CHAPTER…..THREE
857 Words
CHAPTER THREE
(Lina’s POV)
I woke to silence.
Not peace silence with teeth.
The room was flooded with pale morning light. For a moment, I almost forgot where I was.
Then I smelled him.
Leather. Smoke. Something metallic beneath it.
Adrian Sokolov’s house.
I slid out of bed carefully, barefoot against cold marble. The hallway outside my room stretched in two directions, both unfamiliar.
Perfect.
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and stepped out like a lost girl looking for a bathroom.
But my feet knew where they were going.
They had trained me for this.
Studies are always on the east wing.
Private rooms are never near bedrooms.
Power hides behind doors without windows.
I followed instinct and architecture until I found it.
A dark wooden door. No handle on the outside.
His study. My pulse kicked up. I pressed my ear to the door.
Silence.
I slid a thin pin from my hair and knelt. The lock surrendered in seconds.
Inside, the room smelled like ink and old paper.
Books lined the walls. A desk sat in the center. Drawers. A safe behind a painting.
I moved fast. Drawers first.
Weapons manifests. Foreign passports. Names scratched out in red ink.
I slid my phone from my sleeve to snap some photos.
Then I heard a loud voice behind me.
“Lost already?”
My heart nearly stopped. I turned slowly.
Irina stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” I whispered.
“This is not the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry. I got confused.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t wander like someone confused.”
She stepped closer. “You wander like someone searching.”
I forced my breath to shake. “I just… I don’t like being alone in strange places.”
Her stare didn’t soften.
“You don’t belong here,” she said. “And Mr. Sokolov does not keep things he cannot control.”
“I’m not a thing.”
“No,” she said. “You’re a question.”
She turned sharply and left. Why was everyone talking in riddles?
I had three seconds, so I slid the documents back, locked the drawer, and fled down the hall.
I barely made it to the kitchen before his voice followed me.
“Lina.”
My stomach dropped.
He stood at the far end of the hall, dressed in black, coffee in his hand.
Irina stood beside him.
“She was in your study,” Irina said.
“I was lost,” I said quickly.
He looked at me.
Not angry.
Curious.
“You wandered into the one room I don’t allow guests,” he said.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
Lie.
“I was looking for the kitchen,” I added. “I wanted to make tea.”
Irina scoffed. “She’s lying.”
Adrian lifted a hand.
“Go,” he told Irina.
She hesitated. “She’s suspicious.”
“I said go.” Irina left angrily.
The house felt heavier without her.
“You cry easily,” he observed.
I blinked and let it happen.
Tears blurred my vision. My chest shook.
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” I said. “I just… the house is so big and I didn’t sleep well and I didn’t want to bother anyone”
My voice cracked perfectly.
“I don’t like feeling stupid,” I whispered.
There was silence and then footsteps. He stopped in front of me.
“Look at me.” I did.
“I don’t punish lost girls,” he said.
“I’m not lost,” I whispered. “Just new.”
“Why were you really in that hallway?”
“Because I wanted to see where you worked,” I said softly. “You said poetry was dangerous. I wanted to understand why.”
He stared at me.
“You’re either very brave,” he said, “or very foolish.”
“I write about dangerous men,” I said. “How else would I know them?”
Something shifted. Not suspicion. Interest.
“You cry like someone who believes in things,” he murmured.
“I believe in you,” I said before I could stop myself.
It was a risk.
It landed.
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I can be something else.”
I wiped my cheeks. “I just think you’re lonely.”
The word hit him harder than any accusation.
He stepped back.
“You should eat,” he said. “Irina will show you the kitchen.”
He turned away.
But before he left, he added quietly:
“You don’t belong in my study.”
“I won’t go there again,” I said.
As he disappeared down the hall, my pulse slowed.
The lie had worked. And something worse had happened. He didn’t see me as a threat.He saw me as something fragile.Something worth keeping.
Which was far more dangerous.
- Writer
