Page 56 of Twisted Vows

Uncertainty churns inside me, tightening in my chest like a knot I can’t untangle. Last night was amazing…but does it mean anything in the cold light of day?

Sweat slicks my skin, dripping down the curve of my spine.

I breathe in through my nose, out through gritted teeth.Again.

The bag sways slightly on its chain, absorbing every strike without protest. Unlike thebratoksin this house, it won’t snap back with disapproval.

Soldiers on both sides of the aisle are tense, waiting for the first shot to be taken. Are we allies or still enemies? No one knows, and my marriage to Maxsim has done nothing to pull the two sides together.

I let my eyes run over the industrial steel and polished concrete. The gym is immaculate. Every weight rack, every punching bag, even the mirrors on the walls feel purposeful. No clutter, no comfort. Just focus.

And for now, it’s mine.

I circle the bag, planting my feet, and strike again. Harder this time. Maxsim’s face flashes in my mind. His cool, calculating stare, as if he’s always three moves ahead.

I slam my fist into the bag.Thud.

There’s been a change over the past few days. He’s different. Less distant. His guard is lowered, if only by degrees. I catch him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking. And last night—

My fist falters mid-swing.

Last night felt… real.

But now, in the cold light of day, I wonder if it was just another strategy. Another way to keep me compliant.

I wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my glove and pace away from the bag, my breath coming in shallow pulls.

I glance toward the gym’s glass doors that lead deeper into the estate. Beyond them, the house looms—quiet and watchful.

I yank off the gloves and toss them onto the bench, flexing my sore fingers. Twobratokswalk toward the gym in workout clothes. They won’t enter the gym if I’m here. Maxsim made that clear to everyone. Don’t look or speak unless necessary.

A rule that leaves me isolated and the soldiers resentful.

I grab a towel and a bottle of water and move toward the door, the cool metal handle grounding beneath my palm.

The men whose names I don’t yet have memorized look at the ground as I pass. “Have a good workout,” I call out, knowing they won’t respond.

I fill my lungs with air as I cut across the lawn and wonder if a couple of dogs would be a good idea. Gianna loves the ones that trail her around the house; the same could be true for me.Making a mental note to discuss it with Maxsim, I enter the house and stride down the long corridor.

When I get close to Maxsim’s office, I hear muffled voices. Low. Sharp.

My feet move silently across the floor, and the voices grow clearer with each step.

Russian.

Maxsim’s voice. Deep. Controlled.

Another voice—Anton. Clipped. On edge.

I slow my pace, instinct tightening in my chest. The door to his office isn’t quite closed. Light spills through the narrow crack.

I shouldn’t.

But I do.

I inch closer, ears straining to pull apart the words. “Franco… André…” Maxsim’s voice cuts through the Russian.

I freeze.

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