Page 26 of Venomous Desires

About forty minutes later, I stood before the mansion’s towering gates. I silently hoped they’d be open this time—I had no intention of climbing over them.

Thankfully, the gates were open.

I let out a small breath and stepped through, walking quickly up the long stone path toward the entrance. My cardigan was pulled tighter around me, but the cold still slipped through, biting at my skin.

The air here always felt different today. Maybe it was the mansion, standing alone at the edge of the forest, cut off fromanything warm or familiar. Or maybe it was just the weather, and I was overthinking it again.

Or perhaps… it washim.

Whatever. I just needed to do my work and get the hell out of here.

Frowning, I reached for the door, only to realize it was locked. Just as I raised my fist to knock, it swung open from the other side. My knuckles nearly collided with Kyle’s.

I jerked back, mortified, and cradled my hand awkwardly. “Good evening.”

Kyle didn’t respond. His gaze flicked over me before his brows dipped into a frown. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing me in.

I sighed in quiet relief at the warmth and hurried toward the stairs, eager to finish my shift and leave.

“Mr. Romanovski’s in the library.”

Kyle’s voice halted me mid-step. I turned slightly, finding him still by the door.

“Next to his office,” he added.

I nodded and took off in that direction.

What the hell was he doing in there?

Then again, men did all sorts of things that made no sense.

Finding the library wasn’t difficult. I was familiar with this floor, though I was strictly forbidden from entering any room except his office or his bedroom—ifhe wanted me there.

I inhaled deeply, steadying my nerves, then knocked.

No response. I knocked again, yet there was just an unnerving silence that answered me. Sighing, I twisted the knob, and strangely, the door opened. Peeking my head in, I found darkness greeting me. My gaze wavered and my eyes narrowed. I could barely see inside, and a sudden chill settled in my bones. I called out timidly, “Mr. Romanovski?”

I swallowed hard as I forced myself to step inside. I pushedthe door open. The dim hallway light spilled in uselessly against the darkness within.

A fleeting shift in my periphery. My breath hitched. Before I could react, my grip slipped, and the door slammed shut behind me with athud.

I spun, my fingers fumbling for the knob. Cold metal met my palm.Locked.

A bead of sweat traced a slow path down my spine.

“Mr. Romanovski?”

I called out again. For a second, I thought I heard a faint chuckle. I took a step forward anyway, and the cold hit harder, sinking into my skin in a way that didn’t feel normal anymore. The back of my neck prickled.

I stopped—barely enough time to register it before something slammed me hard into the bookshelf. Pain shot through my back; the air knocked clean out of my lungs.

A hand closed around my throat as fingers curled.

Instinct kicked in, and I grabbed at his wrist, but I couldn’t see him—only the shape of him.

I tried to focus, to find his face through the shadows, but all I could feel was the pressure of his grip and the heat of him everywhere at once.

“You smell different,Ptichka.” He spoke in Russian. The hand around my throat loosened its grip, but stayed there, pinning me.