Page 49 of Perfect Stalker

I tense, worried he’s going to confess his feelings for me. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with that yet. I feign a yawn. “Can it wait? I’m suddenly exhausted.”

He hesitates, then nods. “Of course. Get some rest.”

I curl up next to him, resting my head on his chest. He strokes my hair, lulling me to sleep. I drift off, feeling safe and content.

A couple of days later,I sit in Ivan’s penthouse library, surrounded by leather-bound books. The rich scent of old paper and leather fills my nose while I flip through a first edition of “War and Peace.” I’m never reading it again—once in high school was enough—but I still appreciate how special this first edition is.

Marcus’s footsteps echo on the hardwood floor before he enters. I recognize his footsteps due to the tactical boots he alwayswears, even with his suits. “Got an update for you.” He holds out a manila envelope.

My fingers tremble slightly when I take it. Inside are two black and white photographs, slightly faded with age. The first shows a group of children bundled in winter coats standing outside a stark building, snow piled high around them. Among them stands a small boy, maybe seven or eight years old, with Ivan’s unmistakable features, though softer.

The second photo makes my throat tighten. A young Ivan sits alone on concrete steps, clutching something in his small hands that catches the light. I lean closer, recognizing the delicate chain and pendant. “The locket.” I touch the identical one hanging around my neck. “This is the same one he gave me.”

Marcus nods. “It belonged to his mother. She gave it to him before she died.”

“She gave it to him?” The words come out hoarse. I study the photo more closely, taking in Ivan’s solemn expression, the way his tiny fingers grip the necklace like a lifeline, and how he looks so forlorn.

“The orphanage kept detailed records.” Marcus pulls out more papers. “His mother brought him there herself when he was just a little over two. She was dying from cancer. She had no other family who could take him, and she said his father was worth less than nothing, to quote the records.”

I trace Ivan’s small face in the photo. “He looks so serious.”

“He was. The staff said he barely spoke for months after she died. Just sat on those steps holding that locket.”

“Where was this taken?”

“‘Saint Petersburg Children’s Home, Number Eight.’ He spent most of his childhood there until they moved him to ‘St. Sergius’s when he was nine. TheBratvarecruited him at thirteen.”

I study the stark building in the background, imagining a young Ivan walking those halls alone. “Did they treat him well?”

“As well as they could. It was overcrowded and underfunded, but the records show he was smart, always top of his class, and he had a penchant for fighting—but only to protect the younger kids from having their food or things stolen or from being bullied.” Marcus pauses. “There’s more information here when you’re ready.”

I carefully tuck the photos back in the envelope. “Thank you for helping me understand him better.”

“Just keep it quiet for now. He’s private about his past.”

“I will.” I press the envelope to my chest, already planning how to incorporate this piece of Ivan’s history into my project.

CHAPTER 18

JENNY

Iwake to sunlight streaming through the windows of Ivan’s penthouse. His strong arms encircle me, and I bask in the moment, savoring the intimacy we’ve built.

Carefully, I extract myself from his embrace, padding softly to the kitchen. The cool marble floor makes my feet cold while I prepare coffee before I adapt. While it brews, I stare out the window and then lean against the counter, sipping from a steaming mug while appreciating the flavor.

My phone buzzes, and I see a message from Marcus:“I have the final results. When can we meet?”

I type a quick reply, suggesting we meet at the office in an hour. As I set down my phone, Ivan snakes his arms around my waist from behind.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

I turn in his arms, offering him a sip of my coffee. “Sleep well?”

He nods, taking the mug. “Always with you.”

The admission warms my heart. I’ve fallen for him, despite the complications and dangers that come with his world.

“I need to head to the office,” I say, reluctantly pulling away. “So do you.”

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