Page 91 of Shatter Me

The meeting proceeds with excruciating slowness. Every time Dmitri speaks, his voice makes my stomach flutter. I hate that my body still responds to him this way, even after everything.

"Ms. Blackwood, your thoughts on the security measures?" Mr. Patterson asks.

I launch into my prepared statement but falter when I feel Dmitri's eyes on me. Last night's encounter outside the restaurant flashes through my mind—his hand reaching for mine, the emotion in his voice as he'd tried to explain, the dozens of roses delivered to my office this morning, the handwritten note I'd torn up without reading.

"The new system will be fully operational by next month," I continue, proud that my voice remains steady.

Dmitri raises his hand. "I'd like to personally oversee the security upgrades." His tone is purely professional, but I know better. It's another excuse to be near me.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Ivanov. Our team is more than capable."

Our eyes meet briefly. The intensity in his gaze makes my chest tight. But I remember Katarina, remember what he's capable of, and look away first.

The meeting ends, and I gather my papers quickly. Dmitri moves toward me as I stand, but Mr. Patterson intercepts him with questions about his latest donation. I slip out of the boardroom, ignoring the weight of unspoken words between us.

In the elevator, I press my forehead against the cool metal wall. Despite everything, my heart still aches for him. But I won't let myself be fooled again, no matter how sincere his efforts seem.

I sink into my office chair. The familiar ache in my chest returns as I try to focus on the exhibition paperwork before me. Every time I see him, it gets harder to maintain this wall between us.

A knock at my door makes me freeze. I know that knock.

"Come in." My voice betrays nothing of the chaos within.

Dmitri enters, closing the door behind him. He's shed his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong inked forearms. The sight makes my mouth go dry.

"What do you want?" I keep my tone cold and professional.

"Tell me what I need to do." He stays by the door, giving me space. "What will it take for you to hear me out?"

I look up, meeting those ice-blue eyes. "There's nothing to hear."

"We both know that's not true." He takes a step forward, then stops when I tense. "I've sent flowers, gifts?—"

"You can't buy forgiveness, Dmitri." The words come out sharper than intended. "You can't buy me."

"I'm not trying to." His voice drops lower, rawer. "I'm trying to show you?—"

"Show me what? That you can manipulate situations to your advantage? That you're used to getting what you want?" I stand, needing to feel less vulnerable. "You kept Katarina prisoner. You used me as a pawn in your war."

"Is that what you think?" He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. "Just give me one chance to explain. Name your terms."

I grip the edge of my desk. "My terms? How about honesty? Complete honesty about everything—no more games, manipulation, or half-truths."

His jaw tightens at my demand for honesty. For a moment, I glimpse something raw and vulnerable in those ice-blue eyes.

"You want honesty?" Dmitri's voice comes out rough. "I've killed people. Ordered deaths. Built an empire on blood money and threats." He takes a step closer. "But I've never lied about what I feel for you."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "And Katarina?"

"A calculated move after her father wouldn't stop attacking us." His hands clench at his sides. "I thought I could control everything. Then you came along."

The admission hangs heavy between us. I watch his perfect facade crack, revealing the darkness and complexity beneath.

"I don't know how to do this," he continues, gesturing between us. "I don't know how to be both the man you deserve and the man I have to be."

"I never asked you to be anyone else." I clench my jaw. "I just asked for the truth."

"The truth?" His laugh holds no humor. "The truth is I wake up terrified that my enemies will hurt you to get to me. Every time you walk into this museum, I have three security teams tracking your movements. That I..." He stops, running a hand through his hair. "That I've never felt this out of control."

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