Page 19 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
Even if I don’t need it, I pour myself a drink and lean against the counter while I stare at nothing as everything catches up to me at once, without even an ounce of mercy.
I know I crossed a line with her. That was apparent the moment I closed that door behind me, pulling Mila out of circulation. It was supposed to be clean and strategic, and if anything, a temporary thing while I figured out how to dismantle everything else.
Instead, it feels like I just pulled off the world’s most impressive bank heist, but now I’m holding the cash and don’t have a getaway car. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it now that I’m implicated.
She’s leverage and insurance, and she’s also something I need to solve before everything truly blows up in my face.
For now, everything is quiet, and nobody is causing an uproar. I can work with this. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Though there’s a truth I keep skirting around because it feels easier than being real with myself. I didn’t take her because it made sense, or because I had some grand plan in the works.
I’m keeping her here because I can’t stand the thought of someone else doing the same thing and deciding her fate. Especially not a Balakin, and one who has an obvious reason to want her within reach.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I exhale slowly as it all soaks in, festering in an annoying way.
Roman’s going to lose his shit when he finds out, and after that, I’ll have to listen to whatever scolding Mikhail has in store for me.
But for now, it’s just me and the consequences of my actions that happened to be very informed by my fixation.
Before I can get too annoyed with myself, I push off the counter and carry my drink into the living room, and I drop down onto the sofa with a deep breath. I pull my phone out and wake the screen with a tap before navigating to my surveillance software.
With a single click, the live feed fills the screen, showing me an uninterrupted view of the spare room as the light starts to dim.
Mila’s sitting on the edge of the bed at first with a rigid posture as expected, but after a few minutes, she stands and moves quietly across the room. Her steps are careful, like she’s ready to pull a fast one on me, and she checks the first window. She goes to lift it, but it doesn’t budge. Not even after she checks the frame for some kind of lock or a release. She checks the next one, but no luck.
Given how new the building is, she should’ve guessed that, but I can’t fault her for trying.
I watch a long while, well aware that nothing she tries will work, but in a strange, quiet way, I’m waiting for her to prove me wrong. To throw a wrench in all of this and spit in my face at the same time…not that I’d mind a bit of a challenge.
Frustration becomes more apparent in her movements as she searches for any sort of weak point, and as much as I like the idea of her submitting to this, there’s something more interesting about her not succumbing.
There’s still some fight in her, and that’s a good thing.
Pressing the microphone button on the screen, I wait a moment before murmuring, “You won’t find a way out. Everything’s reinforced.”
Immediately, Mila freezes, then she spins around, eyes scanning the room until she finds the lens, or at least, when she spots the faint infrared light tucked in one corner.
Her brows pinch. “You can’t be serious…are you watching me?”
When her voice comes through the phone speakers, I murmur back without hesitation, “Yes.”
Obviously, not impressed with my unapologetic tone, pure anger slides across her features, and her tone comes back hardened. “Turn it off.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“You don’t get to spy on me after forcing me to stay here.”
“You’re in my house, and apparently, you have a habit of running.”
“You’re sick.”
My lips pull faintly, even at her scalding words. “Go to bed, Mila. You’re exhausted.”
She glares back at the camera, and for a moment, I assume she’s planning on throwing something at it before she moves stiffly to the bed. With a decisive yank of the covers, she slips beneath them and hides herself completely, leaving nothing but a vague lump behind.
I watch for a moment longer, sitting in my quiet amusement at her irritation, before turning the audio off andminimizing the camera feed to the corner of my screen just to keep an eye on her.
Leaning back in my seat, I take a breath and scroll through my contacts before finding Kat’s name and pressing it before I can talk myself out of it.
