Chapter 3 – Ellie
I wake to a dim light spilling across a massive room.
It isn’t a hospital. It isn’t a police station.
It’s a luxurious bedroom.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment—chandeliers dripping gold and crystal, gleaming against the shadows. Expensive. Impossibly wealthy. My head throbs, but I’m clear enough to sit up.
My clothes…intact. I let out a shaky sigh. Relief, but not calm.
What happened?
The memory hits in fragments.
On my way home. Kidnapped. Three men, masked, violent. Dragged into a car. Then the car…hijacked. Another man. Someone else entirely.
My head pounds as I try to place his face. Tall. Terrifyingly tall. Icy blue eyes that felt like staring at a ghost.
Fear grips me.
He had been…soft with me. Strange, contradictory. But trust? No. There was no trusting men like that.
I need to get out of here.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to get my bearings.
Then I see him.
Someone is standing at the window. Arms folded across his chest. Icy blue eyes fixed on me.
The same man from last night. Or…when was it? Or this morning? Time lost meaning somewhere between the car and this room.
We stare at each other silently.
He is impossibly handsome. Dark hair cut short. Broad shoulders. Black shirt, fitted. Black pants. Forearms inked with tattoos that peek from under the sleeves.
He takes one step toward me.
I stumble back instinctively.
He had been covered in blood last night. That much I know. He isn’t innocent.
My voice trembles, but I force the words out.
“You’re a murderer.”
He freezes.
The air between us thickens.
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches. And I feel—chilled to the bone—how calm he is. Calm like a predator sizing up prey.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my racing heart.
“I know what you are,” I whisper, though my voice shakes. “And I’m not afraid to call it.”
For a fraction of a second, I think I see something flicker in his eyes. Possession? Amusement? Something darker.
Then he shifts slightly, just a fraction, and the room feels smaller, tighter.
“I don’t want you afraid,” he says quietly. Calm. Too calm.
I shake my head, backing up again.
“I should be,” I say, voice steadier now. “After last night. You’re a murderer. I saw you shoot someone.”
He doesn’t deny it. He explains, calm and measured, “The men belonged to a Baltic syndicate trying to destabilize my family.”
“And who is your family?” I ask, frowning.
“I am Mike Rusnak.”
The Rusnaks. The biggest, most powerful Russian Mafia in the U.S. My brain can’t help the connection—Raelyn. She’s married to a Rusnak. Konstantin Rusnak.
I shake my head. “If they’re trying to destabilize your family, what has that got to do with me? I’m not related to you.”
He smiles slightly, like he’s amused by my ignorance. “They probably found out I’d been tracking you. They assumed you were my weakness, so they marked you. In our world,” he says, “marked means hunted.”
“You’ve been tracking me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t respond.
I stand from the bed, my legs a little weak.
“I don’t want to be involved in any of this. I want to go home. I have to work in the morning. Wait…what time is it? And where’s my phone?”
“You can’t leave.”
His words hit me like a slap. I laugh, sharp and incredulous. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Ellie. You can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“Because those who came after you are still out there.”
“I don’t care. I’m leaving. You fix it. This isn’t my life.”
“I’ll fix it. I’m trying to fix it. That’s why you can’t leave.” His voice is soft—but the authority behind it grates my nerves.
“You have no right to keep me here,” I snap, anger rising.
He tilts his head, blue eyes cold and unreadable. “The moment those men grabbed you, every rival faction knew you were leverage.”
I laugh bitterly, disbelief curling through me. “You stalked me, and now I’m collateral damage?”
“Stalking isn’t the crime here,” he says, almost casually, his gaze sharp. “You…are very interesting to watch.”
“Hello?” I snap. “Stalking is a crime.”
He doesn’t apologize. Not a word.
Instead, he steps closer.
“I never touched you,” he says, low and steady. “Never interfered in your life.”
“But you watched me.”
“Yes. From afar.”
I take a careful step back, but he closes the distance with unnerving ease.
He stops directly in front of me.
And up close, the blue in his eyes is almost unbearable—sharp, piercing, like he can read every secret thought in my head.
The air between us thickens.
I shove him. He catches my wrists easily. My pulse spikes. Heat rushes through me. The physical struggle is…charged. Dangerous.
I’m furious. He’s unnervingly controlled.
My breath comes uneven, ragged.
I feel the tiniest slip in his composure—a flicker. Control starting to crack.
“Behave yourself,” he whispers.
“You don’t get to cage me,” I spit, voice sharp and trembling.
He leans down slightly, eyes darkening, voice low and steady, almost a growl: “You were already in a cage. You just didn’t see the bars.”
I jerk my hands, trying to pull free. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t release me. Not yet. His fingers tighten just enough to remind me he could crush me, but he doesn’t.
“You don’t understand,” he says, his tone dangerously soft. “I’m keeping you safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
“Safe?” I laugh bitterly, tugging at my wrists again. “You call this safe?”
His eyes narrow, sharp. “Better alive here than dead out there.”
My stomach twists at the words. Fear, anger, something unnameable…all coil inside me.
I push again, more desperate this time, but the intensity in his gaze pins me.
The world narrows to him, to his presence, his hands, his icy blue stare, and the undeniable pulse of control radiating from him.
And even as I hate him, even as I fight, part of me can’t look away.
“Let me go!”
“The only way to remove the mark is to change your status,” he replies, calm, deadly certain.
I freeze. “What does that mean?”
He meets my eyes directly, unwavering. “Marriage.”
I laugh, disbelief choking the sound.
He doesn’t. His stare holds me in place. “It’s not a proposal. And I’m not joking.”
“Oh, you must be. You think this is the 19th century. I’ll never marry you.”
“Like I said, Ellie,” he says, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument, “it’s not a proposal. You don’t get to say ‘I do’ or ‘I don’t.’ You’re marrying me.”
The words hit me like a punch. My chest tightens. I feel the room tilt slightly, the chandeliers above swaying in my blurred vision.
“I…you can’t—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“No, Ellie. This isn’t about choice. This is about survival. Your life. Your freedom from the mark they put on you. Everything else comes after.”
I glare, furious, breath coming fast. “You’re insane. I don’t belong in your world!”
I yank at my wrist again, desperate. The tension snaps.
He uses my struggling hand against me, pulling me toward him.
Then his lips are on mine. Hard. Dominant. Explosive. Not gentle. Not soft.
Shock freezes me for a split second.
Then instinct takes over. I shove him back with everything I have. He stumbles, but that’s not enough for me. My hand comes up, and I slap him hard.
“I hate you!” I scream, my voice raw, breath jagged.
His eyes darken. Sharp. Dangerous. Cold. “You won’t run. If you do… you die.”
A pause. My chest heaves. I’m trembling. My fingers curl into fists. My legs feel like lead.
He takes one last step back, his presence still pressing into the room, impossibly large and impossible to ignore.
“Wedding is in forty-eight hours,” he says.
Then he turns and walks out.
The door clicks shut behind him.