Page 87 of Savage Reign

Objectively, the place is nothing special. The walls are a dull beige, and the wooden floors have seen better days, the varnish worn thin in spots. The mirrors, dull and streaked, look like they haven’t been cleaned this decade, and the overhead lights flicker faintly.

But she doesn’t seem to notice any of that. It’s like she only sees its potential. Maybe it’s the same way with me. She can see beyond my faults—and there are many.

It’s been a week since she ran into the forest; nothing and everything is different. We’ve fallen into place like two pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to fit. It’s new and familiar all at once.

As we tour the upstairs, her sharp eyes drink everything in, assessing. “New shower curtains and a fresh coat of paint on the lockers will go a long way in here,” she notes as we step out of the changing rooms.

“Make a list. That’s why we’re here. I wanted you to have a good look before we plan the renovations.”

She freezes, turning to me with wide eyes. “Renovations?”

“What did you think? That I’d leave it like this?”

“No, but… renovations take time.” Her lips press into a thin line, doubt creeping into her expression. She thinks we’re on borrowed time, that all of this—the school, us—is temporary.

I don’t agree.

“Not for me.” I shrug. “People tend to move quickly when I tell them to.”

She looks away, emotion getting the best of her. I let my fingers trail lightly over her shoulder, grounding her.

“What’s wrong?”

Her shoulders rise and fall, and she brushes at her damp lashes, as if the tears embarrass her. “I’m fine. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“Yes, you do.” I slip a finger beneath her chin, tipping it up so she can’t avoid my gaze.

She swallows hard. “No one’s ever done something so freakin’ nice for me.” A smile breaks through. “And of all people… it’s you. My captor.”

“Your husband,” I’m quick to correct. Because we’ve moved past captor/captive long ago. What we are is something very different, even if it can’t be easily named. “You deserve it all, moya sladost. The sun, the moon, and the stars. If I could give you the world on a fucking platter, I would.”

She lets out a soft laugh, sweeping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. “Who are you? You don’t make sense.”

I lower my forehead to hers, letting her feel the weight of my conviction. “Maybe we don’t make sense, but I’m not sure if that matters. It’s just right between us.” She closes her eyes, our faces still pressed together. Both of us lost on this carousel of emotions. I pull back to meet her gaze. “Now that you’ve seen this place, what are you thinking?”

She pauses, biting her thumbnail. “Well, for starters, it needs a coat of paint, new floors, and real studio lighting. New barres as well, because those ones look like they’re held together with duct tape. The storage space needs to be expanded, and I was hoping we could add a library—just a small one—with books on dance history, anatomy, things to get the kids excited.”

I raise a brow, impressed. “A library? Look at you, thinking out of the box. I like it.”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Don’t make fun of me. These kids deserve more. They deserve to feel like they’re part of something important.”

“I’m not making fun,” I say, running my knuckles lightly along her jawline. “I love that you already care about your students. It’s more than I ever had growing up.”

Her head tilts. “What did you have?”

“Not much. My mother wasn’t a mother in any real sense. She was hooked on drugs, a prostitute. We had nothing. No stability, no safety. Just me trying to figure out how to keep Sergey and I alive.”

Her eyes soften, but I press on before the pity can take root. “I didn’t just look out for him. There were other kids in the neighborhood—ones like Emil—who needed someone too. I don’t know why I did it, but it felt… necessary. Like if I didn’t, no one would.”

She swallows hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “That’s a lot for a kid to carry.”

“It was. But it made me who I am. Taught me how to fight, how to survive.”

“Is that why you’re so hard on Emil?”

“I never wanted this life for him, but he chose a life of crime anyhow. At least working for me, I can keep him out of trouble.”

She purses her lips in thought. “That gives me an idea. Scholarships. For the kids who can’t afford shoes or uniforms. An outreach program that connects with schools or other organizations so we can help the students who need it most.”

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