Chapter 4

It's been some minutes now, not a word uttered by either one of us. It weighs in the room like a thick fog. I watch as his jaw ticks, and his fingers twirl on one of his rings. I can almost see the cogs in his head turning. He's making sure to put extra thought into what he will say next. He twirls his rings because it helps him think, he doesn't seem nervous. His presence is weirdly imposing and threatening at the same time. He finally breaks the ice. The twirling and the ticking stop, a dark look casts over his face.

"We both know that wasn't a terrorist attack."

He then inches closer. For some reason the air in the room suddenly got thicker, it's much harder to breathe. Composure, I must maintain composure.

Deciding on playing the role of the oblivious damsel I reply.

"I'm not following Mr Valkov."

He rests a hand on my shoulder, my skin burns from the contact. His fingers start to trace my collarbone, branding my skin as they move. He cranes his head, the warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine. Feeling myself getting drunk on his scent, I clear my throat in a pathetic attempt to clear his scent from it. I hate how he's breaking my composure, I'm sure he's very much aware of it. His fingers halt their movement resting on the flap of my gown. I feel the burn of his stare on my skin. He pushes the flap aside exposing my bare shoulder. Meanwhile my fingers wrestle with the hem of my gown.

I suppress the urge to yank his fingers off my skin. He senses this because he smirks. His fingers tap my skin, daring me to yank them. It's a game, a game to see if I'll fold, a game to see if I'll crack under the pressure. He purses his lips, then lazily turns his head to face me. Our faces are so close that I can see the faintest details on his face, like a small set of freckles on one of his cheeks. It's weird how he only has freckles on one cheek. This detail triggers something in me and my heart skips a beat. His freckles remind me of someone. Someone I buried at the back of my mind. I remove my gaze from his freckles and his annoyingly handsome face, I focus on the glass beside me. He clicks his tongue and steps away from me. He stands in the corner. " So someone tried to kill you?" I ask.

"Or you." He replies casually. The way he casually said that, as if he was telling a kid that dinner was ready. The way I react is even more scary, I too casually swallow the information he just fed me like I'm the kid who had been waiting for dinner.

I loosen the tight hold my fingers had on the hem of my dress, I stare at the wrinkled state of it. Returning my gaze back on him, I exhale through pursed lips and reply with a dumb question.

"Why would anyone try to kill me?" Not just anyone would want to kill me, but those people would. Those people whose names I buried in the back of my mind, whose faces I scratched out from my memory, those people who haunt me in my nightmares. But no one knows that, not anyone in my present, to them I'm just a regular person who wouldn't even hurt a fly, a regular person with no hit on their back. The way this man is looking at me makes my facade wilt. It's like he can see through the window of my present to my past. He looks at me like he knows I'm anything but this person laying in this bed.

I hate that, I really hate that. I hate that he ruins my composure, that he makes me live my past like it's my present. Just in these few hours of knowing him.

"I think you know the answer to that question."

His words weigh heavily. "No I don't, Mr Valkov, I have no way of knowing the answer to that question. Unlike you who enjoys living your life on the edge pissing people off, I have a normal life that doesn't make me ask myself such questions."

It wasn't always this way, my life wasn't always normal. He starts to slowly pace around the room, admiring the plain walls like they are covered in expensive art. This pisses me off, the way he just shoves questions down my throat, the way he's so calm. His existence triggers and pisses me off.

"Maybe the sword and shield tattoo on your back might answer your questions."

He spares me a quick knowing glance before returning his gaze back on the walls. I feel more cracks form in my composure. The more he talks the more cracks form. The tattoo, he recognizes the tattoo.

I let out a laugh. " A tattoo? Let's not make jokes Mr Valkov, how would a tattoo give me answers?"

I continue playing the role of the oblivious damsel in distress. He lets out a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Why Lana, is a smart person like you acting so dumb ?" I lean back in my bed and stare at the ceiling, my body feels so heavy.

"Those secrets you try so hard to hide are haunting you in daylight Lana."

His words hit me like blows to the stomach, each one robbing me of breath. Also the way he says my name, sends weird chills through my body.

"I'm not liking the assumptions you're making about me Mr Valkov," I lean forward and stare at his wide, strong back. "I'm sure you're mixing me up with someone else, I'd appreciate it if you stopped, you've overstayed your visit too, maybe you need to be escorted?" I know he feels my glare.

The threat lingers in the air. He doesn't seem fazed by it. He turns around and stares at me intently.

"Maybe I have the wrong person however," he pauses and retrieves a small manilla from his jacket. "If you could look at this and tell me what you just said with indifference,I'll take your word for it." He adds.

I say nothing, he gently places the envelope on my lap.

"I hope you'll recover all your strength and energy Lana, you'll need it."

He struts out the room leaving his bitter words hanging in the air, dread fills up my body. I reach for the envelope, with sweaty and shaky fingers I open it.

My heart drops at what I find inside.