Chapter 11 – Raelyn
I wake slowly, disoriented, wrapped in warmth that doesn’t belong to my memories.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just breathe.
Then I realize I’m pressed flush against a solid chest, a slow, steady rhythm beneath my ear. An arm is draped heavy across my waist, possessive even in sleep. Konstantin. The weight of him is unmistakable—heat, strength, certainty.
Panic flickers.
Carefully, I try to slide forward, inching away without waking him. The mattress barely shifts.
His fingers tighten at my hip.
Not rough. Not conscious. Just instinctive—like his body refuses to let me go even while his mind sleeps.
A shiver runs straight down my spine.
I freeze, heart thudding, acutely aware of everything: the warmth at my back, the faint scent of soap and something darker, the way his breath brushes the back of my neck. I tell myself it’s just reflex. Muscle memory. Nothing more.
But my body doesn’t believe that lie.
I swallow and stay still, letting the moment pass. His grip loosens slightly after a few seconds, his breathing never changing. I ease forward again, this time successfully, and sit up on the edge of the bed.
The room is dim with early morning light. Pale gray slipping through the tall windows. His room feels different in daylight—less like a fortress, more like a man’s space. Clean lines. Dark wood. Controlled. Everything in its place.
Including him.
I glance back despite myself.
He’s on his side now, arm stretched out where I was, brow faintly furrowed even in sleep. Unfairly beautiful. Unfairlyhuman. And that makes something twist in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.
I stand, wrapping my arms around myself.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
The note. The alarms. His voice in my ear.Stay near me. The way he held me like the world would end if he didn’t.
I don’t know what that makes me.
Wife. Prisoner. Protected asset. Something else entirely.
Behind me, the bed shifts. I turn, and he’s still asleep.
He’s pulled the pillow close to his chest, brow smooth now, breath deep and even. The edge of danger he wears so easily is gone, stripped away by sleep. He looks younger like this. Human.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
I catch myself and scrub it away, like it’s a mistake I can erase if I’m fast enough.
No.
Distance.
I slip into the bathroom and shut the door softly. The shower hisses to life, steam blooming around me, and I let the heat beat against my skin. I stay longer than necessary, letting the water ground me, wash away the weight of last night.
Remember who you were,I tell myself.
Before the walls.