The clock ticked past midnight.
Alina stood in front of his door, barefoot, heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else. The hallway was dark. Silent. No wind. No creak of boards beneath her. The entire world had collapsed into this moment.
Her fingers trembled on the doorknob.
She twisted it.
The door was unlocked.
She pushed it open.
The room was lit only by a single lamp on the dresser. Warm golden light spilled across the bed. And there he was—Konstantin—sitting in the chair near the window, wearing nothing but black sweatpants and stillness.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t smile.
His eyes moved to her body and stayed there.
She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the trench coat. One tug and it would fall. One word and she’d be exposed. But she waited.
She needed him to speak
