Chapter 17 – Raelyn
The mansion feels too full—of guards, of tension, of Konstantin’s tightening orbit around me.
He barely lets me walk from one room to another without a shadow at my back.
I understand why. The bullet. The note. Reed’s lies.
The revelation that I am no longer being hunted for who my father was, but for what he uncovered.
Still…I need air. And something else: myself.
I push open the balcony doors, letting the sharp evening wind slap against my cheeks. The world outside sways violently—the trees bending and leaves clattering like a restless orchestra. For a moment, it’s loud enough to drown out the pounding of my own heart.
I grip the railing, knuckles white, trying to ground myself. Each gust of wind feels like it’s trying to shake the fear and fury out of me. I close my eyes, let the wind whip through my hair, and for a fraction of a second, I remember what it feels like to just exist.
But then I want more. To actually touch grass. To be outside.
I turn and head to the door. A guard stands there, alert, eyes sharp.
I brace myself for resistance. He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t speak. He just watches as I step past him.
Over two hours have passed since Konstantin left for his meeting with his brother, and he hasn’t returned. I can take a break too.
I slip down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, the guard trailing behind me, silent but steady.
“Where are you going, ma’am?” he asks, voice low, cautious.
“The garden,” I say simply. “Just to breathe.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking toward the open door leading outside. Then, finally, he nods.
I step outside, and the cold air hits me like a wave.
My lungs expand, chest rising for the first time in days without the weight of walls pressing down.
Grass bends under my shoes, wet and alive.
For the first time since Reed’s words and the bullet and the notes, I feel like I’m breathing in a world that belongs to me—even if only for a moment.
The wind tangles in my hair, carries with it the faint scent of earth and life, and I close my eyes, letting it wash over me. Freedom is small. Fragile. But I like how it feels.
When I open my eyes, I see a familiar figure walking toward me from the gate, guards fanning out behind her like shadows. For a second, my brain refuses to catch up. Then my heart slams into my ribs.
“Ellie!” I scream.
“Ray!” she yells back, already breaking into a run.
Ellie Carver. My best friend. My anchor from before all of this—before bullets and lies and Konstantin’s dangerous gravity, before grief hollowed me out and rage took its place.
She reaches me, and I crash into her, arms wrapping tight, breath knocked out of me as I bury my face in her shoulder. I don’t cry. I just cling. My body finally recognizes something safe, something known.
“Oh my God,” Ellie whispers, holding me just as hard. “I missed you so much.”
For the first time in days, my chest loosens. Just a little. She smells like home. Like normal life. Like the version of me that existed before everything went wrong.
“He arranged this,” she says softly, pulling back just enough to look at me, eyes scanning my face. “Konstantin. He said you might need a friendly face today.”
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers tightening in her jacket. Of course he did.
I guide her toward the garden, the path still damp from last night’s rain, and we settle onto a bench tucked under the broad shade of a magnolia. The air smells of wet earth and blossoms, a strange calm after the storm of the last few days.
Ellie sits close, shoulders brushing mine, hands folded loosely in her lap. She studies me for a long moment before asking, “How…how have you been since the wedding?”
I swallow, words catching in my throat. “It’s…been a lot,” I admit, voice small at first, then stronger as I find the rhythm of confession. “Threats. Markov. Reed lying to me about my father…Konstantin watching my every move. It’s—” My voice cracks, and I pause, gripping the edge of the bench.
“Who are these people, Ray?”
“People who probably want me dead because of my father.”
“My goodness,” she gasps.
Ellie doesn’t speak. She just shifts closer, resting a steadying hand on my back. Her presence is an anchor.
“I feel like my whole life got flipped,” I continue, spilling the days, the fear, the grief, the fury. “And every time I think I’ve caught my breath, something else comes at me. Someone else trying to take what I care about, or twist the truth so I can’t even trust it….”
She holds me through it all, arms tightening around me in silent understanding.
I talk until my voice runs thin, until the words dissolve into the damp air.
When I finally fall silent, I notice the tears in Ellie’s eyes—bright and fierce, full of the kind of emotion I didn’t expect from someone I always thought invincible.
I blink at her, chest heaving. “You’re crying,” I say softly.
She shakes her head, sniffles, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m not crying for you,” she whispers. “I’m crying because this shouldn’t have happened to you. You’re supposed to be safe. You’re supposed to be…you.”
And in that moment, for the first time in days, I feel the weight on my chest ease—just a fraction—because someone remembers the girl I was, even in the middle of all the chaos.
Ellie blinks at me, then steadies herself. “Tell me one thing, Ray,” she says quietly. “Tell me how he’s treating you. Tell me how this marriage is.” Her voice firms. “You can’t be going through all of this and be in a bad marriage.”
I look down at my hands. At the way my fingers are still faintly trembling.
I open my mouth—and the truth comes out before I can stop it.
“He’s…good to me,” I say slowly. “Too good, sometimes. Protective. Attentive. Like the world is a threat and I’m the only thing worth shielding from it.”
Ellie watches me closely. I keep going, because if I stop, I won’t start again.
“He listens. He remembers things I didn’t think anyone noticed. He makes space for my anger. For my grief. He doesn’t tell me to calm down or be small or be grateful.” My throat tightens. “He makes me feel…seen.”
Ellie’s expression softens, but there’s still concern there. “That doesn’t sound bad.”
“That’s the problem,” I whisper. I finally look at her, and my voice drops. “I’m terrified.”
Her brows knit together. “Of what?”
I swallow. “Because part of me is starting to belong here.”
The words feel dangerous. Like a confession and a betrayal all at once.
“To this house,” I continue. “To the guards. To the rules. To the violence hovering just under the surface.” My chest tightens. “To him.”
Ellie doesn’t interrupt. She just lets me unravel.
“I should be repelled,” I say. “I should be counting down the days until I escape. But instead I catch myself feeling…steady. Safe. Like the danger sharpens me instead of breaking me.” My voice cracks. “And I don’t know what that says about me.”
I press my palms to my eyes, breathing through the burn. “I’m scared that I’m changing. That I’m starting to fit into this life. That I don’t want to leave it.”
Ellie reaches for my hands, pulling them gently down. Her grip is warm, grounding.
“Ray,” she says softly, “you’re not broken for surviving. Or for adapting.”
“But what if it’s more than adapting?” I ask. “What if I want this?”
She studies me for a long moment, then says, “Then it means you’re human. And you fell into something intense during the worst moment of your life.” Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “It doesn’t mean you’re lost. It just means you need to be honest—with yourself and with him.”
I let out a shaky breath.
Because that might be the scariest part of all.
Konstantin doesn’t just protect me.
He sees how close I am to stepping fully into his world.
And he isn’t pushing me away from it.
I shake my head, a humorless breath slipping out. “Maybe I’m broken,” I whisper. “Maybe I’m just like all the men I claim to hate. Maybe I crave this. The danger. The edge.”
Ellie doesn’t flinch.
She tightens her grip on my hands instead, grounding me, like she’s done a hundred times before. Her thumbs rub slow, familiar circles, the way they used to when I spiraled during finals week.
“Do you remember senior year?” she says quietly. “When everyone else went home, and you stayed back because one witness statement didn’t add up?”
I sniff, nodding despite myself.
“You were on the floor of our apartment at three in the morning,” she continues, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Surrounded by case files. Highlighters everywhere. You hadn’t slept. You hadn’t eaten. You kept muttering, ‘One more page, Ellie. Just one more.’”
My chest tightens.
“You wouldn’t let it go,” she says. “Not because it was dangerous. But because the truth mattered. Because you mattered. You bend, Ray. You always have. But you don’t break.”
Her gaze sharpens, steady and sure. “This—” she gestures vaguely between us, to the mansion beyond the hedges, to the life pressing in on me, “—doesn’t erase that girl. And it doesn’t turn you into something ugly.”
I swallow hard.
“Love and fear can feel identical,” she adds softly. “Racing heart. Tight chest. That pull you can’t explain. Only you get to decide which one this is.”
My lips tremble. I don’t answer.
Tears slip free instead, silent and hot, dropping onto our joined hands as Ellie leans closer, holding me while I fall apart without shattering.
“Remember when you cried over cold pizza at four a.m. because a case citation was wrong. Not because it affected your grade—because it wasn’t fair.”
I laugh hard, breath hitching as it turns into a sob.
“You’re the girl who carries snacks for everyone else and forgets to eat them herself,” Ellie says softly. “The girl who memorized my coffee order before I even knew it. The girl who stayed with me on the bathroom floor after my first bad breakup and read aloud from your notes just to distract me.”
My shoulders shake.
“This world cannot change you,” she says firmly. “And no one can rewrite you. You’re still you—terrified, brave, stubborn as hell.”
For a moment, in the middle of all this danger and devotion and impossible choices, I feel seen.
Not as Konstantin’s wife.
Not as a target.
Just as Raelyn.
“Why are you crying?”
We both jump. I spin around to see Konstantin standing there, scowl sharp as knives. His gaze flickers between Ellie and me, and the murderous intent in his eyes is palpable.
“You made her cry?” he asks Ellie. His voice is low, dangerous, like the promise of a storm.
I rise to my feet, squaring myself. “No,” I snap. “She made me laugh. She reminded me who I was.”
He doesn’t speak. Just watches me, unblinking.
From behind, Ellie clears her throat. “I’ll take my leave.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she steps forward, hugs me tightly, and whispers in my ear, “Your husband looks like he needs you.”
I inhale sharply, caught between amusement and dread. She waves one last time and vanishes down the path.
I turn back to Konstantin, heat rising. “You’re meddling,” I accuse.
His smirk is almost feral. “I don’t care,” he says. “If I see you crying, I’ll meddle.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with your brother?”
He shrugs, eyes dark, and leans closer. “I’m here because I miss you.”
A sharp frisson of desire shoots through me. For this man. For what he represents. For the possessiveness and protectiveness that make my chest ache.
Before I can even think, he pulls me close. I sink into him, exhausted, overwhelmed, drawn to the safety of his arms.
“I was scared shitless when I went to our room and you weren’t there. I almost ran mad before a guard told me where to find you. I won’t lose you, Raelyn,” he whispers, voice low, steady.
“I don’t want to be lost,” I murmur back, voice barely audible.
Our bodies press together, heat building in the quiet dusk. His hand slides up my spine, fingers threading into my hair. My breath hitches, heartbeat racing. For a fleeting moment, the danger outside fades—doesn’t exist at all.
I lift my face to him, a silent invitation, and something in his control shatters.
He kisses me—hard, deep, claiming me with a need that borders on desperation, as if he must know I’m alive and in his arms. I melt into him, responding with equal hunger.
His hands grip my waist, drawing me flush against him.
Our breaths come ragged, hearts hammering, and the world narrows until it’s just us—danger, fear, and obsession falling away in the heat of our need.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, heavy with something I can’t name: need, possession, obsession. It’s terrifying. It’s intoxicating. It’s all-consuming.
“Take me inside,” I whisper, voice trembling, raw.
He doesn’t hesitate. Not for a second. His hands are firm on my waist, his lips brushing my temple as he guides me through the door. The world outside—the threats, the danger, the chaos—falls away completely. In that moment, there’s only him, only us, only this fire that refuses to be tamed.