16. Aurora
16
AURORA
NIGHT
The phone feels strange in my hand after the chaos of the past two days. I stare at it for a moment, still marveling at the fact that Ruslan kept his promise to retrieve it for me. One more vow kept.
I take a deep breath and dial Hannah's number. She picks up before the first ring is even finished.
"Aurora? Oh my God, are you okay? Where have you been?" Her voice is pitched high with worry. "I've been texting you since yesterday! I thought?—"
"I'm fine," I cut in, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm safe. I promise."
"Are you? I mean, you disappeared after someone got killed right in front of us! And when I couldn't reach you, I thought…" She takes a shuddering breath. "Look, it's just good to hear from you."
"I'm sorry for putting you through that. But I swear I'm safe."
"Where are you, anyway?"
I hesitate, debating how much to reveal. "I'm at Ruslan's place."
"Ruslan's place?" Hannah's voice jumps several octaves. "Like, Ruslan Dragunov's place? Same Ruslan Dragunov who makes Henry Cavill look like a pimple-faced teenager? That Ruslan Dragunov?"
"Same one," I say.
"You know he came looking for you yesterday, right? Stormed onto the set like he owned the place. Which I guess he kind of does now that I think about it, and demanded to know where you were." Hannah's words tumble out in a rush. "He kept telling me that you were in danger. And…"
She stops for a moment. "He made Darren take my phone so he could read my messages. And well, once he saw your texts, he took off like a bat out of hell to go get you."
My stomach does a little flip. "He did?"
"Yes! That's why I've been worried sick! And now you tell me you're at his place? Are you sure you're okay?"
I can't help but feel a nervous laugh bubble up. "I'm fine, Hannah. I promise."
"Okay, if you say so. It's just..." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Something weird is going on. When I got home last night, the apartment felt... off. Like someone had been in there. Moving things around. Nothing's missing. But things just aren't quite where they normally are."
I swallow hard, guilt clawing at my insides.
My stomach twists into a knot. The clean-up crew. I picture strangers in gloves wiping away blood, erasing evidence, and rearranging our space to cover their tracks.
"I..." The words stick in my throat.
How can I explain this without scaring her even more?
Hey Hannah, don't worry about our apartment, it's just that a Russian mobster sent his guys to dispose of a corpse from my bedroom floor.
"Aurora? Are you still there?" Hannah's voice breaks through my thoughts.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm still here." I clutch the phone tighter, pressing it to my ear as if that could somehow make this conversation easier.
"So what do you think? You think someone's been in the apartment?" Hannah presses.
My mind races for a plausible explanation. Something—anything—that isn't the truth.
"I was in such a panic when I left, I probably knocked things around." I force a light laugh. "You know how I get when I'm freaking out."
"I don't know..." Hannah doesn't sound convinced. "This feels different."
I sink onto the edge of the massive bed, guilt eating away at me.
There's so much I want to tell her. About the marriage agreement, about Ruslan being bratva, about the dead man that tried to kill me in my bedroom.
But the words sit heavy in my throat, choking me.
"It's nothing, Hannah," I offer weakly. "Look, I'm really sorry for worrying you. But I promise I'm okay."
"Are you, though? Because from where I'm standing, this is all kinds of sketchy. First you run away from a crime scene, then Ruslan tracks you down, and now you're holed up at his place with no end date in sight?"
"It's temporary," I manage. "Just until things blow over."
"And when exactly will things 'blow over'?" Hannah's voice has that edge it gets when she thinks I'm bullshitting her. "Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Because temporary isn't temporary without an end date, Aurora."
"I don't know," I admit, hating how my voice sounds small even to my own ears. "I don't have an answer for that."
"That's what I thought." Hannah sighs, the sound crackling through the phone. "Whatever it is that you've gotten yourself involved in, it sounds dangerous. Like, what if he's got you locked in a basement and forcing you to say that things are fine when they're not? I can't help feeling like you're not telling me everything."
My free hand twists in the expensive bedspread beneath me. She's right. I'm not telling her everything. I can't.
I take a deep breath, gripping the phone tighter as I make a decision.
"Hannah, what if I tell you a bit about what's happening here? Not everything obviously, but enough to maybe put your mind at ease?"
There's a pause on the line. "I'm listening."
"He's not keeping me locked in some basement if that's what you're worried about." I glance around the opulent room. "Actually, you wouldn't believe this place. I'm in this tower room that's bigger than our entire apartment."
"I'm gonna need you to send me a picture as proof. One with your face in it."
"Alright fine, one sec."
I hold the phone at arm's length, trying for a casual smile that doesn't betray the tumult of the past two days. Behind me, the luxurious room stretches out. All subtle tones that scream old money.
I snap the photo and send it to Hannah. Within seconds, I hear the notification ping on her end.
"Okay, you don't look kidnapped, but…" she says. There's a pause as she examines the image. "Did Ruslan give you that blouse?"
I glance down at the simple cream-colored blouse and fitted black pants. "Yeah. I needed a change of clothing."
"Because?" Hannah sounds suspicious again.
"The ones I wore had... stains."
I swallow hard, not wanting to explain that those stains were blood from a man Ruslan shot right in front of me.
"Stains, huh?" Hannah's tone shifts to playful curiosity for a moment. "Aurora, do you have any idea how much money you're wearing right now?"
I pull the phone away and look at the blouse again. It feels expensive. Silky and substantial against my skin. But I've never been one for designer labels.
Actually, I don't remember seeing any labels now that I think about it.
"You know I don't make enough to ever shop anywhere fancy."
"Oh my God, you poor sheltered child." Hannah makes an exasperated noise. "Girl, that's a Loro Piana you're wearing."
"A what?"
"Gimme a sec. Hold on."
I hear her typing, then a moment later my phone buzzes with a link. When I open it, my jaw drops.
"SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?" I practically shriek into the phone. "For a blouse? A plain blouse without diamonds or magical powers?"
Hannah's laughter comes through the speaker. "Welcome to the world of Loro Piana, where basic is beautiful and expensive as hell."
"This is insane." I pinch the fabric between my fingers, half expecting it to turn into gold. "And it doesn't even fit me right! It's too big in the shoulders."
"Oh honey," Hannah's voice drips with amusement. "Ruslan can probably have someone tailor it for you if you really want. Something tells me he can afford it."
I can't help a giggle, and I hear Hannah muster up a tiny laugh on the other end as well. Suddenly, I feel some of the tension of the past two days melt away just a little bit.
This tiny bit of normality is a welcoming breath of fresh air in place of all the death and insanity.
"So, a real tower? Like an actual fucking princess tower?" Hannah asks.
"Complete with a call button for service." I laugh. "I press it and this woman named Daria appears with whatever I want."
"Look at you! Just living your best Rapunzel life while I'm down here eating leftover Chinese food."
"The bathroom has heated floors, Hannah. And one of those rainfall showers that hits you from like six different directions."
"Oh my God, I've never been more jealous in my life."
I smile despite myself. "I'm half expecting him to present me with a bill for services rendered when I leave."
"Or demand your firstborn child," Hannah quips. "Very Beauty and the Beast ."
"If getting waited on hand and foot makes me Belle, I'll take it," I say, feeling some of the tension ease between us. "Temporarily, of course."
Hannah goes silent for a moment, and when she starts talking again, gravity seeps back into her voice.
"Look, Aurora, I know this all seems nice right now." she says. "What with the luxury, the services, and the ridiculously expensive clothes. And I'm glad you're safe right now. But be careful, okay? Nothing in life is free. And things can change fast with men like him. He's holding all the cards, and that tower he's keeping you in can turn into a prison real quick."
Her words sink into me like a boulder plummeting in the ocean.
"I know, Hannah."
I twist a loose thread on the expensive blouse between my fingers.
Ruslan has power over everything right now.
Including life and death.
The image flashes in my mind. One moment my attacker was alive, knife raised above me. The next, he was nothing but dead weight crushing my body.
I shudder at the memory of warm blood spraying across my face.
"I just don't want you to get hurt," Hannah continues.
"I'll be careful," I promise, meaning it. "I know what I'm getting into."
Do I, though? Do I really?
"Good," Hannah says, but I can tell she's not convinced. "And don't be a stranger, okay? Keep me updated. I want to know you're safe."
"I will."
"I mean it. Text me. Call me. Send me stupidly expensive selfies from your princess tower."
I laugh, though there's an ache building in my chest. It feels like a goodbye, even though neither of us is saying it.
"Alright," Hannah continues, her voice softening. "Go enjoy those heated floors and six-headed rain showers. Don't let all those seven-thousand-dollar blouses go to waste."
"They're not all seven thousand dollars," I protest weakly.
"What, are some only five thousand? You poor thing."
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face despite the heaviness in my heart. This is the Hannah I know and love. Sarcastic, protective, and refusing to let me take myself too seriously.
"I'll talk to you soon," I promise.
"You better. Goodnight, Aurora."
"Goodnight, Hannah."
I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand, feeling both relieved and incredibly alone. My closest friend is just a phone call away, yet somehow it feels like we're in different worlds now.
Because we are.
I set the phone down and stand up to look out the window. Beyond the glass, the sky is alive with stars, clearer up here in the hills than I've ever seen them in the city.
That tower he's keeping you in can turn into a prison real quick.
Hannah's words echo in my mind as I press my palm against the cool glass. Is that what this is? A gilded cage? A prison with heated floors and designer clothes?
Maybe.
But would that be such a bad thing?
For seven years I've lived in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for Kristofer to find me. And here, for the first time since that bloody night, I feel... safe.
It's ridiculous. I'm in a mansion full of armed men who work for a man who shot someone right in front of me. By any reasonable definition, this should be the most dangerous place I could possibly be.
And yet.
When Ruslan looks at me, I feel safe. When his hands touch mine, I feel anchored. When he tells me he'll protect me, I believe him.
"Jesus, Aurora, get it together," I whisper in the darkness.
Is it just because he's my only option? That he happened to be there when my world imploded again? That he's offering protection when I need it most?
Or is it something more?
I close my eyes. Would he come find me in the dead of night? Would he hold me against the window, whispering zarechka in my ear as pushing my legs apart?
I force my eyes open, my breath ragged and shallow. The fantasy burns bright. His hands gripping my waist, his mouth demanding on mine as he lifts me in his strong arms towards his cock.
"Stop it, Aurora," I mutter to myself, pressing cool hands to my heated cheeks as I remind myself of the situation at hand.
I made a deal with the devil. I agreed to marry him.
The thought should terrify me. It should send me running for the hills. This isn't some romantic comedy where a marriage of convenience blossoms into true love.
This is the real world.
His world.
Full of violence and death and powerful men who treat lives like chess pieces.
I need to focus. I need to keep my head clear and my priorities straight.
The last thing, and I mean the absolute last thing, I need right now is to be thinking about how desperately I want him. How I imagine his hands on my hips, his mouth on mine, and his body pressing me into that ridiculously expensive mattress across the room.
"Focus on what matters," I tell myself firmly.
Survival. Safety. Getting through whatever comes next.
Not Ruslan Dragunov and the way he makes me feel.
Not the heat that pools low in my belly whenever he's near.
Not the fact that every time he calls me " zarechka ," my heart does a little flip.
I run my hands down my face and sigh.
I am so monumentally screwed.