16. Alina
ALINA
“ W ho is this?” he asks.
I can hear Nat on the other end of the line even from where I’m standing. Her voice is high and frantic, words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and fear. She’s saying my name again and again, demanding to know where I am, who he is, why someone else is answering the phone.
It needles into him, though he doesn’t interrupt her. He simply listens, head slightly tilted, eyes fixed on me the entire time. Not once does his gaze leave my face. It’s as if Nat isn’t the one being assessed.
I am.
Every second she talks feels like a countdown. My chest tightens with each word she spills, each emotional plea she throws into the void, unaware she’s speaking to a man who has done reprehensible things without blinking.
When she finally runs out of breath and the tirade burns itself down into ragged silence, he lifts the phone a fraction higher, bringing it closer to his mouth.
“I see.”
My stomach twists violently.
“Do not call here again.” He lowers the phone slowly, ending the call with a tap of his finger. Nat’s voice cuts off mid-breath.
The silence that follows is absolute. It echoes louder in my ears than my own heartbeat. One second, she was there, tethered to me by memory and loyalty and the fragile proof that my old life had existed at all, and the next, she’s gone.
Erased entirely.
Sasha doesn’t speak. He simply stands there staring at me like time itself has paused at his command. The phone hangs loose in his hand, forgotten, no longer the weapon it was seconds ago.
He lets the silence stretch, long enough that it stops being a pause and turns into a punishment.
My thoughts spiral, tripping over themselves in panic as I scramble for any excuse, justifications, half-truths that might soften whatever judgment he’s about to pass.
I was lonely. I just needed to talk to someone who knew me. She won’t tell anyone. I didn’t say where I was. I didn’t mean to.
None of it sounds convincing even inside my own head.
My mouth opens and closes. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to sting. I welcome the pain. It’s something tangible, something I can control.
He watches every flicker of it. Every swallow, twitch, every second I fail to speak. The longer he waits, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t really about the phone call anymore. Not about Nat. Not even about what I said.
It’s about what I dared to reach for behind his back.
For connection. The outside world. The part of myself that still believes I’m allowed to touch something without it being taken, monitored, or weaponized against me. That I dared to believe I could take something for myself without asking for permission first.
That’s the crime.
Finally, I force myself to speak. “I just… wanted to talk to someone.”
The silence that follows is heavy. His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping once beneath his skin before it stills again.
“You told her about your father. About your mother. Do you think that was a wise choice?” His tone is controlled, flat, but there’s a sharper edge underneath it now that I recognize
Tears sting the corners of my eyes immediately, burning hot. I shake my head, panic flooding me all over again. “I didn’t say anything about you, I swear. I didn’t say where I was. I didn’t tell her anything that could?—”
“You told her enough,” he cuts in.
I flinch.
“You’ve put yourself in danger,” he continues, tossing the phone onto the desk before stepping closer now. “And you’ve pulled her in it too.”
I flinch again despite myself, my shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact.
Shame coils tightly in my chest, nearly suffocating me.
I hadn’t thought about it that way… not really.
I’d only been thinking about how badly I needed to hear a familiar voice.
How desperate I was to remember that a world existed outside these walls.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I didn’t mean to. She wouldn’t tell anyone. Nat wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t know that,” he snaps. The restraint in him cracks enough for me to glimpse what’s underneath—panic? Worry? Concern? I can’t tell. “People talk. People panic when they’re upset. They make mistakes when they’re afraid.”
He looms over me, backing me up until my ass knocks against the edge of the desk and there’s nowhere left to retreat. The wood digs into my lower back, a sharp reminder of how cornered I am. His presence fills the space completely.
“I don’t scold you for my own amusement, Alina,” he growls.
The sound of my name on his tongue, wrapped in that tone, breaks something fragile inside me.
“I just… didn’t want to be alone,” I choke out.
That’s when the tears finally win.
They spill fast and hot, blurring my vision as my chest tightens violently.
I can’t stop the sob that claws its way out of my throat, can’t hold myself together long enough to swallow it down.
My arms wrap around my waist instinctively, squeezing hard like I’m trying to keep myself from coming apart right there in front of him.
God, I hate this…
I hate how small I feel, how exposed I am. I hate that everything in my life feels like it’s suspended in midair—my future, my freedom, him —with no solid ground in sight.
And worst of all, I hate that I don’t know what we are now.
We crossed a line neither of us can go back over. Him disappearing and shutting me out, walling himself back up like nothing had happened hurts worse than I could have ever imaged. I’d woken up with his warmth still on my skin and his absence tearing a hollow through my chest at the same time.
It isn’t fair that he gets to dictate this without me.
I swipe at my cheeks angrily, furious with myself for crying and letting him see me weak like this.
“I don’t understand you. You pull me in and then you disappear.
You tell me the truth and then punish me for reacting to it.
This is the first time we’ve even spoken in days, Sasha.
And it’s because I did something wrong. Again. ”
For a long moment, he just stands there, his jaw clenched so tightly I can practically hear his teeth grind. His hands flex once at his sides, fighting an impulse he obviously doesn’t trust himself not to follow.
“You think this is easy for me?” he finally says, his voice stripped of some of its bite. It isn’t gentle, but it’s honest in a way that makes my breath hitch. “You think I enjoy watching you unravel because you want something I cannot allow you to have?”
I lift my head despite myself, tears clinging stubbornly to my lashes. My throat tightens as I meet his gaze, searching it for something I can hold onto. “Then why did you let it happen in the first place?”
For a split second, his eyes flicker with just the barest crack in the armor. It’s gone almost immediately, but I see it. That’s the answer, right there. The truth neither of us knows how to touch without hurting.
Sasha exhales slowly. “Because I made a mistake, Alina. One I wish I could take back.”
A weak laugh slips out of me. I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”
Something shifts then. Not dramatically, not enough that anyone else would notice, but I do. His expression doesn’t soften, but there’s something else there now, a quiet honesty that feels more dangerous than anger ever could.
“You’re right,” he murmurs. “I don’t.”
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s me leaning forward.
Maybe it’s him closing the last few inches of space.
All I know is that suddenly, his hands are on my face, warm and steady, cupping my cheeks.
The touch steals the breath from my lungs.
I exhale softly before my hands rise to fist in the front of his shirt.
My palm flattens over his chest. I feel his heartbeat, strong and steady thudding beneath my hand like it’s answering mine.
When he kisses me, it’s nothing like before.
There’s no collision this time, no desperation crashing into each other.
His mouth moves against mine gently, tasting every corner, coaxing my lips apart with a patience that undoes me more than force ever could.
One arm slides around my waist. Before I fully register it, he lifts me easily, settling me back on the edge of the desk.
My legs part for him without thought, drawing him closer until I can feel the hard line of him pressing against my core through our clothes. His hand splays across my lower back, anchoring me while the other threads into my hair, tilting my head so he can deepen the kiss.
I melt into it, my fingers curling tighter in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. His tongue strokes mine like he has all the time in the world to learn me. Every slide sends sparks down my spine, pooling warm low in my belly.
This isn’t hate. This isn’t punishment. This feels like… worship, and it terrifies me how much I want it to be true.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth along my jaw and my throat, lingering at the frantic pulse beneath my ear.
His breath is warm, ragged now, betraying the control he’s trying desperately to cling to.
I arch into him, my hands sliding up to grab his shoulders, then the back of his neck, needing more.
“Sasha,” I whisper.
He answers with a low sound in his chest, almost a growl that quickly soften into something tender.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt, pushing it up slowly, his palms skimming over my ribs and my waist until the fabric is gone and tossed aside.
Cool air hits my skin, but his hands are there immediately to warm me. They trace every curve possessively.
He unhooks my bra with a single deft motion, tossing it too.
His eyes darken when he looks at me, the raw hunger I’d seen days ago there again.
But it’s tempered, held back by something a little gentler.
His thumb brushes over my nipple, circling slowly until it tightens into a peak.
I gasp, my hips rocking forward against him.