Page 90 of Royal Bargain
He’d narrowed his eyes, but kissed my forehead anyway, brushing a hand down my arm in that way that always makes me ache. “Be safe,” he’d murmured before disappearing through the door.
Safe.
I’m so sick of that word. Sick of being hidden, escorted, handled. Like glass wrapped in velvet. He means well, but it’slike I’m never allowed to make my own damn choices—not without justifying them to someone first.
And yet…
I pace. One, two, three steps. Turn. Again.
I should tell him. I know I should. But I can already hear the argument. It’s too dangerous, Ana. You don’t know who you can trust. What if it’s a trap?
It could be a trap. But it’s Sasha. My sister.
The one who used to sneak me cookies under the table. The one who whispered stories at night when I couldn’t sleep. The one who watched me walk away from everything and didn’t try to stop me. Not really.
If she’s asking to meet, it has to mean something.
And if I go, if I go without telling Liam… then I’m just proving him right. That I can’t be trusted. That I make reckless decisions. That I’m still her father’s daughter, playing with fire like it won’t burn me.
I rise slowly, glancing toward the windows, the door, the shadows cast by the overhead lights. The apartment isn’t big, but it’s secure. Reinforced locks. Cameras. Top-tier security.
And yet… every fortress has a weakness.
I start with the front door. Not a chance. The second I unlock that deadbolt, someone gets an alert. Liam’s no amateur.
The fire escape? I slip into the spare room and test the window latch. It’s painted shut. Reinforced. Another dead end.
But the bathroom window—that’s promising. It’s narrow, high, and half-frosted, but it opens with a little effort. I push it up just an inch, just to see, and feel the cool night air brush my fingertips.
I could squeeze through if I had to.
Not with Lily. But alone?
Alone is the point.
I close it again, slowly, carefully, making sure it doesn’t creak. Then I test the hallway door that leads to the building’s maintenance stairwell. Locked. Of course. I’d need the keycard Liam keeps clipped to his belt.
A backup plan, then. Not a guarantee. Just an option.
Just in case.
The sound of the lock turning snaps me out of my musings.
I whirl around just as the door opens. It’s Liam—exhausted, a little disheveled, but alive. He’s got Lily bundled in his arms, fast asleep, and the diaper bag slung over one shoulder. The second he sees me, his jaw tightens like he’s bracing for something.
“You’re back,” I say, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
“Yeah.” He steps inside and nods toward the couch. “You good?”
I nod, already reaching for Lily. She stirs faintly as I take her, her tiny hand curling into the fabric of my sweater like she knows I need her close.
Liam drops the bag to the floor with a dull thud and scrubs a hand over his face. “I talked to Rory. Had him look into the security footage from last night, just before the chaos started.”
The air around me stills.
“He was Russian,” Liam says. “Bratva. Not some drunk crashing the event or random press. He was looking for you.”
My stomach drops. I sink onto the edge of the couch, arms tightening around Lily like she’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
