SAY YOU ARE MINE

You Run, I Hunt

I made it three steps before he caught me.

Three whole steps across black marble. Past the wall of windows showing Moscow at 3 AM. Past the painting worth more than my life. Toward the elevator. Toward freedom.

His arm bands around my waist like a steel cable. Yanks me back against his chest so hard the air leaves me.

“You’re fast,” Kieran murmurs against my ear. His breath is hot. Dangerous. “But I’m faster, _milaya_.”

My bare feet leave the floor. He carries me like I weigh nothing. Past the 20-foot Christmas tree — it’s June, but Kieran Volkov does what he wants. Past the grand piano no one plays. To the elevator.

“Let me go!” I thrash. Slam my fists against his shoulder. It’s like punching granite. “You said I could walk away after a year! You didn’t say I was a prisoner!”

“I said you’d live in my penthouse.” He presses the elevator call button with my hip. The doors slide open. “I didn’t say you could leave it.”

He steps inside. Sets me down. But his body cages me against the mirrored wall. One hand flat beside my head. The other at my throat. Not squeezing. Just… there. Reminding me.

“Where were you going, Alina?” His thumb strokes my pulse. It’s beating like a rabbit’s. “Back to your one-room apartment? To your brother who’s currently in a private hospital with two broken ribs and a debt paid in full?”

My stomach drops. “You — you promised you wouldn’t—”

“I promised I wouldn’t take his fingers. I didn’t. I said nothing about ribs.” His smile is cold. “He fought the paramedics. Said he’d kill me for touching you. I respect loyalty. So I only broke two.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t deny it. “And you’re mine. Monsters don’t let their things run away.”

The elevator dings. 47th floor. His floor. Only his floor.

He drags me out by my wrist. Past a wall of security. Past men with guns who look at the floor when we pass. To double doors. Black oak. Carved with wolves.

His bedroom.

“Let me make this simple,” he says, kicking the doors shut. The lock clicks. Automatic. Final. “You have two choices here.”

He backs me up until my legs hit the bed. A bed bigger than my entire apartment. Black silk sheets. Black everything. Like sleeping in a coffin.

“Choice one.” He releases my wrist. Steps back. Gives me space I don’t trust. “You stay. You wear my ring. You play the loving fiancée when I tell you to. You warm my bed when I tell you to. In one year, you walk away with five million dollars and your brother breathes.”

Five million. The number punches the air from me. That’s… that’s freedom. That’s Dmitri safe forever.

“Choice two?” My voice is small.

His eyes go flat. Dead. “You run.”

He pulls a knife from his boot. Seven inches. Curved. It catches the moonlight from the windows.

“I hunt,” he says softly. “And when I catch you — and I _will_ catch you, Alina — I bring you back here. And we stop pretending this is fake.”

He flips the knife. Catches it. Offers me the handle.

“Choose.”

I stare at the knife. At his face. No emotion. No bluff. If I run, he’ll do it. He’ll chain me to this bed and make me his in every way that matters.

I think of Dmitri. Of his bloody face. Of five million dollars.

I think of this man’s mouth on mine. Of how my body betrayed me in that warehouse. How part of me — sick, twisted part — didn’t want him to stop.

I leave the knife in his hand.

“Smart girl.” He slides the knife back into his boot. No relief in his face. He knew what I’d pick. “Now. Rules.”

He stalks to a dresser. Pulls out a black box. Throws it on the bed.

“Open it.”

Inside: a phone. Black. No logos. A credit card. Black. No limit. A keycard. Black. _V. Penthouse_.

“Phone tracks you. Card tracks you. Keycard doesn’t work without my fingerprint.” He looks at me. “You’re free to roam the 47th floor. Kitchen. Gym. Library. Pool. You try the elevator, it alerts me. You try the stairs, men with guns stop you. You try the windows…” He gestures to the 47-story drop. “…you die. Understood?”

I nod. Throat dry.

“Good.” He shrugs off his suit jacket. Starts unbuttoning his shirt. One. By. One. “Now take off the dress.”

Ice floods my veins. “What?”

“You heard me.” His shirt falls. God help me. Scars. Tattoos. Muscle carved from war. A bullet scar right over his heart. “Rule #1. You sleep in my bed. Rule #2. You sleep naked. I want to know you’re not hiding knives.”

“Kieran, I—”

He’s on me in two strides. Hand in my hair, yanking my head back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to show he could.

“You said you were mine, Alina.” His voice is a growl. “In that warehouse. In front of my men. Did you lie to me?”

“No,” I gasp.

“Then prove it.” His lips brush my ear. “Take. Off. The. Dress.”

I’m shaking. But I reach for the zipper at my side. It sticks. My fingers fumble.

He watches. Doesn’t help. Doesn’t touch. Just watches with those dead blue eyes while I peel the cheap black fabric down my body. It pools at my feet. I’m left in plain white underwear and the bra I’ve had since college.

I cross my arms. Humiliation burns my face.

He makes a sound. Almost a laugh. Almost.

“Turn around.”

I do. Slowly.

His intake of breath is sharp.

I look over my shoulder. He’s staring at my back. At the scars there. Long. Silver. From the belt. From my father, before he left.

“Who did that to you?” His voice is suddenly… quiet. Deadly quiet.

“My father.” The words taste like bile. “When I was twelve. Because I stole bread for Dmitri.”

Silence.

Then: fabric. His shirt. He drapes it over my shoulders. It swallows me. Smells like him. Cedar and war.

“Rule #3,” he says. His hands gentle now, pulling the shirt closed over my scars. Over my chest. “No one touches you. Ever again. Not even memory.”

He lifts me. Not s****l. Not cruel. Like I’m something broken. Sets me on the bed. Pulls the black silk sheets to my chin.

“Go to sleep, _milaya_.”

He turns to leave. To sleep on the couch, maybe. To go kill someone. I don’t know.

“Kieran.”

He stops at the door. Doesn’t turn.

“You said… warm your bed. But you’re leaving.”

Now he turns. And for the first time, I see something human in his eyes. Something broken.

“I said when _I_ tell you to.” His hand flexes on the doorframe. “Tonight, I want you to sleep. Because tomorrow, Alina…”

His smile is back. Devil’s smile.

“…we teach you how to be mine properly.”

The door clicks shut. Locks.

I’m alone. In a monster’s bed. Wearing his shirt. Worth five million dollars.

And I don’t know if I’m more afraid of him…

…or of the part of me that didn’t want him to leave.

*END CHAPTER 2*