is the only woman who’s been by my side since Mom died, and while she loves me, she didn’t need any comforting from me. She’s strong, stronger than some men, and I’ve never seen her weak.
She also treated me with kid gloves as if one wrong touch would break me.
A twinge spreads in my chest when I think of her reaction to my disappearance. She must be so disappointed in me, so angry.
But I can’t afford to think about the family I left. Not now.
My fingers tremble as I retrieve my phone and scroll to one of the few pictures I have with Mom and Babushka. I was so young at the time, probably four, and I’m sitting on Mom’s lap, giggling uncontrollably.
I’m a carbon copy of her, whether it’s the white-blonde hair, the deep blue eyes, or the tiny features. But she always looked broken, tired, almost as if she was exhausted of existing.
Mom wasn’t the type to smile, but she has a small smile in the picture as she stares at me. Babushka is grinning, too, her entire attention also on me.
These two women loved me unconditionally and if fate had worked in different patterns, I would’ve been able to recreate this image.
The more I continue staring at the picture, the more it anchors me, giving me a sense of safety.
“I’ll always be with you, even when I’m far away, Ana.” That’s what my mother used to say and as a child, I could feel her close, near me.
Now, too.
And I have to do the right thing. I have to be there for Sandra, even while knowing who stands with her father.
Even while knowing that I could be compromised.
But I can’t just abandon someone who’s asking for help. How is that any different from abandoning my own mom?
After hiding the phone, I walk to the bathroom, where I expect Sandra to be. However, I find her near the window, grabbing her chest and leaning forward.
I hurry toward her, then stop a safe distance away so I don’t startle her. “Are you okay?”
She slowly lifts her head, the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Uh…yeah…I think so.”
“I know he was harsh, but he’s really good at what he does, so trust the process, okay?”
“Maybe he’s right. If I…can’t handle this with people who are on my side, how am I going to do in court? In front of him? I’m going to make a fool out of myself, aren’t I?”
“No, don’t say that.” I approach her slowly. “You are a brave girl, Sandra. Not many are as brave as you and that deserves to be worn as a badge of honor.”
A small smile peeks through the tears. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s not just words. I believe them.”
“Why?”
“Because…my mother was abused when I was younger and I didn’t have the power to protect her. There hasn’t been a day in my life where I didn’t blame myself for being useless, but there’s one thing I don’t regret.”
Her lips part. “What?”
“Asking for help when I could, even if it was from someone who’s cold.”
“Cold like Knox?”
“Worse. But you know, people like them bring in results. They’re well aware of how jerks think and can counter them efficiently, so you’re in good hands.”
“Really? Should I trust him?”
I don’t miss the hesitation in her voice, the way she hugs herself and touches her elbows. So I don’t think twice when I say, “You should.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With anything legal? I do.”
She sniffles, so I reach into my pocket, then give her a tissue. Sandra wipes her tears and peeks at me through her long lashes. “You’ll be there during the whole trial, right?”
I gulp. Being in court means the possibility of running into someone from my previous life, and that sure as hell isn’t going to happen. “I’m from the IT department so I really shouldn’t be around.”
“Please.” She clutches my hands. “You’re the only friendly face I know. I already asked Knox and he agreed to have you on the team.”
“I’ll do whatever I can. So even if I’m not there in person, I’ll call you prior to the trial. You can also call me whenever you like.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes shine with fresh tears.
“We…should probably go back.”
Her smile falls, but she tightens her hold on my hand while we walk back to Knox’s office.
We find Lauren, Chris, and him deep in conversation about the case. They’re throwing around legal terms that I don’t recognize and at such a fast pace that I can’t keep up.
When they finally notice us, they halt their conversation.
Lauren smiles and Chris releases a long breath, but Knox doesn’t act the least bit relieved. If anything, he appears calm, way too calm, as if the episode didn’t happen in the first place.
His eyes meet mine for a brief second. They’re sharp and dark, as if I’m staring into the haunted soul of a completely different person.
The moment barely lasts before he slides his attention to Sandra. “We’ll resume where we left off. If you run away again, you can find yourself another attorney.”
I glare at him when she goes stiff, but he ignores me the whole time he continues to prep Sandra. His questions are still harsh, but he does pause when he sees her having a hard time.
I don’t think anyone notices, but it’s like he’s also taking a break. At first, I think I’m making things up and he’s only doing it for Sandra’s sake, but then I focus on him—like, really focus.
He’s flipping through a document, and although his movements are calm and measured, they’re longer than usual—as if he’s enduring something.
As if he’s in the midst of a crisis and he needs to remain calm for it.
His shoulders crowd with tension and his eyes are still dark, less gold, less bright. Almost as if the color has been sucked out of them.
There’s something else, too. His breathing, it’s short and clipped, and his chest rises and falls in a slightly irregular rhythm. But when he speaks next, his voice is still in that calm range, as if it’s disconnected from the rest of him.
By the time he announces we’re done for the day, everyone appears drained.
Not him.
He looks furious. Almost like he has otherworldly energy accumulating inside him and he can’t get rid of it.
Or won’t.
I want to stay behind and…do what exactly? It’s not like I can ask him what’s wrong and actually get an answer.
But I can try…right?
For some reason, it feels like he shouldn’t be alone right now; if he is, some sort of a disaster will follow.
I’m probably reading too much into it. In what world is Knox not okay? He always appears to be put-together and so perfect, I’m kind of envious.
And okay, maybe I’ve often wondered what I’d see if I reached into his armor and took a peek.
Maybe he’s not so perfect on the inside, maybe there’s a haunted, troubled part I could see for myself.
“Jane?” Sandra’s voice pulls me away from my hyperfocus on him.
“Yeah?”
“Can you walk me out?”
“Sure.” I steal one last glance at Knox, but he’s concentrating on some paperwork, so I leave without even a glimpse of his golden gaze.
Isn’t it weird that I have an unhealthy phobia of eye contact, but I crave it with him?
That should be strange.
Abnormal.
And yet, it’s all I keep thinking about for the rest of the day.
His eyes, his perturbed state.
Him.
I contemplate texting him, so I type.
Are you okay?
Then I delete the text before I send it. We’re not really on good terms, especially after yesterday’s public unprotected sex incident.
But even after I get home, I’m not looking forward to my lonely night where I’ll eat leftovers and spend the rest of my evening searching the internet for what the men in my old life are up to. I’ll be focusing over every detail and be a paranoia freak.
I sit in my dimly lit studio apartment. It’s shabby and old, but it’s not in a bad neighborhood, so I don’t have to worry about unwanted attention.
My typing slows and I stare blankly at the hundreds of pages open on my laptop.
Is this how I’m going to be for the rest of my life? On the run, obsessed, and always scared?
The thought of Babushka being hurt forces my hands to carry on the spying mission. If any of them find out what I’m doing—
I shake my head, refusing to think about the consequences. It’s not that I’m doing something wrong; I’m only trying to protect myself and my grandma.
The doorbell rings and I freeze, then immediately close my laptop.
Holy shit.
They found me.
“Deep breaths,” I whisper to myself in a shaky tone. “They can’t find me. I used a firewall, I blocked my IP address. There’s no way in hell they can find me.”
Unless Kirill and Aleksander suspected something and followed me?
No, no. They would’ve been here yesterday if that were the case. Hell, they would’ve grabbed me by the hair in the restaurant and dragged me back instead of letting me go.
But what if Kirill told Adrian?
Shit. He’s the mastermind of hacking. He could’ve broken through my firewall and intercepted my IP and found me. He’s here now and will—
“Anastasia, open up, I know you’re in there.”
My breakdown pauses at that voice. The beautifully accented voice that I would recognize not only from behind closed doors but even if it were coming from underwater.
A weight slowly lifts off my chest and vanishes into thin air as I head to the entrance.
I stare through the peephole to make sure it’s him.
Sure enough, Knox stands there, impatiently waiting for me to open the door, judging by that hard look in his eyes.
And it dawns on me then.
Knox is here. In front of my shabby apartment, and he wants me to let him in.
I have to take a moment to breathe.
To not let all the gloomy feelings from earlier manifest in front of him.
When I feel marginally better, I open the door.
No amount of moments or deep breaths could’ve prepared me for how sinfully attractive he looks.
For the way his hair is styled and how his clothes are impeccably in place, even after a whole day at work.
It’s unfair.
So, so unfair that he’s physical perfection no one else can match.
It’s also unfair that he was my first, and now, I can’t see any other man but him. The bar is just too high for anyone else to reach, not that I would allow them.
He ruined me.
Corrupted me.
And I keep wanting more.
“How did you find out where I live?” I whisper.
“Your résumé.”
“Why are you here—”
My words end with a moan because he’s grabbing me by the throat and slamming his lips against mine.
