Page 24 of Perfect Stalker

My heart races. “Ivan, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I can’t just...move in with you.”

“You agreed to stay with me for the time being. I’m simply upgrading our accommodations,” he says with a lift of his lipsbefore his voice hardens. “It’s not up for discussion. This is for your protection.”

I frown. “For now,” I say, my voice firm. “Until you deal with Stephen. Then I’m going home.”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. His silence speaks volumes.

“There’s something else,” he says after a moment. “My men should have delivered your things to a room in the penthouse, not the guest room in the twentieth-floor apartment. I’m glad you didn’t waste time unpacking. My staff will have moved you to your room by now.”

I stare at him, anger and disbelief washing over me. “You had them move my things without even asking me?” I’d asked him to arrange for a few of my things—not everything I owned like they’d brought—from my place, but this is overstepping. He just assumes I’ll happily move ten floors higher into the penthouse.

I frown, not sure why I’m objecting, other than pure instinct. I sense I have to remain firm with Ivan, or he’ll run roughshod over me.

He meets my gaze unflinchingly. “It was necessary.”

I open my mouth to argue further, but the arrival of the chef with coffee interrupts us. The moment passes, but tension simmers beneath the surface while we sip our drinks in silence.

As the evening draws to a close, Ivan stands, offering me his hand. “Let me show you to your room.”

We descend in the elevator, the air thick with unspoken words when he presses “P” on the panel. When the doors open, I step out into a space that takes my breath away. The penthouse iseven more impressive than his other apartment with its warmth and luxurious finishes. I refuse to compliment it though, not wanting to yield an inch in this petty war.

He leads me down a hallway, stopping before an ornate door. “This is your room,” he says, pushing it open.

I step inside, my eyes widening at the lavish space before me. It’s more like a suite than a bedroom, with a sitting area, a massive bed, and a bathroom I can glimpse through another doorway. There’s a huge sunken tub in there that’s already beckoning me.

My belongings have been neatly arranged, as if I’ve always lived here. “It’s beautiful,” I say softly, unable to deny the truth of it. Dammit. There goes my plan to ignore how lovely it is and pretend staying here temporarily will be a hardship.

Ivan nods, then gestures to another door on the far side of the room. “That connects to my room,” he says matter-of-factly. “There’s a lock on your side as well as mine.”

I turn to look at him, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. His expression is unreadable, giving nothing away.

“Good night, Jenny,” he says softly. “Sleep well.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, leaving me alone in this opulent cage. I sink onto the edge of the bed, my mind whirling with everything that’s happened. Staring at the door connecting our rooms, I can’t pretend part of me isn’t tempted to cross to it and leave it unlocked. Fortunately, I stifle the impulse and distract myself by exploring the bathroom and soon sinking into the sunken tub that’s big enough for six.

CHAPTER 10

IVAN

Istand near the entrance of the penthouse, watching Jenny’s face contort with annoyance as I introduce her to her new bodyguards. Bald Andre, a tall black man I met in the underground fight scene, where he won me a lot of money from my bets, is a bit of a contrast to Daniil, who is short, squat, and hairy. Both men are laden with muscle, know how to fight, and shoot like marksmen.

They also have my complete trust, which is the most important thing when they’re tasked with guarding the most important person in the world. I won’t make the same mistakes I made before with Kosov and Biril, who had always been efficient but clearly disregarded the seriousness of their assignment to watch Jenny—something they’ll have a long time to contemplate while in Russian prisons for their outstanding warrants.

“This is ridiculous, Ivan,” she says, her brown eyes flashing with defiance. “I don’t need babysitters.”

I meet her glare without blinking. “It’s not up for discussion. Your safety is my top priority.”

She opens her mouth to argue further, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “We’re going to the farmers’ market. Get ready.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, momentarily forgetting her anger. “The farmers’ market? Why?”

“Fresh air, a change of scenery, and you always go on Sunday mornings when it’s open for the season. Right now, it’s open for the holidays. Now, shall we?”

Jenny hesitates, then nods reluctantly. I watch as she disappears into her room, returning moments later with a light jacket and purse.

The ride to the market is tense, filled with her pointed silence and occasional glares. I ignore her displeasure, focusing instead on the passing scenery and potential threats.

When we arrive at the bustling market, the scent of fresh produce and baked goods fills the air. Colorful stalls line the streets, creating a vibrant display of late-season and preserved fruits, vegetables, and artisanal products. Almost every stall has something they’re selling for Christmas, and the decor reflects that. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I remain vigilant, scanning for any signs of danger.

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