Page 66 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

It’s like the night in The Siren, when he set me on the counter. The moment before everything exploded in hot passion.

The air between is charged. The atmosphere prickly with heat.

It’s the contradiction that’s tearing my brain in two. These opposite but equal memories of Artem.

The night in the club.

The night in my father’s home.

He’s a savior.

He’s a killer.

He’s a hero.

He’s a beast.

I hate him and yet I’m fascinated to him, drawn to him, both terrified of him and desperate to feel safe in his arms once more.

“I’m stronger than I look,” I say softly.

His eyes flicker down over my lips.

“I know.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he turns away from me and walks away toward the teak wardrobe resting to the side of the room. Like he needs space to breathe.

“Get dressed and meet me outside for dinner,” he orders.

“What if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”

“I’m not going to force you. But even the strongest among us need to eat.”

Right on cue, my stomach rumbles slowly. I color with embarrassment, hoping he didn’t hear.

“Fine,” I say. “Then get out. I need to change.”

He stares soberly at me for one more long second. Then he turns and slips out of the room.

The moment the door shuts behind him, I exhale tiredly.

What is it about this man that makes me feel like I’m constantly on the edge of falling?

I open the wardrobe, not sure what to expect.

I definitely don’t expect what I find inside: a single dress.

It’s sleek, silky, and colored in the palest silver. The hemline is about knee length, but the back is almost completely open except for the thin, barely visible straps that hold it in place.

I’m surprised by how elegant it is.

I’m even more surprised to find that it’s in my size.

Had he picked the dress out for me himself?

Like everything else I’ve learned so far about Artem, it’s a baffling contradiction.

18

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