Chapter 8 - Alyssa
Empty houses tell their own stories, and this one is whispering secrets I don’t want to hear.
I wake up to silence so complete it feels oppressive, and it stretches through every corner of Ravenshollow like a living thing.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes seven times, marking another hour since I last checked for signs of Maksim’s return.
My phone shows no missed calls, no texts, nothing to explain where he disappeared to or when he might come back.
The massive bed feels even larger without the possibility of him appearing in the doorway, and I find myself straining to hear footsteps on the marble floors below. Nothing but the occasional creak of an old house settling into the morning.
Harrison knocked on my door an hour ago to inform me that breakfast was ready whenever I wanted it, but when I asked about Maksim, all he said was that he still isn’t home, and nobody knows when he will be.
“Family business,” I grumble to myself as I pull on the clothes Harrison procured from my hotel room yesterday. “Right.”
The dining room feels absurdly formal for one person, so I take my coffee and toast to the kitchen instead and perch on one of the barstools while I try not to think about all the terrible things that could keep someone away from home for twelve hours.
Car accidents, running into Troy, other women who hold his interest—the possibilities multiply in my head like a virus.
This is exactly the kind of spiraling I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
Maksim is a grown man who can take care of himself, and whatever kept him out all night probably has nothing to do with me or my situation with Troy.
Getting worked up over his absence serves no purpose except to drive me insane.
“Miss Alyssa?” Harrison appears in the doorway with that impeccable timing he seems to have mastered. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”
“Has he called?”
“Not yet, but that’s not unusual for the nature of his work. Mr. Barkov often has business that requires his immediate and extended attention.”
The diplomatic way he phrases it makes me wonder exactly what kind of business requires someone to disappear without a word all night long. He made a joke about owning half the shipment routes on the East Coast that day he got me in his car. Now I’m wondering just how much of a joke that was.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” I announce before I can talk myself out of it. “Explore the neighborhood a bit.”
“Are you certain that’s wise? Mr. Barkov left specific instructions about your safety.”
“I’ll stay on public streets, stick to busy areas. What could happen in broad daylight in a neighborhood like this?”
Harrison doesn’t look thrilled, but he also doesn’t have the authority to keep me prisoner. After a moment of internal debate, he gives me a reluctant nod.
“Please take your phone and keep it turned on. If you need anything at all, call immediately.”
“I will.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking through streets that look like someone with unlimited funds and excellent taste designed them.
Every house could grace the cover of Architectural Digest, surrounded by gardens that probably require teams of professionals to maintain.
The sidewalks are pristine, the street lamps are clearly custom-made, and even the fire hydrants look expensive.
This is old money territory, the kind of neighborhood where residents don’t just own businesses—they own entire industries. The fact that Maksim lives here tells me more about his financial situation than any conversation we’ve had. Whatever he does for a living, it pays extraordinarily well.
The commercial district starts three blocks from Ravenshollow, and it’s exactly what I expected from a wealthy enclave.
Art galleries, boutiques with names I can’t pronounce, and restaurants that probably require reservations months in advance.
Everything is tasteful, understated, and completely out of my price range.
I stop in front of a jewelry store window to marvel at a diamond necklace that catches the morning sunlight and throws rainbows across the sidewalk. The price tag isn’t visible, which means it’s the kind of piece where if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice comes from directly behind me, close enough that I can feel breath on my neck. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as terror skitters through my bloodstream. I know that voice—I’ve been hearing it in my nightmares for weeks.
Troy.
My reflection in the store window shows him standing less than two feet away, wearing the same black jacket he always wears and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. How did he find me? How did he know I was here?
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, baby,” he continues. “You’ve led me on quite a chase.”
My hands start shaking, and my phone feels like it weighs fifty pounds in my purse. Should I run? Scream? Try to call for help? The street around us is busy enough that someone would hear me, but Troy looks relaxed, confident, like he has all the time in the world.
“Nothing to say? That’s not like you, Alyssa. You usually have plenty of opinions about everything.”
I force myself to turn around, to face him instead of cowering like a scared animal. The moment I do, his hand shoots out and grabs my elbow.
“We need to talk,” he says, though his grip suggests talking isn’t really on his agenda.
Before I can respond, someone else’s hand closes around Troy’s wrist with enough force to make him wince.
“I don’t think the lady wants to talk to you.”
The relief that sinks into my body at the sound of Maksim’s voice nearly buckles my knees.
He appears beside us like an avenging angel, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit despite apparently being out all night.
His presence immediately changes the dynamic of the situation from threatening to merely tense.
Troy releases my arm and takes a step back, though his eyes never leave Maksim’s face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone you don’t want to mess with.” Maksim moves to stand between Troy and me, creating a barrier with his body. “Walk away. Now.”
“This is between me and my girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I correct automatically when I find my voice. “Very ex.”
“You heard her,” Maksim states, and there’s something in his tone that makes my skin prickle with awareness. This isn’t just protective boyfriend behavior. This is something else; something that speaks of experience dealing with situations like this.
Maybe he’s a cop or a former military.
Troy looks between us for a moment, clearly debating whether to escalate or retreat. Finally, his natural survival instincts win out over his ego.
“This isn’t over, Alyssa,” he warns before backing away into the crowd. “You can’t hide behind your new boyfriend forever.”
We watch him disappear among the other pedestrians, and only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath. My entire body feels like it’s vibrating with leftover adrenaline and fear.
“Are you okay?” Maksim asks, and his hands come up to frame my face as he checks me for injuries.
“I’m fine. Scared, but fine. How did you know where to find me?”
“Harrison called me the moment you left the house. I’ve been tracking your location since you walked out the front door.”
“Tracking my location?”
“Your phone has GPS, Alyssa. It’s not exactly advanced surveillance technology. We need to get you somewhere safe,” he declares before taking my hand and guiding me toward a black car parked at the curb. “Preferably somewhere with better security than a public sidewalk.”
I let him help me into the passenger seat, but my mind is still reeling from the encounter. “How did Troy find me here? I’ve been so careful, and this neighborhood is nowhere near where I used to live or work.”
“He’s been watching my house.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it makes me sit up straighter. “What do you mean, watching your house?”
“I mean, he and his friends have been conducting surveillance on Ravenshollow since I brought you home yesterday. They know you’re staying with me.”
“Since yesterday? How do you know that?”
Maksim pulls away from the curb and answers, “I have my own security measures in place. Anyone who gets too close to my property gets noticed.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
“I was handling it.”
“Handling it how?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence tells me more than any explanation could. Whatever he’s been doing to “handle” the Troy situation involves methods he doesn’t want me to know about.
“Maksim, I need you to tell me what’s really going on here. How did you know Troy would be at that jewelry store? How did you manage to show up at exactly the right moment? And don’t tell me it was lucky timing, because I’m not stupid.”
“I told you, Harrison called me—”
“Harrison called you, and you just happened to be in the neighborhood? You just happened to know exactly where to find us on a street with dozens of shops and restaurants?”
The questions pour out of me faster than he can deflect them, fueled by weeks of running scared and the growing suspicion that there’s more to my rescue than coincidence.
“I was already on my way to find you when Harrison called,” he admits after a moment. “Your safety is my priority, and leaving the house without protection was reckless.”
“Protection from what? Troy’s an asshole and a stalker, but he’s not some criminal mastermind. He’s just a guy who can’t take no for an answer.”
Maksim’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and something moves across his face that looks almost like guilt. “Alyssa, there are things about Troy that you don’t understand. Things about his associations and the people he works with.”
“What kind of associations?”