But that feels like quitting. Some part of my soul refuses to let me give up without a fight.
I have never let a man touch me. My future husband needs to know this will be a marriage on paper alone.
I press call.
He answers on the first ring. “Sofia.”
“I want to meet. Today.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Nelson is waiting.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he is.
“I’ll meet you somewhere neutral,” I say.
“No.” His voice is firm. “You’re not safe in public. My house. One hour.”
I want to argue. I need to push back. It’s in my DNA. But he’s right. I’m not safe anywhere except behind his walls.
“Fine.”
He hangs up.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the desk I pushed in front of my bedroom door last night. I hate that I’m scared. I hate that I need him.
The one man who is strong enough to protect me is also the one man dangerous enough to own me.
But I need to survive more than I need my pride.
I shower quickly, washing away the dried blood from the scrapes on my knees. The water stings. I think about how close I came to dying.
I checked the news last night once I got home. Three people died on that sidewalk. Four others were hurt.
I know I didn’t pull the trigger, but I feel responsible for those deaths.
I dress carefully. Dark jeans, boots with a reasonable heel, a black sports bra and then a tee. I clip my hair back. Minimal makeup. I want to look composed. In control. Even though I’m falling apart inside.
I grab my lipstick and my knife. My phone. My wallet. The panic button necklace that didn’t do shit last night. I look around my room—the room I’ve lived in my entire life—and something twists low in my stomach. I’m not just leaving for a meeting. I’m leaving something behind.
Stop being dramatic,I tell myself. This is just a meeting.
But I know better.
I walk downstairs. The house is quiet. My father is probably still asleep. Or dead. I should check on him, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to hear him tell me I’m weak for accepting help.
Gregor never came to the house last night. Never called or checked on me. He’s either dead or he’s been bought.
I don’t know which is worse.
I do know I will not trust any of my regular guards, all of whom are suspiciously absent.
I step outside, immediately feeling exposed.
There’s an SUV parked at the gate. And leaning against it, arms crossed, is Nelson.