Chapter 9 #3
His hands are gentle as they lift the shirt slightly, revealing the bruises on my ribs. Dark purple and blue spreading across my skin. He touches them carefully, checking for any sign of worsening.
"Does this hurt?" His fingers press lightly.
"Yes."
"This?"
"Yes."
His jaw tightens. "You were supposed to run."
"What?"
"In the alley. When he grabbed you. You were supposed to run." His hands are still on my ribs, warm through the thin fabric. "Instead, you fought."
"I wasn't going to just let him—"
"You could have been killed."
"So could you."
He looks up at me. Something flickers in his expression. "I'm not easy to kill."
"Neither am I, apparently."
His lips twitch. Almost a smile. "No. You're not."
His hands move to my face, tilting it gently to examine the bruises there. His touch is careful. Almost tender. And I hate that my body responds to it. That despite everything, part of me remembers how good his hands felt.
"You're going to have a black eye," he murmurs.
"I've had worse."
"Have you?" There's danger in his voice.
"Yes."
His thumb traces my cheekbone, just below the bruise. "I should have gotten there sooner."
"You saved my life."
He shrugs.
"I need to sleep." I pull back. "It's been a long day."
"Of course." He stands, moves toward the door.
Relief floods through me. He's leaving.
He stops at the door. Doesn't leave. Just closes it.
And locks it from the inside.
"What are you doing?" My voice rises in panic.
"Making sure you don't do anything stupid." He pockets the key. Moves to a chair by the window. "I'll sleep here."
"I'm not going to run—"
"Yes, you are. The moment you think I'm asleep, you're going to try the window or the door or something equally suicidal." He settles into the chair, watching me. "So I'm staying right here."
"This is insane."
"This is necessary." His eyes are intent in the dim light. Predatory. "Get in bed, Seraphina."
"You can't—"
"I just killed a man to protect you. I'm not letting you throw that away by doing something stupid." His voice drops. Dangerous. "Get. In. Bed."
Part of me wants to fight. To scream. To do something.
Instead, I climb into his bed. Pull the covers up. Try to ignore that he's watching me. That I'm trapped in his room. That every instinct is screaming at me to run.
"Good girl," he says softly.
I turn my back to him. Close my eyes. Try to breathe.
I should be planning escape routes. Calculating my options.
Instead, I find myself thinking through them. The window? We're too high up. The door? He has the key. My phone? Probably back at the clinic—or destroyed.
Even if I could get out of this room, where would I go? My apartment isn't safe. I have no money. No allies. And the Morozovs know where I work.
I'm trapped.
Not just by Adrian's locked door and watchful eyes in the dark.
But by reality.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll figure out how to escape. How to find Gabe. How to deal with the impossible situation I'm in.
Tomorrow.
But tonight, I'm too tired. Too hurt. Too overwhelmed.
I'm drifting when I hear him move. Feel the bed dip.
My eyes fly open. "Adrian—"
"Relax." He's lying on top of the covers, fully clothed. Not touching me. Just there. "I'm not going to touch you."
"Then why—"
"Because if you're going to try to run, I want to know immediately." His voice is closer now. Right behind me. "Go to sleep, Seraphina."
I don't want to. Don't want to be vulnerable. Don't want to trust him for even a second.
But exhaustion pulls at me. And despite everything, there's something about his presence that feels—not safe exactly. But certain. Solid. Like for the first time in weeks, something is under control.
Even if that control belongs to him.
I close my eyes.
Sleep takes me under.
I wake to the feeling of something cold sliding onto my finger.
For a moment, I'm confused. Disoriented. The room is dark except for the city lights filtering through the windows.
Then I realize Adrian is kneeling beside the bed. His hand holding mine. Something metal and cold on my ring finger.
"What—" I pull my hand back, heart racing.
He doesn't let go. Just holds my hand gently, admiring whatever he just put on it.
"Adrian, what are you doing?"
He looks up at me. His eyes glint in the darkness. And when he speaks, his voice is calm. Certain. Absolute.
"Tomorrow morning, Seraphina, you're going to marry me."
My blood goes cold.
"What?"
"I've already made the arrangements. We'll go to the courthouse at nine." He runs his thumb over the ring. "This was my grandmother's. It's been in the Nero family for generations."
I can't breathe. Can't think. "You're insane."
"I'm practical." He releases my hand. I look down at the ring. It's beautiful. Antique. A square-cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones. It's clearly a well-loved heirloom, and normally, I would admire something like this.
Right now, it feels like a shackle.
"I'm not marrying you," I say.
"Yes, you are."
"I barely know you—"
"You're carrying my child."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means everything." He stands. Looks down at me. "Your brother's life depends on you saying yes. Your life depends on it. That baby's life depends on it."
"Don't threaten my child." The words snap out.
This doesn't have its desired effect. He smiles.
"Our child, love."
"I want to go home—"
"Home doesn't exist anymore." His voice is brutal. Factual. "The moment you got pregnant, the moment your brother sold you to the Morozovs, the moment Dimitri Morozov put his hands on you, your old life ended."
Tears burn my eyes. "You can't just force me—"
"I'm not forcing you. I'm giving you a choice." He moves to the window, looks out at the city. "Marry me. Tomorrow morning at the courthouse. Become Seraphina Nero and gain the protection of one of the most powerful families in New York."
He pauses, lets it sink in.
"Or refuse. Gabriel dies within forty-eight hours—I can't protect someone who isn't family. The Morozovs will find you within a week. And that baby you're carrying?" His eyes drop to my stomach. "Becomes leverage. Or collateral damage. Depending on their mood."
I feel sick.
"That's not a choice. That's blackmail."
"Call it that if it makes you feel better. I call it reality."
"Why can't we just talk—"
"No time." His tone is final. "The sharks are circling."
"What if I run?"
"You won't." He pauses at the door. "Because you love your brother too much. And despite everything, you're smart enough to know that marrying me is the only way you both survive."
He leaves. The door closes behind him. I hear the lock click.
I look down at the ring on my finger. It's beautiful and old—and wrong.
So wrong.
It's perfectly sized.
Like he planned this.
The tears come then. Hot and fast and angry. Because he's right. I can't run. Can't leave Gabe to die. Can't put this baby at risk.
And if what he says is true, that's exactly what I'd be doing.
I'm trapped.
By circumstance. By Adrian. By my own stupid choices.
Tomorrow I'm getting married to a man who killed someone in front of me. A man I barely know. A man who might be the most dangerous person I've ever met.
Tomorrow, I become Seraphina Nero.
And I have absolutely no choice in the matter.
I curl up in his bed, the ring heavy on my finger, and cry until there are no tears left.
Then I lie in the dark and wait for morning.
Wait for my life to end and something new and terrible to begin.
Tomorrow, I become Seraphina Nero.
And the girl who restored rare books and dreamed of being a curator, the girl who loved her brother and believed in second chances, that girl dies.
I don't know who I'll become in her place.