5. Sophie
5
SOPHIE
“ P ut me down,” I demand as I’m dragged out of the car after a lifetime of driving.
He ignores me, hoisting me up and over his shoulder.
“Get off me, you fucking?—”
“Stop talking,” he interrupts, the calm authority in his voice silencing me better than a roar ever could.
I bite my lip, swallowing the thousand questions and curses I want to throw at him.The air shifts around me, colder and damp, and I can tell we’ve moved inside a building.
The sound of rain dulls, replaced by the soft echo of footsteps on marble. The air smells different—wood polish, leather, something faintly metallic.
The chill in the air makes the wet fabric of my dress cling even tighter to my skin, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.
“Can you please take this thing off me,” I ask, my voice breaking the silence.
His footsteps stop. The grip on me loosens slightly, and for a second, I think he might actually do it. “That piece of shit wedding dress?” he says. “I’m tempted, not going to lie, but business must come first.”
“I meant the bag on my head, asshole.”
“How about this? I’ll remove it if you promise not to try anything stupid. Do I have your word?”
I laugh bitterly, the sound bouncing off what I imagine are cold, empty walls. “You’re kidding, right? You kidnapped me, and now you expect me to play nice?”
“Yes,” he replies, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Do you agree or you want to stay in the dark? I don’t give a shit either way.”
I hesitate. The bag is suffocating, the dark pressing in on me from all sides. The urge to fight is there, a scream clawing at my throat, but I can’t do anything while I’m blind. He has all the power right now, and I hate him for it.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “I won’t fight.”
He sets me on my feet with a strength that feels effortless, like he could crush me in the same motion if he wanted to. There’s the touch of a sharp knife by my wrist, and then the bonds fall away, one by one.
A moment later, the bag is pulled from my head, and I blink rapidly, my vision swimming as it adjusts to the glaring light of the room.
And then I see him.
Not a man—no. That word feels too ordinary, too mortal. He’s something else. A force. A God. Every inch of him exudes raw power, a kind of predatory dominance that seems to pull the air from the room and replace it with his will. My stomach clenches in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
His face is sharp, perfectly symmetrical, like an artist’s masterpiece carved from marble. His jawline is impossibly strong, the kind that could make a woman’s knees weak, even when those knees should be focused on running for their life.
High cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that looks as though it was sculpted for cruelty and sin in equal measure.
His skin is pale but not unhealthy—it only serves to make the dark stubble shadowing his jaw more striking, more unforgiving.
And then there are his eyes.
Dark, deep, and utterly unreadable, they pin me in place like twin blades, assessing me, weighing me, already knowing things about me I don’t want anyone to see.
The intensity in them makes my pulse race. They’re the kind of eyes that see everything. Every weakness. Every secret. Every part of me I’d rather keep hidden.
He’s tall—too tall, towering over me with broad shoulders that seem to want to burst out of his clothes. Dressed entirely in black, from his perfectly tailored suit to the tattoos on his hands that hint at a man used to violence, his presence feels heavy.
It all wraps around me like a vice, squeezing, suffocating, but in a way that leaves me trembling for reasons I don’t understand.
His clothes are immaculate, yet there’s an edge to him that’s anything but polished. It’s in the way he stands, the way he carries himself—like a predator who’s been stalking prey his entire life and has never once been bested.
I shouldn’t be noticing any of this. I should be thinking about escape, about survival, about the knife I just glimpsed at his side and whether I can snatch it.
All I can think about is him. The way his presence consumes everything around him, leaving no room for air, for thought, for anything but him. He’s unrelenting, overwhelming, the kind of man who wouldn’t just break someone like me—he’d enjoy doing it.
My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I force myself to breathe. But even that feels like a concession, as though he’s allowing me this moment, letting me collect myself only because it amuses him to do so. His gaze shifts slightly, locking onto mine, and in that instant, I realize something chilling.
He knows. He knows exactly how he makes me feel.
And worse—he’s enjoying it.
“You look a lot better without the bag,” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “Want that dress to come off too? It’s ruined. You must be down ten bucks, fifteen tops.”
I glare at him, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. “You think this is funny?”
“Sit,” he replies, gesturing for me to sit in the chair behind me.
He notices my hesitation, and his eyes narrow slightly, the smirk fading. “You gave your word,” he reminds me. “You want this to get ugly?”
I sit. The chair is cold, the wood pressing into my back. He watches me for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing.
He leans against the massive fireplace behind him. The flames flicker, casting shadows across his face, making him look even more dangerous.
“My name is Maxim Abramov,” he says.
“Maxim Abramov,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady. The name sounds dangerous, foreign. “You talk like I should know that name.”
“I know you don’t,” he says, leaning casually against the fireplace mantel, like this is a conversation between two old friends and not a kidnapping. “If you did, you’d be far more afraid.”
I cross my arms, gripping the wet fabric of my sleeves as if I can hold myself together through sheer will. “You don’t scare me.”
“I do. You’re just hiding it well.” He brushes dust from his sleeve. “You think Evan is some clean-cut investor, spending his days working in an office and his nights planning a future with you?”
“Don’t,” I snap, my hands curling into fists.
“Don’t what? Speak the truth?”
“Don’t act like you know anything about me or him.”
His smirk fades, replaced by a sharpness that makes my breath catch. “I know more about him than you ever will.”
He leans too close to me, eyes unblinking. “I know all about you too, Sophie. Did you really think you could get away with stealing from a man like me?”