Chapter 6 Jasmine
Jasmine
It’s the way the water has taken on a chill that wakes me. I don’t know how long I was asleep in there but I feel a thousand times better.
I pull myself out of the bath, the pain at my ribs having settled to a dull ache having been soaked in hot water. The white fluffy robe is monogrammed with the hotels emblem, shrugging into it feels like wrapping myself in a cloud.
It isn’t until I see my reflection that I realize I’m smiling. It feels foreign on my face, and I have to quickly remind myself not to get used to this. As soon as my money arrives, I’m leaving Las Vegas, maybe even the USA if I can get a passport sorted.
I’m squeezing water out of my hair with a towel when there’s a knock at the door.
It isn’t loud or demanding. It’s careful, almost polite, but it cuts straight through the haze of relaxation and sends my pulse charging up my throat. The suite is still dim, the curtains pulled shut against the Vegas night. The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s barely past midnight.
Another knock comes, gentler than the first.
My heart slams against my sternum. Logic tries to shove its way through the panic, reminding me of where I am. A casino hotel. Staff doing their jobs. Probably here with paperwork or a form I need to sign before they release the money. Normal. Routine. Safe.
But routine doesn’t knock like it knows I’m scared.
Routine doesn’t make the hairs lift at the back of my neck.
I pull my robe tighter around me and swallow hard as I make myself walk to the door.
"Hello?" My voice is barely more than a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. "Who is it?" I lft to my tiptoes to peek through the peephole, but all I can see is the broad expanse of a shirted chest.
There’s a short pause. Then a low voice, deep and smooth and controlled in a way that makes the edges of my nerves hum.
"Miss Boothe. It’s Adrik Korolyov, the hotel and casino owner. I’d like to speak with you."
The owner?
My hand freezes on the door handle. I’ve never met someone who owns a hotel and casino. I imagine someone old, stern, unhappy about the money I won. Maybe he wants to question me. Maybe he thinks I cheated. God, do people cheat at slot machines? Is that even possible?
But there’s something in the way he said my name. Not cold. Not angry. Certain. Like he already knows it belongs in his mouth.
A subtle wrongness rolls through me. Not threatening exactly, but weighty. Important. Impossible to ignore.
I crack the door open.
And the man standing there steals the rest of the air from my lungs.
He’s tall, so tall I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes.
Broad shoulders straining against a dark grey suit that probably costs more than everything I’ve owned in my entire life combined.
His hair is dark and perfectly styled, but not in a way that looks fussy.
His jaw is sharp, lined with the faintest trace of dark stubble, like he didn’t bother shaving this morning.
But it’s his eyes that trap me.
Pale. Intense. Fixing on me with a focus I’ve never felt from anyone. Not even from Matthew, but then Matthew watched me like property, not like this. This man looks at me like he already knows how fragile I am. Like he’s memorised every bruise I’m trying to hide.
"Miss Boothe," he says again, softer this time, as if testing how it feels against my skin.
My throat goes dry.
"Yes," I manage, even though my voice wobbles. "Hi. I’m… is everything okay?"
His gaze sweeps over me in a slow, aching line that makes my stomach twist. Not sleazy. Not greedy. Something else entirely. Something that feels like heat sliding beneath my skin.
"I wanted to check on you," he says. "And to congratulate you on your win."
No casino owner checks on winners personally. That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.
Unless this isn’t about the jackpot.
Unless this is about me.
An instinctual tremor runs through me, but not fear exactly. More like the shock of stepping out of a dark room into sudden sunlight. Too bright. Too much.
"I’m fine," I say quickly, even though my pulse is a mess. "Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting anyone."
He nods once, but his gaze doesn’t leave my face. "I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. These suites can be overwhelming if you’ve never stayed in one."
"I’ve never stayed anywhere like this," I admit before I can stop myself.
His expression changes. Barely. A softening that shouldn’t make my chest feel tight, but it does.
"May I?" he asks, gesturing toward the room.
My brain shouts no but I can’t make my mouth form the word.
I think about what Matthew would do if he found out I let another man into a hotel room with me.
But Matthew isn’t here. And something about this stranger’s presence is confusing in a way that intrigues me.
I step back.
Adrik Korolyov walks into the suite like he already belongs here. Like he belongs everywhere. Like he belongs inside the storm of my life and isn’t remotely intimidated by the mess waiting for him.
I close the door behind him, my fingers trembling. My breath catches when I turn and find him watching me with that same laser focus. Like he’s searching for something only he understands.
In this moment, something shifts between us so subtly I don’t notice it until the warmth curls low in my belly.
I don’t feel hunted. I don’t feel small. I feel safe for the first time in months.
Even though I don’t trust it. Even though it doesn’t make sense. Even if I shouldn’t want it.
As he stands there in the quiet of the suite, the space seems to bend around him, shaping itself to his presence in a way that makes my breath catch.
Matthew never made me feel like this. Not even in the beginning when I thought what we had was real and safe and hopeful. With Matthew, my stomach fluttered because I wanted to please him. Then because I needed him to stay calm. I didn’t know any better.
But this? This is different. This is something older, deeper, buried so far inside me I didn’t know it existed until this moment. Something primal stirs at the base of my spine, warm and terrifying and alive, whispering that this man isn’t danger.
He’s deliverance.