The bathroom door creaked open, letting out a soft hiss of steam that curled into the cool air of the bedroom. Nikolai stepped out, his dark hair damp, small droplets tracing the sharp planes of his face before sliding down to the towel wrapped low around his waist. The scent of soap and something faintly woody followed him, clinging to his skin, grounding the air with his presence.
Rose lay on the bed, not asleep but lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the plaster above might hold answers she couldn't yet reach. Her hands were folded loosely over her stomach, and her expression was tight, distracted. She didn't notice the steam dissipating or the heavy steps of Nikolai crossing the floor until the mattress dipped beside her weight.
Her mind refused to let go of the fragments she'd been replaying for hours.
The kidnapping.
The sudden blackout at the carnival.
The two men—Benito and the other, whose name had already slipped away like water through her fingers. She could still hear their voices, mocking and cruel, echoing against the back of her skull. Their faces blurred in her memory, but the way they had looked at her, like she was a prize to be collected, stayed sharp. None of it made sense. She had never wronged anyone, had never lived a life that might lead her into the shadows of men like that. And yet… she had been taken.
Her stomach twisted.
"Rose," Nikolai's voice broke softly through her storm of thoughts.
She blinked, startled back to the present. He was seated beside her now, no longer just a silhouette at the edge of her vision. The towel was gone, replaced by a pair of black slacks that clung to his lean frame, his chest still bare and gleaming faintly under the light. His icy blue eyes studied her with quiet intensity, searching, as if he could pry into the very thoughts she was trying to untangle.
"What's on your mind?" he asked, his tone steady but carrying the weight of concern.
Rose exhaled shakily, pressing her lips together before speaking. "Do you perhaps know why I got kidnapped? Or maybe…" She faltered, glancing away. "…maybe it was just my bad luck?"
Her voice was fragile, wrapped in the kind of uncertainty that begged for clarity but feared the answer.
Nikolai reached out without hesitation, his large hand enveloping hers where it lay tense on the sheets. The warmth of his palm spread through her fingers, grounding her, but not soothing the questions clawing at her chest.
"It doesn't matter," he said firmly, his voice low and resolute. "What matters is that you are safe now."
She flinched at the answer, her brows knitting together. "But I want to know," she pressed, her voice gaining a sharper edge. "It's all just… too weird, Nikolai. They knew things. They knew you." She swallowed hard, her pulse rising. "They knew that you… that you bought me. Are they enemies of yours or something? Like maybe people trying to get back at you? Or—"
Her words tumbled out faster than she could control, each one colored with frustration and fear.
Nikolai drew in a breath, steadying himself. He dropped his gaze for a moment, the muscles in his jaw tightening before he sighed. "No," he said, but the pause that followed lingered, heavy with something unsaid. "I mean… Rose, look. What matters now is that you are safe, okay? We'll talk about the rest later."
His voice was final, as if the subject was a locked door she wasn't allowed to touch.
Rose turned her head away, her throat tightening. The sting of rejection pressed against her chest. "Okay, fine. Don't tell me then," she muttered, her voice quieter but laced with stubbornness. "I'll figure it out on my own."
"Rose—"
"I want to sleep." Her words cut through his attempt to speak, clipped and sharp, the exhaustion of the day leaking into her tone. She shifted slightly, wincing from the pain on her back, pulling the blanket higher up her body as if it could shield her from him, from the truth he kept behind his silence.
Nikolai's lips parted as if to argue, but then he caught himself. His eyes lingered on her profile, the fragile curve of her cheek, the tension in her shoulders. Finally, he nodded once, though the motion was reluctant. "Okay," he murmured. "Rest then."
He sat there for a long beat, watching her as her lashes lowered, though he knew she wasn't truly asleep. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her breathing not yet settled.
Quietly, he reached down for the black t-shirt. He pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric clinging to his damp skin, softening the stark lines of muscle.
Rose didn't open her eyes, but she felt the shift beside her, sensed the way he moved with quiet deliberation. It was impossible not to notice him—he filled the room in ways she couldn't escape, his presence a weight and a comfort all at once.
"I'll be back in a moment," Nikolai said finally, his voice low but even, as if testing whether she was truly listening.
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't turn toward him. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice hushed, betraying a hint of worry she hadn't meant to let slip.
"Just outside," he answered simply. "I won't be long." He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice even more. "If you need anything, Alexei will be here soon. Tell him."
Something about the mention of Alexei, the reminder that she wouldn't be left aloke right now in her helpless state, eased the knot in her chest just slightly. But it also unsettled her—because it meant Nikolai didn't trust leaving her unguarded, even for a few minutes. But then again, she needed to have someone with her, because what if she got taken again.
Rose opened her eyes, just briefly, and saw him standing now, adjusting the hem of his shirt, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He looked like a man carrying a thousand secrets, each one carved into the set of his shoulders.
"Don't stay out too long," she murmured, before she could stop herself.
His gaze flicked back to her, surprised, and then softened in the faintest way. He gave a small nod. "I won't."
And with that, Nikolai moved to the door, his footsteps silent against the polished floor. The latch clicked softly as he opened it, letting in a faint draft of cooler air from the hallway beyond. For a moment, his silhouette lingered in the doorway—broad, commanding, yet strangely hesitant—before he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
The room plunged into a deeper stillness, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the city outside the tall windows.
Rose lay there, staring into the dark, her mind anything but quiet. His refusal to answer, his secrets, the way those strangers had spoken with such familiarity—it all circled in her thoughts like vultures, refusing to let her rest.
Her heart whispered questions her lips hadn't dared to form aloud.
What was she to him, truly? A possession? A responsibility? Or something he couldn't yet admit?
But the top question in her mind was why she was this year's target at the carnival.