Page 57 of Captured Obsession

“No. I never want you to feel like you have to do something dangerous like that again. I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time,mishka.”

My heart misses a beat, and in that split second, I can see that small glimmer of Nikolai that unnerves me. Not the killer or the indifferent man. But something more sincere and gentle. And what looks like remorse flashes in his eyes.

“How about you help me open them?” I say, accepting the knife. “It’ll take me all day if not. But be careful not to break anything.”

He doesn’t seem particularly keen on the idea, but he takes a seat beside me, and we sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor. I can’t help but feel like a kid on Christmas Day.

“You didn’t tell me you were into this. Perhaps I fell short on your fantasies by not wearing a mask?” Nikolai says, a mask with wires and a remote control dangling from his fingers.

I snatch it out of his hand. “Please. This is an infrared LED mask. It’s really good for your skin. You strap it on and then just go about doing your usual thing. It’s so convenient.”

His eyebrows dip, and for the first time ever, it appears Nikolai is at a loss for words. I’m sure our versions ofconvenientare very different. I hide a smileas he picks up another contraption, and asks, “And this?”

“Those are microneedles for the face. It helps produce collagen, though I don’t do home care for that. I go to my favorite clinic instead.”

“Women go through peculiar things all in the name of vanity,” he mutters.

I sigh, frustrated, because men really don’t appreciate the efforts women put forth to look good. “No, men say they want anaturalwoman, but this is what they really want. Being a model, I always have to be the perfect canvas, and it’s hard work maintaining that.”

“You’re amazing,mishka,” he says gently, and I look up at him, surprised. He’s making fun of me, right? “I mean it. All of this?” He motions to the beauty items scattered around us. “This is hard work. But you enjoy it, yes?”

I don’t even know what to say. Yes, it’s hard work. And, yes, I enjoy it. But it doesn’t satisfy me the way it used to. “I’m a Falcone. It’s expected of me. Besides, this is a strange compliment from a killer. Should I start complimenting your killing methods?”

His face softens a fraction, and a magnetizing tension pulls us toward one another. I’m hyperaware of how his knee brushes against mine, as if it’s the most natural placement so we’re always touching. I want to crawl into his lap and curl up in his strong arms.

I look away, realizing how stupid that kind of thinking is. He’s my kidnapper, for fuck’s sake. I shiftmy knee away, but he leans in more, ensuring our shoulders remain touching. I try to ignore it as I open a random envelope. Several photos fall out, and my heart stops.

They’re pictures of me and Michael.

“What is it?” Nikolai asks. The mood shifts to ice-cold between us when he glimpses the photos.

I look happy in them. They’re ones that can easily be found on the internet. Some are from Michael’s press tour, and others are from public outings. I unfold the letter, reading it quickly, and realizing it’s from a fan who was devastated to hear about our breakup, and who thinks Michael and I are destined for one another.

My heart clings to the sentiment, knowing that this was probably sent right after the cheating scandal, and certainly before his recent announcement that he’s going to be a father. I look back to the pile, my heart sinking, as I realize there might be more reminders of that life inside these packages and envelopes.

The world didn’t stop when I did. All of these gifts still hang with the expectation to review them and rave about them on my social media. Not because I’m anything special, but because of the influence I’ve gained over the years.

I used to love this part of my job. Now it feels like pressure. And that’s a truth I’m not yet ready to confront.

“I think I might take a nap. I’m rather tired,” I say, placing the letter down with the photos.

I still haven’t seen the articles and announcements about the pregnancy. I didn’t have access to news or gossip while at the manor since I only had the TV for a short time—and I was only permitted to watch certain things—and they’d taken my phone.

Strangely enough, the impulse to use my phone hasn’t been very strong since returning, until now. I feel like the world I was addicted to, and filtered through, suddenly isn’t as compelling. Even if it was taken away from me, the forced disconnection has made me look at the world anew.

When I stand, Nikolai stands with me. I say to him, “Alone, Nikolai.Please.”

He doesn’t seem too happy, but says, “If you need anything, call for me. And don’t climb out of this building. I feel like the other nails might not hold up from somewhere as high as this.”

A bubble of warmth expands in my stomach as I offer him a small smile, despite hating him. And I cling to the reminder that I have to hate this man.

I head to the spiral staircase, nodding at Andrei as we pass one another.

I’m sure they’ll find their own rooms when they’re ready. My bedroom is at the end of the hallway to the left of the stairs, and as I walk toward it, glancing out the large windows over the city I love so much, I find my heart silently wishing I were sitting out on abalcony, watching the swallows swoop and dive in harmony, the scent of the ocean nearby.

And I find irony in the fact that the place I’m wishing for is the last place on earth I should ever want to return to.

“Sienna?” I hear Nikolai call out. And it sounds strange since he never uses my name.