Chapter 30

Chapter 29

Sophia

"AND THEY lived happily ever after," I sigh out the end of Beauty and the Beast for the second time tonight. My eyelids are drooping, and I'm relieved to see Yulia's are finally fluttering closed. Max is already snoozing, a puddle of warmth against my thigh.

I reach out, tucking a stray curl behind Yulia's ear. She looks so peaceful in sleep, a sharp contrast to the turmoil I know is stirring within her. The same turmoil I remember all too well from my own childhood after losing my parents.

Once I'm sure they're both deep in dreamland, I rise, my gaze lingering on their innocent faces a moment longer before I silently tread my way out of her room, a wave of fatigue washing over me.

But as I pass by Luka's door, my heart thumps wildly in my chest. The door is closed, and the room behind it is silent, but I can't help the sudden flash of memories. His hot touch, his rough kisses, the way he took me in his bed… It's imprinted in my memory. My cheeks flame at the thought, a heated reminder of the most intense night I've ever had.

I know he's not there. I would've heard him if he was. I was practically holding my breath, listening for that slight creak of his door. Pathetic.

I hope he doesn't die…

The thought rushes at me like a runaway train, filling me with a kind of terror I've never known. His life is a twisted game of Russian roulette, a step away from a bullet, a crash, a betrayal. Aleks—

No, don't go there.

I heave in a deep, ragged breath, desperately pushing the horrific thoughts away. Stealing another glance at Luka's door, I'm almost willing it to open.

Fucking hell, Sophia, get a grip.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, I step into my room. It's new, it's unfamiliar, yet there's something vaguely comforting about it. The scent of fresh linen and polished wood, the soft hum of the AC, the ambient lighting casting warm shadows across the room. It feels…safe.

Yawning wide, I swipe the screen of the iPad, diving back into the organized chaos of Yulia's schedule. An early start in the kitchen, followed by a day full of lessons for Yulia – math, language, piano. My head spins just looking at it.

My brow lifts at the next item – horseback riding. I blink, pausing to process that.

Horseback riding. Really?

I can't help the snort that escapes me. Of course, they'd have horses. Why wouldn't they?

Rubbing my face, I strain to hear any sound from across the hall. Nothing. A frustrating void where Luka should be.

Dammit, Sophia. He's off-limits.

It's nearly 2 a.m., according to the cruel digits on my watch. With a sigh, I peel out of my clothes, the fabric pooling on the cold tiles under my feet. I'm left standing in my bare skin, the chill raising goosebumps along my arms.

The tub's already half-full, the water running from the faucet like a promise of relief. I dip a toe in, then my foot, the heat of it snaking up my leg and luring a moan from my lips.

Tossing my bra and panties to the side, I step into the tub. The water swallows me whole, the heat seeping into my pores, untangling my muscles. It's a slice of heaven in this concrete hell.

It's just me, the steam curling off the water and the deafening silence of the house. I sink deeper, letting the water lap at my neck, my eyelids fluttering closed.

A door swings open onto a world drowned in black.

I step in.

"Hello?" I call out.

Darkness drenches the room, thick and cloying like tar. There's a smell – metallic, potent, the unmistakable stench of blood. A pair of bodies dangle in the heart of the pitch black, like grotesque puppets in a morbid show. They sway lightly as though rocked by an undetectable, chilling breeze.

I'm drawn to them, step after quivering step. My legs are jelly under me, shaking like the aftershocks of an earthquake. Every instinct screams at me to stop. Turn around. Get the hell out of this butcher's nightmare.

Damn it, my body won't listen. It's as though it's been hijacked, steered by a puppeteer with a twisted sense of humor. I'm trapped in my own skin, a captive audience to the horror unfolding before me.

I stumble closer, my heart pounding a brutal rhythm against my ribs. Each beat sounds in my ears like a death knell, drowning out the desperate pleas echoing in my mind.

Stop! my mind screeches, but my treacherous legs only pick up the pace. Each step brings the bodies into focus, and the sight is like a jagged blade plunging into my chest. The tousled curls, the sprawled limbs – it's them.

Wren and my brother.

"Oh, God," I whimper, the words barely more than a puff of air. Their faces are beaten, bloody, a canvas of pain that my mind recoils from. Wren's eyes are closed, thank God, but my brother's stare blankly at the ceiling. My blood runs cold. I want to scream, to claw at my eyes, to do anything but look. But I'm frozen, shackled in place by a terror that steals my breath and pins me to the spot.

Then, impossibly, Wren's eyes flicker open. They're glassy, filled with a pain that makes my heart squeeze painfully. Blood trickles from her eyes, streams from her nose in a horrifying river of red. Her lips part, and a single word wheezes out. "Help."

A shock of cold rushes through me, numbing me from the inside out. I beg my eyes to close, to shut out the grotesque spectacle in front of me. But they remain wide open, forcing me to witness the macabre tableau. The room spins, my stomach lurches, and just when I think it can't get any worse, my lungs seize, strangled of air. I gasp, choking on the darkness that's coiling around my throat. A pressure is building in my chest, clawing its way up, a dire need to breathe, but the air won't come. My vision blurs around the edges, the horrific scene starting to waver like a nightmare mirage.

Just as the darkness threatens to claim me, my eyes flash open. My surroundings change drastically, the gruesome sight of the bloodied bodies replaced with cerulean blue. Bubbles rise around me, and I realize, with a jolt of panic, I'm underwater.

The bath.

Fuck!

I'm in the bath, sinking under the surface, drowning in my own fears. Panic seizes me, shattering the paralysis that held me moments ago. My limbs jerk into action, hands clawing at the water, legs kicking, body convulsing in a desperate attempt to surface. But the slick ceramic sides of the tub offer no grip. My fingers slide off, plunging me deeper into the water as my brain fights the grip of the nightmare that's left me reeling, confused.

Please! Someone help me!

My lungs are on fire now, screaming for air. I open my mouth in a silent scream, only for the water to rush in, filling my mouth, my throat. The world dims at the edges, panic gripping me in a vise. I'm going to drown. In a bathtub, of all places. It's a horrifyingly ludicrous thought.

Just as I'm about to succumb to the inevitable, a pair of hands reach into the water, strong and steady. They scoop me up, dragging me up and out, hauling me against a hard chest. I gasp, lungs heaving as I suck in a greedy breath, coughing and spluttering as the world slowly comes back into focus.

"Take it easy," I hear a deep voice.

Gasping for breath, I feel a rush of cold air against my skin as I stand in front of Luka. Completely disoriented, naked, and dripping wet, I reach instinctively for something to cover myself. There's nothing.

Oh, fuck.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Luka looks at me briefly, a spark of something – amusement or annoyance, I can't tell – shifting his stoic expression.

"Th-thank you," I stutter out. The chill in his voice has done nothing to alleviate my flustered state. "I was…I was having a nightmare."

A storm brews in Luka's eyes, his words a knife-edge of frosty sarcasm. "Seems like you're struggling with the basics, krasotka. Or is ‘staying alive' too much to ask?"

"No, it's not like that. I just…I was tired, and I thought a bath would help," I blurt out. My hands instinctively cross over my breasts, a pitiful attempt at preserving some semblance of modesty.

His intimidating frame overwhelms the bathroom, which is spacious by any standard, his presence an oppressive force. He is sculpted like a god, his muscular body hardened from a life that shows no mercy. His raw masculinity is like a body blow, disconcerting yet undeniably electrifying.

Bare, wet, and vulnerable, I'm standing mere inches from him. His hand, battle-scarred and assertive, steadies me at my back. My heart beats like a war drum against my ribs, its rhythm frantic under his touch. My nipples peak under his heavy gaze, his eyes stripping me further bare. But there's a frosty detachment to his stare, a chilly indifference I can't quite decipher.

The deafening silence is only broken by the steady drips from my soaked hair, each one crashing onto the cold tiles in sync with the frenetic pounding in my chest.

"Try using an alarm clock for waking up instead of drowning yourself." His words are as cutting as shards of glass.

A bitter laugh erupts from my throat. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No."

There's no amusement in his voice, no hidden smirk tugging at his mouth. "You're a catastrophe waiting to happen."

So, he wasn't joking.

But something seems off.

I hug myself tighter, trying to shield my exposed body. But it does nothing to suppress the tremors racing down my spine or the burning blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"Get out," I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

He looks taken aback for a second, his eyebrows pulling together as he takes in my crossed arms, my red face. His gaze lingers for a second too long on the bare skin of my thighs, the heat in his eyes visible even in the dimly lit room.

"What?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

"The bathroom," I clarify, refusing to meet his eyes. "Can you leave? Please…?"

There's a silent moment where the only sound is our heavy breathing and the faint drip of the faucet. The intensity of his stare makes my heart race. Abruptly, I'm pulled against him, the cold dampness of my skin seeping into his warm clothes. His muscled arm wraps around my waist, drawing me flush against his solid body.

His voice slices through the silence, sharp and unyielding. "My house," he growls, the tone leaving no room for arguments. "My rules. I told you this."

"But you can't just—" I start to retort, but the realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

It's his room.

I'm in his world now. The world where there are no rules but Luka Ivankov's.

His finger, rough and callused, hooks a damp strand of my hair, pushing it back with an oddly gentle precision. His other hand stays at my waist, his grip firm, as if he's worried I might disappear if he lets go.

Our eyes lock, searing, charged with an electricity that zaps straight to my core.

I'm going to be so screwed if he kisses me now.

Suddenly, his eyes shift, going dark, darker than spilled ink, darker than a moonless night.

The predatory glint in his eyes doesn't waver as his hand lifts. It sweeps through the humid air, unhurried, and grazes my neck in a near touch that leaves me gasping. My pulse jumps under his light contact with my throat, a panicked rabbit under his hunter's touch.

"Who the hell are you?" His words slice through the steamy air, his icy glare pinning me to the spot.

"Wh-what?"

"What's your name?" His question almost stops my heart.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"It's Sophia…just Sophia," I manage to choke out. But his large, unforgiving hand is already tightening around my throat, his grip potent with unspoken threats. "Get off me," I wheeze out, desperately clawing at his hand, trying to loosen his hold. But he's a mountain to my feebleness, immovable and commanding.

"So, who the fuck is Sonia Brown?" he growls.

His question lands like a bomb between us. Panic bubbles up in my throat, a whirlpool of fear and shock threatening to suck me under. My brain scrambles, a jumbled mess of thoughts fighting to form a plausible response. But no clever excuse materializes. Instead, I stand there, frozen, caught in the headlights of his damning question.

Dear God, he knows.

He fucking knows.