Chapter 7 Mila
Mila
Three days in this safe house, and I understand why prisoners lose their minds.
It’s nice enough, with modern furniture, a stocked kitchen, and an endless forest outside the windows. But luxury doesn’t change the fact that I’m trapped here by a man who either pretends I don’t exist or looks at me like he’s already stripped me bare.
Alexei’s in the kitchen making coffee with his back to me. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt that’s stretched across muscle and moving like he knows I’m watching.
Seventy-two hours, and I’ve memorized his every line—the flex of his shoulders and the way his forearms tighten when he grips the counter.
I hate that I notice.
I hate it even more that I can’t stop.
“Morning.” I step into the kitchen before I can talk myself out of it.
“Morning.” He doesn’t turn or even glance at me. He just keeps moving like I don’t exist.
It’s been like this since the moment we got here.
By day, he keeps a perfect professional distance that makes me want to throw something.
By night, when he thinks I’m asleep, I feel his stare through the half-open door. Those blue-gray eyes track my every movement until my skin burns.
I pour coffee to keep my hands busy and lean against the counter across from him. “Any update on the threats?”
“Nothing solid yet.”
“So, I’m just… stuck.”
“You’re safe here.” His voice doesn’t rise or fall. “That’s all that matters.”
“What matters is my degree. My research. My life. The one you’ve put on hold because someone took a picture.”
He finally looks at me. The hunger in his eyes steals my breath, but his voice stays calm. “Your life won’t mean much if you’re dead.”
“Little dramatic, don’t you think?” I shoot back, trying to sound unaffected.
He sips his coffee and shrugs once, like the conversation is over.
I slam my mug down hard enough to spill coffee over the rim.
“I have a presentation next week. And an advisor meeting. And research that can’t happen from a prison cell. You can’t keep me locked up here.”
“Watch me.”
The arrogance in his tone lights something volatile inside me.
I’m done being told what to do.
I’m done being handled.
And I’m ready to end this constant push-and-pull that never goes anywhere.
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He sets his mug down so calmly that it only serves to irritate me more.
“Actually, I can. And I will.”
I start for the door, but he’s faster. His hand catches my wrist and spins me back to face him.
We’re suddenly too close. I’m close enough to smell cedar, coffee, and something darker that slides under my skin and makes my pulse trip.
“Let go of me.” My voice shakes, and I hate that he hears it.
“Sit down, Mila. Stop being stubborn.”
“I’m not being stubborn; I’m being rational. I can’t just stop my life because you’re paranoid.”
“You can attend virtual classes. Work on your research. Nothing is wasted.”
“Everything is wasted when I’m stuck here with you instead of living my life.”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, calm and unreadable, until the silence starts to crush my lungs.
I sit, only because fighting him won’t get me out any faster.
He doesn’t loosen his grip, as if he’s reminding me who’s in charge.
“Is it really so terrible?” he murmurs. “Being here with me?”
“That’s not the point,” I snap, though my voice comes out softer than I want.
“Then what is the point, Mila?” His tone cuts like glass. “Because you’re fighting this arrangement awfully hard for someone who showed up at my door three nights ago, begging to be touched.”
Heat floods my face, and my gaze drops to the floor. “That was different.”
“How?”
“That was my choice. This is you deciding for me.”
“Someone has to make smart choices when you’re too stubborn to see reason.”
I rip my wrist free and step back. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Then stop acting like a child who didn’t get her way.”
My pulse spikes. “A child? You think that’s what this is?”
He steps closer, voice low and dangerous. “I think you’re so obsessed with your independence that you can’t see the danger you’re in.”
“And I think you’re so obsessed with control,” I fire back, “that you can’t see how suffocating you are.”
He doesn’t move at first. Just stares at me, flexing his jaw like he’s deciding whether to argue or drag me back into my chair.
Then he takes a step forward.
And another.
The air between us turns heavy. My back hits the edge of the table before I realize I’ve been retreating.
“Is that what you think?” His voice drops, dark and quiet. “That I’m suffocating you?”
I should say yes. I should tell him to get the hell away from me.
But my heart’s racing too fast, and all I can manage is a shaky breath.
“You can’t control everything,” I whisper.
His hand braces on the table beside my hip, close enough that his body heat skims mine. “I don’t want to control everything,” he says. “Just you.”
My stomach flips. “That’s not any better.”
His mouth curves, slow and lethal. “Tell yourself that, Zaika. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
We’re both breathing hard now. The space between us crackles, half with fury, and half with hunger.
My body’s betraying me, staging a full coup. I should walk away. Cool off before this explodes.
Instead, I move closer.
“You want to know what I think?” My voice comes out low and unsteady.
“Enlighten me.”
“I think you’re using this whole situation as an excuse to keep me here. You want me locked away where no one else can touch me.”
His eyes darken. “Careful, Zaika.”
“Or what?” I lift my chin. “You’ll prove me right?”
One stride, and he’s on me. My back hits the wall, and his hands are braced on either side of my head.
Air leaves my lungs. Not from fear, but from him.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he growls.
“Don’t I?” I gesture between us with my pulse hammering. “Because this doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like possession.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Maybe because it is.”
The admission hangs between us for a heartbeat, and then his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is hard and punishing. All the anger and frustration of three days of pent-up want breaking loose.
I should stop him. I should stop myself.
Instead, I fist his shirt and drag him closer, answering the kiss with everything I’ve tried to bury.
He growls against my lips, and the sound vibrates through me.
He crowds me with heat, muscle, and barely leashed restraint. I can feel every inch of him—every line, every breath—pressing me harder against the wall.
There’s no mistaking the thick, insistent length pressing against my hip. No mistaking how much he wants this.
And worse, how much I do, too.
“Mila,” he breathes against my lips.
“Shut up.”
I bite his lower lip hard. He groans, and his hand slides into my hair, fisting it to tilt my head where he wants it. His tongue claims mine in deep, demanding strokes that make my knees go weak.
This is insane. We should be fighting.
But somewhere between the anger and the accusations, the line between fury and desire disappears, and I can’t tell one from the other anymore.
He drags back just enough to look at me. His breath is rough against my mouth, matching mine beat for beat.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
“No.”
“Mila…”
“Either let me go,” I whisper, “or give me a reason to stay.”
Something feral flashes across his face. Then he lifts me effortlessly and carries me to the couch.
He sets me down with surprising gentleness, and then he’s over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions and pinning me in ways that make my hips arch instinctively.
“Is this what you want?” His mouth drags along my neck.
“Yes.”
“Even though I’m keeping you here against your will?”
“Fuck. Yes.”
He pulls back, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe being trapped here with him has rewired whatever part of my brain used to know better.
But I don’t care.
I reach up, hook my hand behind his neck, and pull him back down to me. Our mouths crash together again as his hands roam my body, mapping every curve he’s already memorized.
When his palm closes over my breast through my shirt, I gasp into his mouth.
“You drive me insane,” he mutters against my throat. “You know that?”
“Good.”
He pushes my shirt up, his mouth tracing the path his hands leave behind. When he reaches the edge of my bra, he looks up at me with a silent question in his eyes.
I nod.
He tugs the fabric down and closes his mouth over my nipple. The shock of it rips a cry from my throat. I arch into him as his tongue teases the sensitive peak, his other hand palming my breast with just the right pressure.
“Alexei,” I gasp.
“Tell me what you need.”
“More. I need more.”
His hand drifts down my stomach until it finds the waistband of my jeans. Two fingers flick the button open, then ease the zipper down. His touch is rough and sure, with every glide leaving a trail of heat that coils tightly inside me.
And then, he stops.
“What?” I breathe.
He pulls away and sits up. “We can’t do this. I’m here to protect you, Zaika. And this isn’t protection.”
“What are you talking about? We were just—”
“I know what we were doing,” he says, “but it’s wrong.”
I push up, tugging my shirt down with shaking hands. “You’re the one who kissed me.”
“And I shouldn’t have.” He exhales hard. “If I’m going to keep you safe, I need my head clear. Getting involved with you clouds my judgment.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “So, this is about control again? You think pushing me away gives you that?”
“By not making this situation more complicated than it already is.”
He stands with his hands raised in surrender like he’s afraid I’ll do something reckless.
And with the ache still throbbing between my legs, I just might.
“You’re here because someone’s threatening your family,” he says. “Because being with me paints a target on your back. Adding sex to that equation is stupid. Reckless.”
The rejection slices deeper than it should. “Fine. Then I’m leaving.”
He moves fast, crossing the room in two long strides. “No, you’re not.”
“You just said—”
“I said we can’t sleep together.” His voice is low. “I didn’t say a damn thing about letting you walk into danger.”
I stand and head for the door, but he’s there before I can reach it.
We square off in the middle of the living room, both of us breathing hard—for entirely different reasons now.
“Move,” I demand.
“Sit down.”
“I’m going to my classes and my advisor meeting. I’m going to live my life whether you like it or not.”
His jaw clenches, and his eyes burn into mine. “The hell you are.”
I shove past him, but his hands clamp my shoulders and hold me in place.
“Let me go, Alexei.”
“Not happening.”
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
“I can keep you here as long as it takes to keep you alive.”
I wrench free and make it three steps toward the door before he’s there again, faster, harder, and immovable.
This time, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out my car keys.
“You won’t get anywhere without these,” he mocks.
“Give them back.”
“No.”
“Alexei—”
He pulls out my phone next. “Or this.”
Panic slices through the anger. “What did you do?”
He remains infuriatingly calm. “You think I didn’t see this coming a mile away? And before you start getting ideas about running, my men have orders to stop you by any means necessary.”
My jaw drops. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “You want to attend classes? Fine. I’ve arranged for you to do it virtually. You can meet with your advisor via video. Your research can be done remotely. But you will not leave this house until the threats against your family are gone.”
“You bastard.”
“Probably.” He smiles. “But you’ll be alive to call me that. That’s what matters.”
I stare at him. Three days ago, I thought the isolation would be the hardest part of this arrangement.
I was wrong.
The hardest part is being trapped with a man who kisses me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted, and then pushes me away like I’m poison.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“No, you don’t.” His gaze flickers with something unreadable. “But you might before this is over.”
He turns and walks down the hall, leaving me alone in the middle of the living room with my anger, shaking hands, and the heat he left burning under my skin.
He says he’s protecting me.
But I’ve seen the way he looks at me. Like he’s saving me just to ruin me himself.