NIKOLAI
I PRESSED MY lips into a tight line, arms folded as I leaned against the board, watching him sleep.
How thin he’d become. How f*****g fragile he looked. And I hated it. Hated the hollowness in his face. Hated the way he avoided my eyes, like he thought I’d look at him differently—like I’d leave. Like he was too damaged for me now.
I took a sharp breath, pressing my thumb to the bridge of my nose. Three days. It had been three days, and I still couldn’t get the f*****g image out of my head.
The truth was, I was afraid. Afraid that this would be the thing that finally broke him. Afraid that he would snap and he wouldn’t come back to me. And worse—I couldn’t take him back to Russia. Not yet. He had to stay here, hidden, buried in one of my houses, hours away from his pac
