Page 59 of Arrow

Sweeping into a mock bow, I let the gesture speak for itself.

“You’ll stay here.”

Arrow’s voice was clean of malice, but his posture told the rest. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, making it clear I wasn’t allowed to close the door—not tonight, maybe not ever.

Not unless he closed it first.

“You can’t keep me prisoner here,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

His mouth curved into something adjacent to a smile. “Prisoner? No. You’re my fiancée, Harlowe. The bride-to-be. The future Mrs. Romanov.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, needing something between us, even if it was just my own limbs.

“I won’t fuck you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” He stepped fully into the room now, his presence filling the space until I could barely breathe. “But you should know that this room doesn’t lock from the inside.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Why would it?”

He moved to the window, looking out at the dark river below. His reflection stared back at me.

“You’ll find I’ve thought of everything, Harlowe. The windows are bulletproof and don’t open more than six inches. The security system registers every door that opens, and my men patrol the grounds twenty-four seven.”

“So, I am a prisoner.”

“You’re protected.” He turned to face me. “From your enemies. From your father. From yourself.”

Bitterness colored my laugh. “My hero.”

Arrow closed the distance between us. I tensed, expecting violence, but he only reached past me to the nightstand, opening the drawer to reveal a gleaming silver gun.

He lifted it, checking that it was loaded, then set it on the nightstand within easy reach.

“Sleep well, moya malen’kaya gadyuka,”⁠* he murmured.

Leaving without another word, he pulled the door closed behind him—though I noticed he didn’t fully shut it.

It remained open a crack, just enough for me to know I was being watched.

The gun sat on the nightstand.

I stared at it, wondering if it was a test.

If I touched it, would alarms sound? Would he burst in and punish me?

My finger traced the cool metal barrel, carefully, as if the gun might bite back. It was real. Loaded. He’d left a loaded gun within my reach.

Either he was insane, or he was testing me.

The gun’s weight filled my hand. I could end this right now. I could put a bullet in his skull while he slept and run. But even as I thought it, I knew it was impossible. His men would hunt me down. My father would find me.

There was nowhere to go.

I set the gun back in the drawer and closed it, suddenly exhausted. The events of the day crashed over me like a wave, and I sank onto the edge of the bed.

My fingers trembled as I untied my heels, letting them fall to the floor with a dull thud.