Page 26 of Dangerous Beginnings

I pour the shower head over her face, making her open her eyes. “Don’t get too comfortable, solnyshko.”

She coughs as she rubs her eyes free of water. I pour water on her face again.

“Hey!” she yells as she turns around to face me.

Suddenly she splashes a huge gulp of water in my face. I stare at her. A small smile appears on her lips. I return her the favor and point the shower head at her, spraying water on her face. She laughs, a small laugh escaping her lips. She starts splashing the water out of the bathtub, completely submerging me in water. I am soaking wet, and so is the entire bathroom floor once she is done. A soft laugh escapes her lips again.

In that moment, a dark realization settled over me—a quiet, unnerving truth. If this girl ever dared to say the wordplease,I might find myself unable to deny her anything. But I can’t allow that. I won’t.

Isabella

The sound of my nervous laughter fades into silence as his gaze hardens, his eyes turning cold and unreadable. The soft gurgle of the draining bathtub fills the air, water spiraling away into nothingness. My soaked dress shirt clings to my skin, heavy and suffocating, a tangible reminder of my vulnerability.

He turns abruptly, his broad back rigid, the wet fabric of his shirt stretched across muscles carved with tension. He strides out of the room without a word. My breath catches as I hear him moving into the next room, the sound of drawers opening and closing in swift efficiency. In less than ten seconds, he’s back.

In his hands, he carries a pair of dark leggings and a plain gray hoodie. He tosses them onto the counter without ceremony. His voice, low and sharp like the edge of a blade, cuts through the air.

“Dry off and put these on. You have five minutes.”

He lingers in the doorway, his presence like a storm cloud pressing down on the small space. I can feel the weight of him even with his back turned, his imposing frame silhouetted against the dim light beyond. His shoulders are drawn tight, his entire form humming with restrained energy. The soaked shirtclings to him like a second skin, outlining every taut line of his back and arms.

Just as he steps out, his voice drops, the thick Russian accent lacing his words making them even more menacing.

“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I will choke you with the same hand I feed you with.”

The door shuts behind him with a soft but final click, and the room is silent again. His words hang heavy in the air, sinking into my chest like lead. My heartbeat stutters, then quickens, my thoughts spiraling into chaos.

Is this my chance to escape? My eyes dart toward the small window on the far wall. The sight of the lock makes my stomach churn. Of course, it’s secured. Why wouldn’t it be? Still, the thought gnaws at me—there must be something,anythingI can use to get out of here. My fingers tremble as I scan the bathroom with frantic desperation.

The cabinets. Maybe there’s something hidden inside—something sharp, something I can use as a tool or a weapon. My mind whispers that it’s pointless, but I can’t ignore the thrum of hope. With shaking hands, I pull the first cabinet open, rummaging through its contents. Soap, brushes, bottles of cologne. Useless.

I move to the next one. The drawers stick slightly, resisting me, as though mocking my attempts. More toiletries neatly arranged but utterly unhelpful. No tools. No weapons. No escape. I clutch the edge of the sink to steady myself, my reflection in the mirror catching my attention.

The woman staring back at me doesn’t feel like me. Her skin is pale, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes rimmed with dark circles. She looks gaunt, haunted—like someone who hasn’t slept in days. Like someone already halfway to her grave. My chest tightens at the sight.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, the curse heavy withdespair.

Determined not to give up, I open the last cabinet. The door swings open, and for a moment, all I see are neatly folded towels and spare toiletries. My heart sinks—until my eyes land on a small, glinting object tucked in the corner.

A razor blade.

My breath catches, and the room tilts slightly as a rush of adrenaline courses through me. My fingers hover over it, trembling, as I stare at the blade. It’s so small, so unassuming, yet it feels like the most dangerous thing in the room. My mind races.

I can use this. For what? Escape? Protection? Both?

But as I stand there, the razor blade glinting under the dim bathroom light, I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what I choose, I’ve already sealed my fate. And it’s impossibly, irreversibly dark.

Chapter 16

To Insanity

Isabella

As I stare at the blade in my hand, it feels absurdly small, almost laughable given the situation. But its edge gleams dangerously, sharp enough to cut through more than just fear. My breath hitches as my trembling fingers slide the blade into my bra, pressing it close to my skin as if proximity alone will give me strength. My hands shake uncontrollably as I tuck it away.Pull yourself together, Isabella.I force a deep breath, steadying my trembling chest.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, disheveled and pale, my red hair clinging to damp skin. Dark circles mar my eyes, which are wide and glassy with the weight of panic. I smooth my hair back, tucking stray strands behind my ears.Calm down. Think clearly. Act smart.

Cautiously, I turn to the bathroom door and twist the knob with hesitant fingers. It’s almost too quiet as I poke my head out, peering into the darkened hallway. The silence feels calculated, oppressive. I glance left, then right. Empty. No sign of anyone. My stomach tightens. It feels like a trap—like he’s waiting, watching, testing me.

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