Victor
The house smelled like lavender and something faintly sweet. Her perfume, I think.
I toss my keys on the hallway table and pause just outside the bathroom door.
Steam curls out under the cracked-open door, and I know she's in there. My Zara. I can hear the soft splash of water.
I leaned in and saw her. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, lost in the heat of the bath. The bubbles clinging to her skin, fragile and pure. It's almost surreal. Me, Victor Antonov, watching her like this. Vulnerable and real.
I drop a towel and one of my old shirts on the counter, careful not to startle her. The shirt's got my cologne on it, a faint but unmistakable scent that always makes her tense up when she smells it on herself.
I step inside quietly, filling the tub again. No one would believe the serious man I am just setting this up for her. Hell, I probably wouldn't believe it myself.
She opens her eyes and looks up, catching me watching. I can see it. The flicker of doubt. Maybe guilt. Like she's wondering why I'm here. Why I care.
"I hurt you," I said before she does. "Didn't I?"
She doesn't answer right away. Just sinks in a little deeper like it could wash away whatever words we can't take back.
"Look, I know what I said before was cold," I said, taking a breath and taking a seat on the edge of the tub. "But you've got to understand, I'm not easy to read, but I read you like a damn book and know the truth."
Her eyes narrow, and she lifts a hand to rub at her temple, tired. "What truth?"
"You didn't mean the things you said. Not really," I said, shrugging, the weight of it pressing down. "You forget who I am sometimes. What I'm built for, but I see through your walls."
She turns off the taps. Bubbles drifting away like broken promises. And at the sight, I lick my lips and stand. The tension between us is too thick, that's its enough to cut.
"You're wrong." she said quietly.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Never."
I watched as she wrapped the towel around her, and then, slowly slipped into my shirt. It swallowed her small frame, but it suits her. Messy and imperfect. Just like us.
She's about to leave, but I reach out and pull her back, just enough.
"You can't go out. Not now," I said, brushing my lips against her ear. "Not while-"
"Fuck no," she said, pulling away as she crosses her arms. "You can't tell me what to do."
"I'm not asking. I'm protecting you," I said, my voice dropping to a growl. "There's shit going down that you don't need to be dragged into."
For once, anger isn't what she sees in my eyes. It's concern. For her, that's all that's ever there.
"If it makes you feel any better, I want to take you somewhere." I say, almost like a promise.
"Where?"
I pull out my phone and scroll, then show her a picture of a place that feels miles away from all this. The kind of place with silver cutlery, white linen, and views that make you forget everything else.
"You want to take me there?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," I say, heart pounding a little like a little boy about to get rejected. "You're mine and I want everyone to know it."
She rolls her eyes but doesn't push me away. Instead, she still stares at the photo on my phone, her expression unreadable. I half expect her to toss it back in my face, make some sarcastic remark and walk out. But she doesn't. She lifts her eyes to meet mine.
"You don't get to say things like that and pretend everything's fine." she whispered.
"I know," I said, nodding slowly. "But I'm not pretending."
She looked down, clutching the towel a little tighter beneath my shirt, like it's armor. Like it shields her from me and sighs.
"I'm tired, Victor," she murmurs. "Of the fighting. The tension. I didn't sign up for any of this."
I just stood there, silently watching her. Every part of me wants to fix it. Whatever this is. But I'm not the fixing kind. I destroy. I dominate. I keep people alive by making sure others don't live long enough to hurt them. But I can't promise her safety and keep breaking her at the same time.
"I know you didn't sign up for this," I finally say. "But you're in it now. And I'm not letting you go. Even if you hate me for it."
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but decides not to. She shakes her head, steps forward, and leans her head against my chest. I don't move. Don't even breathe for a second. Her wet hair dampens my shirt, but I could care less.
"I'm exhausted," she said quietly. "I just want to sleep."
"Then sleep," I murmured against her hair. "Just sleep and I'll be right here."
She pulled back a little, searching my face, like she doesn't quite believe me. Hell, sometimes I don't believe me. But I take her hand and lead her into the bedroom anyway.
She crawls onto the bed, still in my shirt, and curls up on her side like she's trying to make herself disappear. I grab the extra blanket off the chair and cover her gently before lying down next to her. I didn't touch her at first. I didn't want to push my luck. But then she reached behind her and grabbed my arm, pulling it across her waist. It's not much. It's not a declaration or forgiveness. But it's something.
My hand rests just above her hip, fingers splayed, feeling her warmth through the fabric. I breathe in the scent of lavender. Of soap. Of her. My heart should be calm, but it never is when it comes to her.
"I didn't mean to hurt you." I murmur into the quiet.
She doesn't respond, but her body relaxes against mine. And slowly I feel the tension melt from her muscles as her breathing deepens.
She's asleep but I stay awake for a while longer, listening to her breathe, anchoring myself to the rise and fall of her chest.
Because in this world of violence and lies, she's the only thing that makes me feel like a man instead of a monster. And if I lose her, I'll lose the last piece of myself worth saving.