Page 54 of Bound By Revenge

I sigh, shaking my head. “The problem is, you think we should be on equal footing. That’s absurd. I didn’t betray you—you owe me.”

“What you really mean is you own me,” she says, her voice cutting.

I shrug, hiding the satisfaction the thought brings. “Call it what you want. I have leverage, Kat. Unless you’ve got an ace up your sleeve, you can’t say the same.”

Her eyes gleam, andI instantly wish I could take it back. She smiles, slow and dangerous.

“I think we both know that’s not entirely true,” she purrs. “There are different kinds of leverage, Nik. And if memory serves, you’re not great at resisting mine.”

“Well, may the bestmanwin, I guess,” I say, meeting her smirk with one of my own.

Her only response is a wicked smile.

Chapter 23

Kat

The restof the day slips away in a blur.

Soon after Nik made the fatal mistake of challenging me, the personal shopper he promised arrives.

Caroline is a whirlwind of impeccable taste, and we hit it off immediately. For the first hour, I’m in heaven—sighing and squealing over luxurious fabrics, dripping in haute couture, and reveling in the extravagance of handmade leather shoes.

But as the hours stretch on, fatigue creeps in. Staring at my reflection in yet another stunning outfit, I feel the weight of the past few days pressing down on me. Even as I admire the elegant lines and rich hues do little to hide the exhaustion etched into my face.

“Stunning, isn’t it? The dress is Chanel, the shoes are YSL, and the bag, Dior. The lingerie, naturally, is Agent Provocateur,” Caroline chirps, gesturing to the delicate strips of lace and silk draped across the bed. “Mr. Stefanovich has impeccable taste.”

“It’s all gorgeous,” I reply, managing a tired smile. “I’ll take it. All of it, obviously. Please send Mr. Stefanovich the bill.”

Caroline beams, practically glowing with satisfaction as she begins tidying up. I can’t deny the pieces are beautiful, but by thetime she finally leaves—after I’ve spent enough money to make even a Russian billionaire pause—I’m secretly relieved.

That relief is short-lived. Moments after the door closes behind her, Nik’s promised doctor arrives.

My distractingly handsome captor leans against the doorway, arms crossed, silently observing as the physician checks my head.

As expected, the injury is nothing serious. The doctor recommends rest and cold compresses, assuring Nik that I don’t have a concussion and will feel normal in a few days. With a brisk reminder to call if my condition changes, he packs up and departs.

Nik lingers a moment longer, his eyes sweeping over me—assessing, caressing. The air between us grows heavier with each passing second until he finally steps back, his expression unreadable, and follows the doctor out without a word.

Finally, I’m left alone. I waste no time slipping into clean clothes—a simple t-shirt and shorts. The soft cotton feels like heaven against my skin, but even that small comfort can’t mask how drained I am.

I crawl under the enormous bed’s covers, the weight of them instantly soothing. A contented sigh escapes my lips as the tension in my body melts away, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.

Sleep comes quickly, pulling me under like a warm tide. I let it take me, and within moments, I’m lost to a deep, dreamless slumber.

It feels like hours—days, maybe—pass before the first stirrings of awareness tug at me. But then, somewhere in the comforting darkness, I feel it—a presence.

Warm lips brush against my forehead, soft enough to feel like a dream. An impossibly gentle whisper in Russian follows: "Ya postoyanno dumayu o tebe.”

The words seep into the edges of my mind, clinging like smoke. I grasp at them, willing myself to remember. What do they mean? Why do they feel so... illicit, like I’ve stumbled into something I was never meant to hear?

Before I can hold onto the thought, a warm touch brushes against my lips. It traces their shape slowly, delicately, before I slip under again.

I don’t know how much time passes before I find myself in a long, cold hallway. The air is damp, water leaks down the gray walls, and flickering fluorescent lights cast everything in an eerie glow.

Then I hear it—a woman crying.

The sound is faint but raw, her erratic sobs cutting through the quiet. My stomach twists painfully because something about her voice feels… familiar.

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