The silence that settled in the suite after the violent argument that morning was thick, almost suffocating. I stayed huddled in the second bedroom, my back against the headboard and my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach. My eyes were glued to the remains of the cell phone Sebastian had smashed against the marble floor; the shards of plastic and glass glittered in the dim afternoon light, a physical reminder that no matter how hard I tried to run, Sebastian Volkov's shadow always ended up catching up with me and destroying everything in its path.
However, as the hours passed and the sun began to set behind the mosques of Istanbul, something shifted in the atmosphere. I expected Sebastian to break down the door again. I expected his demands, his legal threats, or for him to return
