Page 27 of Hunter

It worked earlier, didn’t it?

I dig deeper, searching for more. Hours pass in a blur as I absorb article after article. Trauma recovery. Anxiety attacks. Rebuilding trust. I can’t stop, even as the words blur together.

By the time sunlight filters through the office window, I’m exhausted but more determined than ever. I rub my hands over my face, trying to shake off the haze of sleep deprivation. My watch is nowhere in sight, but judging by the ache in my neck, I must’ve fallen asleep at some point.

Then, it hits me like a bolt of lightning.

Sophia.

Panic flares in my chest as I leap to my feet, the chair toppling over behind me. I left her alone. I wanted to give her space, but I wasn’t supposed to disappear for this long. The thought of her waking up alone—thinking I abandoned her or left her trapped—makes my stomach twist.

Fighting my instinct to be by her side every second has been a battle, but I’ve tried. I have to let her breathe, to let her feel like she has control. But my instincts, honed over years of protecting what’s mine, won’t let me rest.

Before I left last night, I’d stationed two guards outside my room. If anything happened, they would have come for me. Still, my worry claws at me as I make my way down the hall.

The guards step aside as I reach the door. Taking a deep breath, I push it open and exhale in relief at the sight before me.

Sophia lies curled on my bed, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. She’s safe.

But as I step closer, her peaceful appearance falters. Her brow furrows, her face etched with traces of pain even in sleep. My jaw tightens.

This place isn’t helping her. I’ve tried to make it a sanctuary, but the constant presence of my men, the weight of my world—it’s suffocating her. She needs freedom, space to breathe, somewhere she can heal without looking over her shoulder.

I strip off my clothes in the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the water warm as I brush my teeth. My mind drifts back to a night that feels like a lifetime ago.

We were eating ice cream outside a little mom-and-pop shop. She’d been radiant, the light catching her eyes as she laughed at something I said.

“Tell me, krasavitsa,” I’d asked, leaning closer. “If you could pack a bag right now and go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

She tilted her head, considering, as she licked her ice cream. The sight made my blood heat, my thoughts straying to places they shouldn’t.

“The French Polynesia islands,” she said finally, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always been a dream of mine to rent a water bungalow, wake up early, and watch the sunrise.”

She paused to wipe a bit of ice cream that had dripped onto the table. The gesture was simple, unremarkable, even, but in that moment, she was the most mesmerizing thing I’d ever seen.

“I’ve seen videos,” she continued, her voice growing more animated, “where people wake up, step outside, and jump straight into the ocean. Can you imagine that? Starting your day with the ocean right at your feet?”

Her laugh had been soft, a sound I could never get enough of. “And having breakfast delivered by canoe? That would be amazing.”

I’d been so captivated by her, so in awe of the lightness she carried even after everything she’d been through. Sitting there with her, I’d felt something I hadn’t in years—hope.

The urge to whisk her away, to give her everything she dreamed of, had been overwhelming. I’d gripped the table’s edge to stop myself from acting on it right then and there.

Now, standing under the steaming spray of the shower, I know what I have to do.

We’ll leave.

I’ll take her somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, a place where she can wake up to the ocean at her feet and the sunrise on her face.

She deserves that—and so much more.

As much as I’d love to make that specific dream of hers a reality, I can’t. Not right now. There’s too much chaos in my world to justify being thousands of miles away. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get us close to it, at least for now.

After finishing my shower, I throw on some clothes and check in on Sophia. She’s still curled up in bed, fast asleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest tugs at something deep inside me. She looks peaceful, and for someone who has faced what she has, that peace is a rare gift.

I don’t want to disturb her yet. Instead, I head to my office and make the arrangements for a getaway—something manageable but special. It takes longer than I expected. The hotel manager wasn’t making it easy, but money talks, and I made sure he couldn’t say no. I don’t care what strings he had to pull; it was only that he got it done.

Satisfied, I zip up my bag, having already packed hers earlier, and head to wake her. It’s late enough that the morning rushhour has passed, and I want to get us on the road before the day gets away from us.

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