Although I had a knot in my stomach and throat that made it hard to think straight, I knew I had to move. The Russian mobster had kidn*pped me for money; but those who sent me wanted something deeper, something personal. That thought weighed heavy.
I approached Sebastian, trying to hide the storm raging inside me. His calm gaze steadied me, like an anchor in the chaos. I forced a small smile before pointing to the boxes I had chosen.
“What about the kitchen stuff?” he asked, as if reading my mind.
“Yes, that could work. And some clothes I don’t wear anymore,” I replied.
He smiled, and together we began the endless rhythm of lifting, carrying, and stacking. Downstairs, the SUV waited. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged with a half-joke: “Forget I’m rich?”
The next half hour blurred i
