HIS INVISIBLE CAPTIVE.

CHAPTER 5 The First Touch

Alternating POV

Dimitri

They want her dead.

My men. My inner circle. Sergei, Mikhail, Anton, Pyotr. They corner me in the study at midnight, and they tell me what I already know.

She's a liability. A witness. A loose end.

"She has to go," Mikhail says. "You know the rules."

"I know them."

"Then you know what has to happen."

I look at him. He holds my gaze for a second. Then he looks away.

"There are protocols," Sergei says. "You wrote them. You were the first one to enforce them."

I don't answer.

"You've killed for less," Anton says. "You killed Petrov last month for forgetting to deliver a package on time."

"That was different."

"How?"

I don't have an answer.

The room goes quiet. They're watching me. Waiting.

"No one touches her," I say.

The words come out before I can stop them. Before I can think. But the moment I say them, I know they're true.

I pick up the gun.

"Touch her," I say, "and I'll bury every one of you."

Nobody moves.

"You've known me for fifteen years," I tell Sergei. "Have I ever said anything I didn't mean?"

He shakes his head.

"Then we're done here."

They file out. One by one. Sergei is last. He pauses at the door.

"Dimitri."

"What."

"You know what this looks like."

"I know."

He waits a beat. Then he leaves.

I set the gun back on the desk.

The room is silent again.

But something inside me isn't.

The way she said okay when I told her she couldn't call her school. The way she looked at me when I asked about her parents — not pleading, not angry. Open. Like she was letting me see something she doesn't let anyone see.

The file. The flag. The footage that was erased before anyone even thought to look for it.

Someone in my world reviewed her parents' death. Someone in my world made sure no one could see what happened that night.

I can't keep lying to myself about why she's still alive.

I walk to her room.

---

Anya

I hear the door open.

I don't turn around. I'm sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, knees drawn up. I've been counting the minutes since he left. I don't know why. There's nothing to count toward.

He steps inside.

The air changes. He's tense tonight. More than usual. Something has happened. Something I don't understand.

He crosses the room in three strides. He's in front of me. Looking down at me.

His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.

"Stand up," he says.

My body responds before I can think. I stand.

He's so close. I can feel the heat off him. I can smell him — something expensive, something clean, something that makes my head swim.

"You are mine," he says.

The words land somewhere in the middle of my chest. They should terrify me.

I wait to be terrified.

I'm not.

"What?" I whisper.

"You heard me." He reaches up. His hand is rough, calloused. His fingers find my jaw. His thumb rests just below my mouth. "You are mine. No one touches you. No one hurts you. No one takes you from me."

His hand moves to my throat. He grips me there. Not hard. But enough that I feel it.

My breath catches. My pulse pounds against his palm.

His eyes drop to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

"There are rules," he says. His voice is lower than I've ever heard it. "There are things I don't do. Things I've never done."

He stops. His jaw tightens.

"I've spent every night telling myself you're nothing," he says. "Every night telling myself I'll figure out what to do with you and it won't matter. And every night, I've been lying to myself."

His hand tightens on my throat. Just slightly. Just enough.

"And then I come in here and look at you, and all of it stops making sense."

My hands tremble. My lips part before I can stop them.

He leans in.

His mouth is inches from mine.

I should push him away. I should turn my head. I should do anything except let this happen.

I don't.

He kisses me.

It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's hard, claiming, punishing. His mouth takes mine like he's been holding himself back for days and finally broke. Not desperate — hungry. Controlled, until it isn't.

And I —

For one second, I kiss him back.

Then I come to my senses.

I push against his chest. He pulls back immediately. Breathing hard. Eyes wild. His lips are swollen. His hands are still on my waist.

I'm shaking. My whole body is shaking. I can still taste him. I can still feel the weight of his mouth on mine.

"What's wrong?" His voice is ragged.

"What's wrong?" I repeat. I can hear the hysteria creeping into my voice. "You kidnapped me. You're keeping me prisoner. And you just—"

I stop. I can't finish. I can't find the words.

He stares at me. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then he steps back.

"Next time," he says, low and controlled, "you won't push me away."

Then he's gone.

The door slams behind him.

I stand there. Back against the wall. Heart pounding. Lips still tingling. I can still taste him.

I hated that my lips still remembered him.

I hated that when the door closed, some part of me wanted it to open again.

---

Dimitri

I stand in the hallway. Back against the wall. Eyes closed.

Her hand against my chest is still there in my mind.

She pushed me away.

She should have. I knew she would. I wanted her to.

And I wanted her not to.

But that's not what I'm thinking about.

The way she kissed me. Not the kiss itself. The way she kissed me. Like she didn't know how. Like her mouth had never learned this. Like every part of her was responding to something she'd never felt before.

I open my eyes.

She isn't just the girl from the alley anymore.

She's something I haven't decided whether I can survive.

I push off the wall. I walk to my study. I close the door.

I pour a drink I don't taste and stare at the file on my desk.

Fourteen years ago.

Someone in my own house.

I need answers.

And the only person who might have them is the woman I just told I own.