Page 19 of Hunter

Maxim’s control is relentless, all-encompassing. His men watch my every move, stationed outside, always near, a constant reminder that I am never alone. It infuriates me—the loss of privacy, the feeling of being monitored in what should be mysanctuary. But beneath the frustration lies an uncomfortable truth: I need it. As much as it grates on me, it also reassures me.

I hate how much I rely on his protection, how his grip on my life keeps the terror at bay. Because the fear never really leaves—the fear of being taken again, of those hands on me, of that darkness pulling me under. His vigilance is both a cage and a shield, and I don’t know whether to scream or sigh in relief.

My heart races as I leap out of bed, the comforter tangled around my legs, almost sending me crashing to the floor. I manage to steady myself by gripping the edge of the bed and the nightstand, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. After a few moments, the pain in my leg subsides enough for me to move, though each step feels unsteady. I make my way to the living room, my eyes darting around, scanning the space like I’m searching for a ghost.

There’s no one here.

The weight of disappointment hits me hard, and I collapse onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I shake my head in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with me? I wanted him to respect my space. I’m the one who decided to leave. I’m the one who ended things with him.

So why does it feel like I’ve made the wrong choice?

A ping from the kitchen breaks my thoughts, and I pull my hands away from my face, eyes flicking toward the source. I see a flicker of light on the kitchen table before it disappears. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I stand, walking over. My phone.

What the hell? I left it on my nightstand.

I grab it, feeling the cold glass in my hands as I head back to the couch. Sitting down, I immediately unlock the phone, my pulse quickening when I see the red notification on the message app. The name Maxim flashes at me.

You are not alone, baby. I will be here waiting for you with open arms if you decide to forgive me, however long that takes. Your heart is my home, Sophia.

I love you.

My breath catches. He was here.

For the first time since I was kidnapped, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips, faint but genuine. It’s a hesitant thing, fragile, but it’s a smile. Hope blooms in my chest—a fragile, golden light amidst the darkness. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to believe that maybe I can get past this. Maybe, with time, I can heal. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a future where I’m not afraid to be touched, where the memories of what I went through fade into something distant, something I can live with.

I hold onto that hope as if it’s my lifeline, letting it fill the empty spaces in me, even if just for a moment. With a soft exhale, I push myself off the couch and make my way back to my room, clinging to that fleeting euphoria, not knowing what tomorrow will bring but finally allowing myself to hope for the first time in too long.

***

That feeling of hope didn’t last long. The moment I woke up screaming from the nightmares, the scent of cigarettes and mold clinging to my nose, that fragile hope I had felt crashed and burned, leaving me hollow once more.

A week had passed since Maxim last stepped foot in my house, and all I’d done since was sleep. Not that I had much else to look forward to. The therapy on my leg is done, the therapist discharging me with a clean bill of health. He said the recovery was remarkable—no major arteries hit, no lasting damage. I justneed to be cautious, take it slow, avoid too much strain. But somehow, knowing I’m physically fine only makes the emptiness worse.

What’s left now? The thought of doing anything is exhausting. I can barely muster the energy to leave my bed, let alone care about the world outside these walls. The drive I once had, the passion to wake up and help my patients every morning, feels like it belongs to someone else now.

My mom keeps texting, asking when she can come by. Even my sister, Jenny, has been messaging more often than usual, checking in, asking how my trip went, how I’m doing. It should feel nice, comforting, even—but it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me uncomfortable, like they’re intruding on a space I can’t share. And worse, it makes me feel guilty—guilty I can’t find the strength to reply, to care enough to see them, to let them in. Besides all of that, what could I say? How do you explain months of silence, lies, and trauma?

One of the older nurses from Lucas’ house has been bringing me food three times a day. She drops off breakfast, lunch, and dinner, only to find each meal waiting for her at the end of the day untouched. I want to tell her to leave me alone, to stop treating me like some charity case, but I don’t even have the strength to form the words. And besides, I know she’s here because Maxim made sure of it. I can feel him behind it all. He’s not giving up on me.

Some days, the thought of him still caring fills me with warmth. It’s the only thing that has kept me moving. The fleeting strength it gives me makes me reach for my phone, ready to call a friend, a therapist, someone to help me deal with everything I’m holding in. But the moment I have the phone in my hand, I freeze. I lock it and put it down. I’m scared. Scared to face what happened. Scared to face anyone.

The door creaks open, and I sink deeper into the bed, pulling the comforter over my head, praying I can pretend to be asleep. But the footsteps are different. Louder. Heavier. Not the usual soft creak of a nurse’s sneakers. These are sharp, purposeful. The sound of expensive shoes on hardwood floors.

Maxim.

A hand brushes my head, his touch warm through the comforter. “You really need to eat, printsessa.”

His voice echoes through the silence, stirring something deep in my chest. My heart flutters, but my gut plummets all at once. What is he doing here? The bed dips as he sits beside me. I try to control my breathing, willing myself to remain still, to make him think I’m asleep. Iwant him to leave.

But then, I feel him lean down, a soft kiss on my head, and my body reacts despite myself. His voice is barely a whisper in my ear. “I know you more than you can possibly imagine.”

His words make the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I hate the way my body betrays me. He pulls the comforter down slowly, exposing my face. His gaze softens, and I see that smile tug at his lips.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers. His eyes are intense, searching mine, and I can’t look away. I try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach as his fingers trace my cheek. “I know you told me to stay away, and I’ve been respecting your wishes, fighting myself every day. But you can’t expect me to ignore you when you refuse to eat.”

I don’t deny it. There’s no point. He already knows the truth.

The coldness that follows his sudden absence settles over me. I stare at the spot where he was, trying to regain control of my racing heart and the chaos inside me. But then, the sounds from the kitchen pull me out of my thoughts. I rise, curiosity pushing me forward despite myself.

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