Chapter 7 - Ilana
I woke up alone.
The blanket tucked around me was warm and soft, smelling faintly like cedar and the cologne he wore. Dark, clean, and expensive. The indentation beside me on the sofa was still there, a slight dip in the cushion that told me he’d stayed for a long while even after I’d fallen asleep.
Long enough to keep watch.
I sat up slowly, trying not to think about how deeply I’d leaned into him last night, and how terrifyingly comfortable his arms had felt around me. It was impossible to forget how my body had betrayed me by relaxing in his hold, even when my mind screamed not to.
I had been emotional, exhausted, and vulnerable. That was all.
I kept repeating that as I stood, smoothing the wrinkles from my shirt, the fabric still slightly torn.
Every muscle felt heavy, but at least the trembling had stopped.
My breathing didn’t feel like a knife twisting in my gut anymore.
The one thing I knew with certainty was that I needed to find him and thank him.
The words tasted ridiculous in my mouth.
Thank him? For dragging me into a marriage contract and locking me away?
For being the reason I even needed rescuing in the first place?
But despite it all, I could not let go of the fact that he had saved me.
Twice now. And I wasn’t the type to pretend otherwise, even if swallowing the truth made heat creep up my neck.
Before going to find him, I headed back to my room and changed into a new dress after a shower.
Just simply being out of those clothes made me feel like a new person, but it did nothing for my nerves.
I walked through his mansion, down quiet hallways, past paintings whose names I murmured under my breath just to keep my nerves steady, until I finally reached the main office.
I could see he was inside, which made me freeze in the doorway.
Avgust stood near the desk, sleeves rolled up, a phone pressed to his ear.
Sunlight cut across his forearms, tracing the veins beneath his skin.
The faint scar on his jaw made him look even more dangerous, more carved from stone and blood and intention.
He looked irritated. But what bothered me the most was how he looked annoyingly gorgeous.
“Find out who else was involved,” he was saying, voice low but hard. “I want names by tonight.”
He paused, eyes sliding towards me. Even though it was just a glance, it hit like a hand closing around my throat. Then, ever so deliberately, he turned away, finishing the call with a curt, “Don’t fail.”
He hung up, silence pressing around us.
I cleared my throat and walked into the room, the leathery scent enveloping me. “I, um… I was looking for you.”
One of his brows lifted. “Clearly.”
He didn’t offer anything else. No greeting. No warmth. Just that flat, assessing stare that made my stomach tighten, wondering what he might be thinking. I hated that I liked looking at him. I hate it even more that he always looked back like he was peeling me apart layer by layer.
“I wanted to say…” God, this was going to kill me. “Thank you.”
His expression didn’t change. “For what?”
“You know for what?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Say it,” he repeated.
I clenched my teeth. “Fine. Thank you for… saving me.”
The corner of his mouth shifted into something that looked almost like a smirk, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he leaned back against the desk, arms crossing over his chest.
“You shouldn’t have needed saving,” he said. “But since we are on the subject, you and I need to talk. You were too terrified last night for this conversation, but the sooner we have it, the better for both of us.”
Uh oh.
“That is never a good sentence,” I muttered.
“It definitely won’t be the one you like.”
I folded my arms too, mirroring him without meaning to. “Let’s hear it.”
“There are new rules in this house starting today.”
I stared at him. “Rules?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He blinked once. “Did you think this was a negotiation?”
“I think I’m a grown woman capable of making my own decisions, so yes. This is a negotiation, and I am denying it.”
He pushed off the desk with a slow, deliberate movement, stepping towards me. He was still not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel.
“You walked into a kidnapping,” he said. “So please do not talk to me about capabilities right now.”
Anger flared in my chest. “Because I was trying to call my goddamn family. A family you are keeping me away from!”
“You could’ve been killed!”
“You could’ve been killed too,” I snapped back.
We stared at each other, his breathing slow and controlled while I tried not to shake all over again. Heat rippled under my skin, irritation battling with something else. Something dangerous and magnetic.
“What are these rules?” I asked tightly.
He paused, as if bracing himself. “Rule one. You are now allowed to leave the house without me.”
I scoffed. “Right. Like I was about to do that before this whole episode.”
“Do you understand?” he asked, ignoring my sarcastic retort.
“No, I don’t. What now?”
His jaw flexed. “Rule number two. You stay within sight of the guards at all times.”
“You are holding me prisoner! Is this a joke or what?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
No. He never did.
“And rule three.” He continued, voice dipping lower. “You stop running.”
“I wasn’t running,” I said, even though we both knew it was a lie.
“You ran from me.”
“You kidnapped me.”
He exhaled, slowly, the way men do when they’re trying not to yell. “Ilana.”
“What?”
“You’re on lockdown.”
My mouth fell open. “On what?”
“Lockdown. You don’t leave the property. You don’t wander. You don’t go near the woods. You don’t open the doors or talk to strangers. You don’t—”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You are alive, and I would like to keep it that way.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to lock me in!”
He stepped closer and instinct quickly make me step back.
A mistake. He followed immediately.
“I get to do whatever keeps you breathing,” he said, voice dropping into something dark enough to vibrate through my bones. “If that means restricting you until I know the threat is gone, then yes, you’re locked down.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t own me.”
He stopped just a foot away.
His voice was a low, quiet blade. “I do. Legally.”
Heat shot up my neck. “That marriage license was—”
“Binding.”
“I hate you.”
“No,” he murmured, eyes dropping to my lips. “You hate that I’m right.”
My breath hitched.
This pull between us was impossibly dangerous. Yet very, very real.
“I am not some weak little girl who needs your protection,” I whispered.
“You are soft and na?ve and reckless.”
“You are insufferable.”
“You’re trouble,” he said softly. “And trouble needs rules.”
The air between us was molten now, charged with so much tension I could feel it in my teeth.
I took a shaky breath. “I came here to thank you, you know.”
“And look how well we’re getting along.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Avgust—”
“You’re staying exactly where I can see you.”
For a second, neither of us moved. Then he stepped back, not far, but just enough for the spell to break so I could finally breathe again.
“Go eat something,” he said, looking away first. “You haven’t had a real meal since yesterday.”
My pulse was still racing. “Are you done lecturing me now?”
“No.”
I glared at him while he smirked. Actually smirked. And damn it, my stomach flipped.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he said, turning toward the desk again. “It’s just paused, and if you don’t mess up or do something stupid again, we might not even have to resume it.”
I spun on my heel before he could see the heat on my face and marched out of the office, muttering curses under my breath. Behind me, I heard the faintest sound that was almost a breath of laughter.
Almost.
I walked out of his office feeling like someone had plugged a live wire into my spine.
Every step felt too loud and heated, making me too aware of the way he’d looked at me.
Like he could see every thought I was trying to hide.
I forced myself down the hallway, trying to shake off the echo of his voice and his rules and the way he had stepped into my space as if my air belonged to him.
I needed distance. And food.
The kitchen smelled like bread and butter, and something roasted, making my stomach growl before I had even stepped inside. Marta, one of the older housekeepers, turned when she heard me.
“Ah, Ilana, you’re here.” Her Russian accent was warm, like honey over sharp edges. “I made soup.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She studied me with a soft frown. “You look pale.”
“I’ve had a long week.”
“No wonder,” she muttered, shaking her head as she poured the thick soup into a bowl. “Men like him…” she hesitated before finishing, “They are difficult.”
“You’re telling me.”
Her eyes twinkled. “But he is not cruel. Many men in this world pretend they are. Avgust? He does not pretend. He is exactly what he is.”
“And what is that?”
“Dangerous.” She paused. “But… fair.”
Fair. The word surprised me more than it should have. I took my bowl to the long kitchen table, leaning over it as the heat warmed my chilled fingers. Marta busied herself at the counter while I tried to make sense of the mess inside me.
He saved me. But he locked me down.
He comforted me yet argued incessantly.
He held me while I shook apart, but smirked at me like he could read every stubborn thought in my mind.
He could still be like them.
The last thought tightened around my ribs like a fist.
A man like Avgust, someone with power, money, and authority was exactly the kind who could bend someone’s will until they broke. Men like that didn’t need to hit. They didn’t need to shout. They controlled by simply existing. Just like the ones who had kidnapped me and sold me.
Who was to say Avgust wasn’t the same? Just slower, gentler and smarter.
Maybe saving me wasn’t kindness but a strategy.
I pushed the bowl away, my appetite vanishing.
Marta paused by my side, noticing the shift. “Something wrong? You don’t like the soup? Want me to make something else?”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Just tired.”
She hummed, clearly not fooled, but didn’t pry. She handed me a piece of warm bread before moving on to the next task. I took a bite only because she looked so proud of it. As I ate, my gaze drifted towards the open archway that led into the living room, where the paintings hung.
His paintings.
Or more technically, his possessions.
I wandered over slowly, fingers brushing the edges of the frames.
Renoir. Monet. A contemporary abstract piece worth more than the average car.
He didn’t love them. I could simply tell it by the way they were placed.
Perfectly spaced. Perfectly lit but untouched.
Half unloved. He collected art the way some men collected weapons, simply because he could buy them.
Because it showed power, wealth and reach.
But he didn’t feel them.
I laughed under my breath. “What a waste.”
A voice came from behind me. “I thought you liked my paintings. Why are you judging them now?”
My heart shot to my throat as I spun around. Avgust stood in the archway, arms crossed again, but different now. He looked a little less guarded and more curious as he watched me.
“I wasn’t judging,” I lied.
“Yes, you were.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said everything with your face.”
I scowled. “Maybe your art deserves judgment.”
“Oh?” He stepped closer. “Educate me.”
I inhaled sharply. “Art should belong to people who understand it.”
He raised a brow. “And you do?”
“I would like to believe I do,” I said simply.
“Why?”
“Because I understand someone created these paintings with feeling and intention. Not because they were expensive.”
He huffed out something like a laugh. “So, I’m a soulless buyer?”
“Precisely.”
He took one more step towards me, the air tightening around us.
“And what does that make you?”
“I’m someone who actually looks at them.”
He looked at me then. Really looked. And something heated flickered in his eyes. I spun away quickly, pretending to examine the Monet just so I didn’t have to see the expression he wore. He moved closer anyway, his presence warm at my back.
“Stay away from the windows,” he said softly, almost too gently.
“I am not going outside, Avgust.”
“Good.”
“This is out of order,” I said, pointing to the painting. “It should be paired with the one on the left.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re a series. They belong together.”
“Like people?” his voice dropped lower.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get poetic. It doesn’t suit you.”
A faint smirk touched his mouth. “So now you know what suits me?”
“I know what doesn’t, and pretending to care about art is one of them.”
We stared at each other again, this time with less anger and more spark, something sharp and wicked dancing between us as I refused to give it shape. He stepped around me, heading toward the hall. “Finish your food,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you starve on top of everything else.”
“You’re bossy,” I called after him.
“I am trying to keep you safe, Ilana.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“And you still hate it.”
“Sometimes.”
He held my eyes for one more second, long enough to make my heart stumble, then left me alone with the art and the hollow flutter in my chest.
***
Over the next few days, I tried to avoid him as much as I could, but the safe house wasn’t big enough for his presence to go unnoticed.
Everywhere I turned, he was somewhere on the edges of my awareness.
In the hall, speaking to guards. In the kitchen, grabbing coffee.
In the living room, taking a phone call.
He filled the space like a storm, even when I pretended not to look, and he pretended not to catch me looking.
I was in the library when Marta brought me tea, sitting down beside me. “You’re too jumpy around him.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she said. “But it’s normal. He is rather intimidating.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“He scares most people, but he doesn’t frighten you.”
I swallowed hard. “He should.”
“Why? He saved you.”
“Because men like him,” I paused, searching for the right words. “Men like him don’t save without expecting something back.”
“Not always.”
“Always,” I insisted.
Marta gave me a look full of too much wisdom. “Then you do not know Avgust yet.”
I looked down at my tea, at the ripples on the surface where my hands shook against the cup.
“I don’t want to know him,” I whispered.
“Why not?”
“He seems dangerous.”
“Well, attraction can be a complicated thing,” Marta nodded knowingly.
“I am not attracted to him,” I snapped too quickly.
She smiled. “Of course not.”
I sighed. “Stop smiling.”
She only smiled wider.
I knew I could avoid him all I wanted, but I couldn’t avoid the feelings that were beginning to take root in my heart.
Not for much longer.