Chapter 4 #2
Watching me like I’m prey. And knowing, somehow, that he’s never going to let me go.
* * *
The bathroom feels too quiet. Too still. Colder than the auction room, yet I’m burning up inside. My grip tightens against the porcelain sink as I stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like I just ran a mile.
Running.
Running from him.
Alexander Petrov.
The man who threw down half a million on a painting without blinking. I can still see it in my mind—the painting. A shadowed figure looming, predator-like, closing in on something smaller, fragile. Maksim painted that. But how? How did he know about the alley?
My curls slip through my shaky fingers as I drag a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself. Calm down, Lucas. I tell myself I lean down watching the sink like it’s going to give me strength. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a painting.
I feel the bathroom door creak open, and my heart leaps to my throat. I know it’s him before I even look up.
The air shifts, heavy and charged, like the pressure before a storm breaks. That scent—sandalwood laced with a hint of lavender, sharp yet clean—wraps around me, too familiar, too unwanted.
I glance at the mirror.
And there he is.
He enters with slow, deliberate steps, as though time itself bends to his will. The soft click of the door closing behind him sounds final, sealing us in.
I straighten, breath uneven, fists curling at my sides. The fear simmering in my chest tastes metallic, sharp. I try to bury it, but I know he sees everything.
He doesn’t speak. Just watches.
The weight of his gaze is unbearable. The silence stretches, coiling tighter, until it threatens to snap, sparking my temper.
I yank out my phone, my hands trembling as I type. The words glare up at me.
What do you want from me?
I face him, holding the screen up, but he doesn’t even glance at it. Instead, he takes another step closer.
My throat constricts. I type faster, fingers stumbling over the letters.
If you want to kill me, just do it already.
His eyes flick to the screen this time, and he stops. His head tilts, sharp curiosity breaking through his unreadable mask. And the Silence stretches thin… until he lets out a small, humorless laugh.
The sound is low, quiet, almost disbelieving, as though I’ve just told him the most ridiculous joke in the world.
“Kill you?” he takes one step. Then another.
I stumble back, the sink pressing hard into my spine, nowhere left to go.
His gaze never wavers. Those icy eyes, impossibly blue, pin me in place.
“If I wanted you dead,” he murmurs, voice smooth, dark, and intimate enough to scrape against my bones, “I would’ve done it that night at the alley.”
A chill races down my spine. My pulse hammers in my throat, but I force myself not to flinch. Not to look away.
“Try another question, Lucas.”
The sound of my name on his lips slices through me.
How—how does he know my name?
My heart thunders, too loud, drowning out even the faint buzz of the bathroom lights. I fumble with my phone, fingers trembling as I type.
Why are you following me?
I shove the screen toward him, my pulse racing like a warning siren.
He doesn’t even take it. Just lets his gaze drop, then lift again, eyes steady, pinning me like I’m the only thing in this room.
“I’m not following you,” he says, calm, detached, as if this isn’t terrifying. As if we’re discussing the weather. “I’m exactly where I intended to be. You just happened to walk into it.”
Bullshit.
The word screams inside me, but my throat is locked. I try to move back, but there’s nowhere else to go.
His eyes narrow, and when he speaks again, my name drips from his tongue like he’s testing it, owning it. “Now, it’s your turn to answer my question, Lucas.”
He tilts his head. “Who’s Tyler?”
I blink. The words don’t even register at first. Then the weight of it hits me. He knows about Tyler, How?
The floor seems to tilt beneath me, my knees threatening to give.
And just before I think I’m going to fall, his arm catches me, firm around my waist. Making a soft gasp escape.
My body collides with his, solid heat burning through layers of fabric.
His scent rushes over me, burrowing under my skin.
His hold on me makes my body react in ways I have not felt before, and it’s overwhelming.
The closeness, the control, the way he holds me steady. Impossibly solid.
“Who. Is. Tyler?” His voice is patient, but colder now. I shiver.
My hands fumble over my phone clumsily.
He’s my friend.
My thumb hesitates before I add,
Don’t hurt him.
Something flickers in his gaze—offense, maybe, or amusement. I can’t tell. He steps back, releasing me from his heat, and the air feels colder without it.
“I don’t hurt people without reason, Lucas.” His stare lingers, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t give me one.”
The words crawl under my skin, part warning, part promise.
My thumbs fly across the screen again.
Do you go around beating and threatening people?
He doesn’t answer. But his eyes glint, the faint curl of his lips betraying something dangerously close to amusement.
My chest tightens. I shove my phone into my pocket, desperate to leave, to breathe. I push past him—one step, two—before his hand grabs my arms forcefully.
A pained gasp leaves me, and everything shatters.
The bathroom vanishes. Suddenly, I’m somewhere else.
The floor tile becomes rough wood beneath my knees.
The white walls twist into shadows, and laughter rings out—sharp, cruel, echoing in my skull.
Hands, too many hands, gripping, yanking, tearing.
My scalp burns, my cheek stings. My lungs seize as I choke on sobs, on pain.
It hurts, stop, it hurts. I’m back there, trapped.
No. No. No.
“Lucas.”
The voice slices through the haze like lightning. It’s a command. But also a lifeline. His hand tightens—not painful, grounding. “Look at me.”
I’m shaking, barely breathing, but I force my gaze up.
The look in his eyes is grounding, pulling me back from the edge.
There’s something in them that makes everything about him confusing, but somehow it brings me back to life, and I glare at him as anger crashes through me, hot, desperate.
The fear cracks, and words I haven’t spoken in years rip from my throat, raw and jagged.
“Don’t. Ever. Grab me again.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, broken and rasping, but real.
He blinks, expression flickering from surprise to something softer, almost reverent. His hand falls away instantly, like my words burned him.
I don’t wait. I stumble past him, heart hammering, lungs tearing for air, shoving through the bathroom door into the hall.
I don’t look back. I can’t. But even as I flee, I feel it—his eyes still on me, tethering me to him.
My heart pounds so violently it hurts.