Before I could respond, a cloth covered my nose and mouth. I thrashed, clawing at his hand, but my strength ebbed. Darkness swept over me, pulling me under.
The cool air grazed my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. I searched the bed for something to protect myself from the chill. I found a sheet and pulled it over me.
A contented groan escaped my lips as I inhaled an unfamiliar scent lingering on the pillow. The breeze picked up, flowing through the open window and carrying with it the fresh, salty tang of the ocean. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Marco’s bed. It was so comfortable, and for a moment, I longed to stay there, lost in the warmth and peace it offered. But my stomach rumbled, pulling me back to reality.
I sat up, a flicker of unease settling in. Why didn’t my thighs hurt? Carina had said the first time would be painful. I racked my brain trying to piece together the events of last night—fragments of the romantic birthday dinner with Marco, the bodyguards, and the... attack.
The attack.
“Marco,” I yelled, my voice sharp with panic. My eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. This wasn’t my room, nor Marco’s, nor Carina’s.
Where was I?
As memories rushed back, my hand instinctively went to my nose. I remembered a man pressing a cloth over my nose. My heart skipped a beat. A rush of fear flooded me. I pulled the sheet up to my chest, realizing my black dress was gone, replaced by the red underwear. Someone had undressed me. The realization made my skin crawl.
Desperation spurred me to stand, but I froze, the sheet draping loosely around me. I wanted to scream, but no sound left my throat.
A deep voice broke the silence.
“There is a dress beside you for a reason.”
I whipped my head toward the source of the voice. The unmistakable Russian accent made my blood run cold. A man sat on the other side of the room by the open window facing the ocean.
The harsh beam of sunlight shining through the window veiled his face. I squinted, trying to make out his features. He stood, and my breath hitched.
Was he going to kill me now? He took a step toward me, his movements slow and calculated. My chest tightened, and I could feel the panic rising. I clutched the covers tighter. He wore the same suit I remembered from that night.
He was calm, almost too calm. I didn’t understand why he was after me. It couldn’t have been because of our brief encounter at the lingerie shop. He stopped in front of me, and I pressed my thighs shut.
“What did I do?” I managed to ask.
“Wear the dress,” he said, his gaze shifting toward the red dress laid out on the edge of the bed.
Realization struck me. He was the one who sent it, not Marco.
“Unless you want us to talk with only your underwear on,” He added, his eyes sweeping over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin flush. “ThatI would also appreciate.”
The words stung, and I stepped back. “Did you touch me?”
His expression remained impassive. “That is unnecessary. Now,” He glanced at his wristwatch, then back at me, his gaze as cold as ever. “I have questions, and you’ll provide the answers.”
He sat down across from me, crossing his arms. The movement seemed casual, yet I could feel the weight of his authority pressing down on me.
“How much do you know about Marco?” he asked.
I wasn’t in any state to answer. My mind was racing. Did he touch me? Did he kill Marco? Why did he send me the dress and lingerie? So the red underwear he bought was for me? Who was this man?
He raised an eyebrow, his patience running thin. “I asked a question.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t.”
My voice came out as a whisper. My eyes wandered to the bedside table, where a black knife rested.
“How well do you know Marco?” he asked again, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.
“He … he was just my boyfriend, I swear. I didn’t do anything.” I tried to maintain my composure despite the anxiety building inside me. “Did he do something to you?”
His gaze didn’t falter, but there was something darker in it. Something more dangerous. His fist clenched, and I noticed the rings glinting on his fingers. Each ring had a single letter on it: A.R.T.U.R.