I lean back in the chair at the hypnotherapist’s office, shaking my head at the conversation fromst night.


    Kids. I can’t believe he asked me if I wanted them. With him. And I can’t believe I actually considered it.


    But I meant what I said. I can’t be someone’s mother. There’s no way another human being would benefit from me mothering him or her. I’d ruin them the way my mother ruined me.


    Right now isn’t the time to think of the future, though. My brother’s freedom. That’s the priority. Once he’s out, then Konstantin and I can figure out what we are to one another.


    My leg bounces as I wait for my appointment, wondering what she’ll be like and if she’ll actually be able to help me. It’s hard to ignore the way my muscles tighten in anticipation.


    The door creaks open and she steps out, greeting me with a warm smile. Her blonde pixie cut frames her round face, softening her features.


    “Ms. Hayes, pleasee in.” She motions toward her office.


    Her eyes seem kind, and there’s an easy calm about her that makes me feel like everything will be okay before we even speak.


    Getting to my feet, I follow her into the office, unease rising in my stomach, though I’m doing my best to push it down. She gestures to the chair across from her desk, and I settle into it, my hands folded tightly together on myp while she gets a notepad and pen.


    “So, what brings you in today?”


    I hesitate for a moment before answering. “I’ve been having this dream… I’ve had it since I was a child.”


    Her eyes don’t waver as I tell her all about it while she takes notes.


    “I need to know if it’s just a dream or if it’s something from my past, something that actually happened. I need to remember the details, but regr therapy hasn’t helped with that, so here I am.”


    She nods, understanding written across her face. “Alright, let’s take it slow. I’m going to guide you through the process. Just rx and let the imagese to you. Trust that your mind will show you what’s necessary. You’re in control.”


    I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. She asks me to close my eyes, and I do, trying to block out the tension in my body while I focus on my breathing like she says.


    A minuteter, my body starts to loosen, the tightness in my chest easing just a little.


    “Now, I want you to focus. Go back to the moment in the closet. Envision it in your mind. Don’t be afraid.”


    It takes a minute, but my thoughts start to race as the memory begins to rise to the surface, little by little, and I feel as though I’m there.


    “What do you see?”


    “It’s…dark. Narrow. The air smells old, damp.” My voice falters. “I hear her—my mother. She’s screaming through the walls, her cries breaking between words. She’s begging someone to stop.”


    A sharp breath catches in my chest.


    “There are men there. I hear them too. Their voices are muffled, like they’re behind a thin wall or just out of reach.”


    “You’re doing great, Emilia. Stay with it. Try to focus on what they’re saying. Can you make out the words?”


    My mind reaches into the haze, sifting through the echo of voices like scattered puzzle pieces. They blur, bleed together, until one breaks through the fog.


    “One of them says… ‘You need to stop. You can’t be doing this to her.’”


    My skin tingles, a nervous flutter rising in my stomach.


    Who is he talking about? Me? My mom?


    “That’s excellent, Emilia. Keep going. Can you hear anything else?”


    A beat passes. The memory stretches deeper. Words filter in, growing clearer.


    “Another manughs. It’s cold…like he enjoys what’s happening. He says, ‘You’re threatening me?’ His voice…it turns sharp. Like he’s about to snap.”


    Every instinct in me screams that something terrible ising.


    “Then he says…” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “‘You just never learn, do you?’ And then…oh God.”


    “You’re safe, Emilia. You’re just remembering. They can’t hurt you now. What happened next?”


    A tremor runs through my body, the words scraping out. “A gunshot.”


    It rings through the memory, crackling in my skull like a lightning strike. A piercing sound that vibrates through my bones—impossible to forget, impossible to outrun.


    A shudder creeps over me, the sharpness in my lungs, the choking fear of a little girl who can’t move, can’t escape. My hands involuntarily tighten into fists, clinging to whatever I can. I’m frozen, stuck in the dark, still that terrified little girl trapped in the corner of that closet with hands against her ears and tears rolling down her cheeks.


    I can see it all clearly. The tiny space. The cramped, suffocating air. The musty smell of dust and old wood.


    The hypnotist cuts through the panic. “Do you hear anything else?”


    The question bounces through my mind, pulling me back to the memory, forcing me to focus. The room grows colder as I strain to hear something, anything that might lead me to the truth. The silence presses in like a trap, like I’m slipping deeper into something I can’t escape.


    Then I hear it.


    “The door. It’s opening…and-and there’s a man there.”


    The darkness in front of me begins to part, a sliver of light cutting through the void. There, in the space between the shadows, I see the outline of a figure—tall, broad—standing in the doorway.


    “Can you see his face?”


    His presence feels familiar. Too familiar.


    I freeze. My body locks up, every muscle screaming, but I can’t move. My chest tightens as the figure steps closer, his silhouette sharp against the light. Then his voice, calm but unmistakably familiar, says my name.


    “No, I-I can’t. But I’m trying. He knows me. He says, ‘It’s okay, Emilia. You’re safe now.’”


    “Concentrate on him. What does his face look like?”


    I close my eyes tightly, pushing against the darkness, trying to make him out.


    His words should beforting, shouldn’t they? But they’re not. The hollowness of the room around me is like a thick fog, and it’s growing thicker. Then he begins to fade…


    No! Nonono!


    I try harder, but the harder I strain to focus, the farther he pulls away. It’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.


    “Focus, Emilia. Look into his eyes,” the hypnotist encourages.


    But it’s all too distant, too far from where I am. I try with everything I have, the pressure in my chest growing as the space around me distorts, like I’m losing my grip on reality. The figure flickers in the darkness, fading into nothingness, his face just out of reach.


    And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the image disappears entirely. The room grows cold, and I feel nothing but emptiness.


    “Fuck!” My eyes fly open, and the world feels a little too bright. “Why the hell couldn’t I see him? I was so damn close!” My anger radiates through me.


    The therapist leans forward, her eyes filled with quiet sympathy. “Take a deep breath. You did well for your first time.”


    “I just need to remember. I know it’s important.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in the pit of my stomach.


    It’s like I’m so close, but the pieces keep slipping through my fingers.


    “The more we work through this, the more you’ll remember. Just be patient.”


    I let out a small snicker.


    “Not very patient, are you?” Her grin is infectious, lighting up her face as she watches me.


    “Not even close.”


    “Well, you will learn to be, because the mind is a tricky thing. Be kind to it.”


    “I’ll try.”


    “Good. We’ll schedule another session for next week. Same time, yes?”


    “Yep. I’ll be here.”


    As I get up to leave, a strange sense of relief mixed with uncertainty hits me.


    There’s so much more to uncover, and for the first time, I believe like I can actually get there.<hr>


    I still sense the aftershocks of the therapy session as I step into the house, but I push it all aside, focusing on the familiarfort of home.


    It’s strange how much this ce, this life, is starting to feel like mine. And honestly, that should terrify me, but it doesn’t.


    As I slip off my shoes, the weight of the day settles in my shoulders. But then the sound of footsteps catches my attention and Konstantin appears in the foyer, his presence filling the space as it always does.


    My eyes follow the lines of his body and the way his gray sweats hang low on his hips, the way that white T-shirt clings to him. My God, it’s almost unfair how good he looks.


    “How did it go?” He approaches, gaze sharpening as he tugs my chin with his firm grip, pulling me in just enough to feel his chest press into me.


    “It actually went well. I remembered some things, but not enough yet.”


    A small smile tugs on his face as his thumb brushes across my bottom lip. “See? I told you it was worth a try.”


    “Yeah, yeah. Stop gloating.” I elbow him, and he chuckles, crouching over yfully.


    “Come. I made you something.” His hand slips into mine, the heat of his fingers sending a jolt through me. He presses my knuckles to his lips, his gaze smoldering with intensity.


    “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”


    “You’ll see, my impatient wife,” he says, each syble deliberately dragging through the air.


    Thatst word hits me harder than it should, creating a tightness in my stomach, and I can’t deny how much I love how it soundsing from him.


    The savory aroma drifts through the air as we step into the kitchen. Pots and pans simmer on the stove, the sounds of a meal in the making filling the space.


    Konstantin pulls out a chair for me, always the gentleman. “Sit.”


    Once I do, he moves to the stove, stirring something in the pot. My gaze stays rooted on him, roaming over his body, every inch of him suddenly more captivating than the meal he’s preparing. He looks so domestic, and it’s all kinds of sexy.


    “You cook?”


    He nces over his shoulder, offering me a flirty smile. “These days, men cook, Tessa.”


    “Haha, you’re hrious.” I roll my eyes. “I’m aware of that, but I just didn’t picture you as the cooking type.”


    The yful stare he shoots me tells me he’s enjoying this too much. “Just because I’m handy with a gun doesn’t mean I can’t handle a kitchen, Mrs. Marinova.”


    With a smooth motion, he turns off the stove, crosses the room, and moves my chair so I’m facing him. His hand settles around my throat, fingers tightening just enough to send a surge of desire through me.


    “If you stick around long enough…” He pushes up my chin with his thumb. “You’ll find I’ve got more tricks up my sleeve.”


    He drops his lips to mine and kisses me slow, every pull of his mouth against mine sending my pulse fluttering. When he pulls away, I’m breathless, my skin still tingling from the feel of him.


    He arranges the food, cing the tters at the center of the table, then sets two tes and small bowls for us before taking his seat at the head, with my chair positioned to his right.


    The dishes are unlike anything I’ve seen before. Rich colors, bold textures, the kind of food that makes your stomach ache with anticipation. My eyes settle on a steaming pot filled with something dark red, like blood.


    “What’s this?” I ask as he pours some into my bowl, then fills his own.


    “Borscht. It’s a Russian soup with beets and other vegetables. You’re going to love it.”


    I hesitate for a second, eyeing the unfamiliar dish, then dip my spoon in and taste it. The vor hits me immediately. Savory and tangy.


    “Wow. This is incredible.”


    He watches me closely, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as I take another bite. “Good. I’m d you like it.”


    With every taste, his attention never leaves me, waiting for my reaction as I try the other dishes. Only when he sees that I’m enjoying it does he eat.


    As I cut into a piece of chicken, his hand slides up my thigh. “Come sit on myp. Let me feed you.”


    I freeze. “What? No, I’m fine here.”


    His smirk deepens. “That wasn’t an invitation, katyonak. Nowe.” He pats his thigh.


    A grin pulls at my lips as I catch the challenge in his eyes. I stay seated, continuing to eat, while he watches me, nostrils ring and his mouth twitching with amusement.


    “If that’s how you want to y it.”


    Before I can react, his arm curls around my back and he’s sweeping me into his arms and lowering me right onto hisp.


    “Konstantin!” I gasp,ughter bubbling up from my chest. “What are you doing?”


    “When I tell you to do something, you do it. Simple.” His fingers graze my chin, sending heat rippling through me. “And if you don’t, I’ll help you. That’s what a marriage is.” Awareness creeps up between us, the hungry way he looks at me only deepening. “Now, isn’t this much better?”


    “No.”


    Yes.


    He chuckles softly, leaning to my lips, his tongue breaching the entrance.


    His groan of satisfaction stirs something deep inside me, sending a wing need spreading to my core, making me want him badly enough to beg. His rock-hard erection pushes into me, causing a rush of need to surge through me. I shift, desperate to ease the fire he’s ignited.


    Heughs. “It likes you. Quite a bit.”


    “I’m a bit of a fan too.” A small smile tugs at my face.


    His eyes darken, heavy with desire, as his hand slides into my hair, gripping me with a possessive force.


    “Eat, moya l’vitsa…” His voice drops low, his breath hot against my ear. “Before I make a meal out of you.”


    A breathy moan escapes my lips as my fingers curl around his bicep, the electricity between us undeniable. He lifts the spoon to my lips, feeding me from his bowl while his cock continues to press against me, sending waves of sensation through my body. Each bite feels more personal, more intense, charged with a raw energy that mirrors the way he looks at me.


    The tension thickens, an electric current running through the space between us, drawing us in even tighter. His presence is suffocating in the best way, making it impossible to ignore the way my pulse quickens each time his fingers brush my skin or when his eyes lock on to mine.


    He pulls back slightly, his voice turning raspy, almost teasing. “I bought you something for tonight. It’s hanging in our bedroom.”


    My brow furrows. “What’s tonight?”


    “I have a meeting at my club, and I need my assistant there with me.” The sensual undertone in his words sends a shiver down my spine.


    “The infamous club.” The curiosity I’ve had about it bubbles to the surface, and before I can stop myself, the question slips out. “Will you show me around?”


    He arches a brow, clearly surprised at my eagerness. “I was hoping to.”


    Nerves stir in my stomach, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something thrilling. The idea of stepping into that world, seeing what he’s been hiding, intrigues me more than I care to admit.


    A part of me wonders what he might make me try. And if I might actually want to.