Page 51 of Hunter

It’s not that I don’t think he’d support me—because I know , without a doubt, that he would. The problem is that he’d want to be involved. He’d want to take over, and this is something I need to do by myself.

“Hey, krasavitsa, are you…” Maxim’s voice trails off, and I turn to face him, wondering why he stopped mid-sentence. The fire in his gaze as he devours me with his eyes makes me shift uncomfortably, the intensity of his stare making my skin prickle.

“You look fucking gorgeous, Sophia,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. With purposeful steps, he closes the distance between us, the desire in his eyes deepening with eachmovement. “So fucking perfect.” His hand grabs mine, lifting it toward his lips to plant a quick kiss before twirling me around. “Let me take a good look at you.”

He lets out an approving sound, his gaze scanning me with such intensity, I feel like he’s undressing me mentally. “I’m so fucking lucky,” he adds, pulling me closer. But I stop him, lifting a finger to place it gently against his lips, trying—and failing—to push him away.

I can’t handle his compliments right now. Not when I’m barely holding it together. An hour ago, I had to fight off a breakdown while picking out my outfit. Everything I put on today just seems to accentuate my scars. How am I supposed to let anyone see them when I can’t even stand to look at them myself? I can’t even look at a mirror for more than a second without wanting to smash it. How can I wear clothes that draw attention to what I hide, to what I can’t escape?

I can’t wear spaghetti straps, no short sleeves, anything that shows my stomach, and definitely no shorts. My shoes have to cover my ankles.

This is one of the topics I plan to bring up with my new therapist. I found someone who’s an hour away, has no ties to me, and—most importantly—has glowing reviews. She’s a total stranger, someone who doesn’t know anything about my past or my family, and honestly, I think I should’ve done this from the start. I shouldn’t have gone to a friend who would always be biased, even if they swore they wouldn’t be.

Maxim’s expression shifts from admiration to concern, snapping me out of my spiral. His brow furrows slightly. “No funny business,” I say, trying to refocus his attention. I lift my arm to show him my watch. “We need to leave in ten minutes to make it on time.”

I’m sick of being the one who’s always late, the one my family teases about showing up late to her own funeral. For once, I want to show up early—or at least on time.

Maxim takes a few steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No funny business, huh?” He tries to suppress a smile but fails miserably.

My eyes narrow as I glare at him. “No need to scold me.”

“Alright. No need to scold me,” he repeats, winking at me before turning to leave the room.

I stare at his retreating form, feeling a rush of heat flood my cheeks. My mouth falls open slightly, as if, at any moment, I might start drooling. I can’t help it—I’m caught in the moment. Maxim walks away, and it hits me just how good he looks. His hair is slicked back perfectly, and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and top-sider shoes. The fabric hugs his body, outlining every muscle, every curve. He looks casually perfect—well, as casual as a mafia boss with murderous tendencies and a possessive, controlling streak can look.

I swallow hard, pulling myself together. He’s so damn distracting.

“Are you trying to give the older ladies in my family a heart attack?” I call after Maxim, but all I hear is his infectious laugh, the sound of it lifting the weight in my chest. A smile tugs at my lips, easing some of the tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying. Didn’t I want him to distract my family? I shake my head, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Turning to the mirror, I give myself one last glance. I check to make sure no scars are visible. I’m wearing a light pink V-neck romper, long-sleeved, with lace adorning the waist and chest area, paired with black flats. It’s subtle and feminine, but mostly, it hides the things I’d rather not expose.

Will this fear ever go away? I’m not sure. It’s hard to imagine a day when I won’t feel the weight of my scars, both physical andemotional. Every time I catch a glimpse of them, I feel the same rush of panic, the same spiraling thought that maybe I’ll never fully heal. How can I ever be happy when looking at myself is a constant reminder of the darkness I’m still trying to outrun?

“Ready?” Maxim’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I catch his reflection in the mirror. He’s leaning against the doorframe, a quiet intensity in his gaze. I nod, swallowing down the uncertainty in my chest. I take one last look at myself before turning around to face him.

He reaches for my hand, his touch warm and steady, grounding me. We walk to the car together, the weight of my thoughts momentarily lifted by his presence.

I’m not sure how my mom has never had the cops called on her for how loud the music is. The bass thumps so loudly, it can be heard as soon as you turn onto the street. We’ve been parked outside my mom’s house for three minutes now. I’m trying to get my nerves in order before we go inside. This is crazy. We should just go back home. I could make up some wild excuse to avoid this whole situation. Just as I’m about to say something, the front door flies open, and my Aunt Carmen, my mom’s sister, comes running toward us, tugging at the door handle.

I let out an exasperated groan and plaster a fake smile on my face as I open the door.

“Hola, tía. ¿Cómo estás?” I force a cheerful tone that I’m definitely not feeling.

“Estoy divina, mi niña,” she replies, her eyes never leaving Maxim as he walks toward us. Her gaze follows him like a hawk,and I can practically see her mentally undressing him. Maxim stands next to me, an arm around my waist.

“Hi, Carmen. I’m Maxim, Sophia’s boyfriend. A pleasure to meet you.” I glance at him through my peripheral vision, watching as he unleashes his megawatt smile and goes full charm mode. I roll my eyes inwardly but try to maintain my composure.

My aunt’s eyes widen as she takes him in, her mouth hanging open in shock. I’ve never seen her speechless, not once, since she arrived from Cuba over two years ago. And now, here she is, practically frozen in place. I can’t help but smirk at the idea of how the rest of my family is going to react to Maxim. If they’re all anything like my aunt, I’m in for a very interesting evening.

Maxim pats me on the back, trying to coax me into saying something, but I’m not ready to break the silence yet—I’m actually enjoying watching him squirm.

Finally, after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Maxim clears his throat, his voice breaking through my amusement. “Sophia,” he says, prompting me to intervene. Party pooper.

“Tía?” I call, trying to break through her trance, but she doesn’t respond. I repeat myself a couple of times until she finally shifts her gaze back to me.

She shakes her head as if to clear the fog from her mind. “¿Y quién es este macho tan bello? ¿Dónde lo tenías escondido, sobrina?” she asks, her voice dripping with intrigue. I bite back a sigh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I know she understands English—it’s not like she can’t speak it, especially after taking classes since moving here—but for whatever reason, she insists on pretending she doesn’t understand. Fine, I’ll play along.

“Él es mi novio, tía. Se llama Maxim.”

---