That night, Judas didn't come to the room-not that I was expecting him to. But what I wasn't expecting was the absence of punishment. No harsh words, no wrathful orders, no cruel consequences. Again, he surprised me.
I didn't know when the burnt clothes were replaced with new ones. Honestly, I had no idea. The only thing I knew was that when I woke up the next morning, the wardrobe wasn't empty anymore. It overflowed with options-warm, soft, and luxurious like they were handpicked just to spite me.
And right now, I stood by the window, wrapped in a beige sweater that clung to my frame like a warm hug, black fleece leggings that hugged my legs snugly, and a cashmere scarf draped loosely around my neck. The view outside was pristine-snow stretching out endlessly, the world blanketed in white. Just two days ago, I was out there, probably dying.
He could've left me. Should've, maybe. But he didn't. He brought me inside instead. I faintly remembered that night-a blur of nightmares, flashes of warmth against my frozen skin, the steady thrum of a heartbeat. My heart fluttered at the memory, and I swallowed hard. It had to be a dream. There was no way Judas could be so gentle. Not Judas.
Other thing I noticed was, the house was surrounded by guards now. None inside, but the shadows pacing the grounds were unmistakable. I wondered if they felt the cold the way I had, or if their loyalty insulated them better than layers ever could.
The thought brought heat to my cheeks for an entirely different reason. Yesterday, I'd almost flashed them, traipsing around in that damn lingerie like a fool. I sighed, my breath fogging up the cold glass of the window. Childish. That's what I was-naive and reckless. A dangerous combination in a house like this.
And the fact that I hadn't seen Judas all morning was nerve-wrecking. Not that I went looking for him, but his absence filled the space as much as his presence did. I stayed in the room, reluctant to test boundaries, unsure of what awaited me outside.
My hand brushed the edge of the scarf as I traced invisible patterns on the glass. Two days ago, this house was a death sentence. Today, it was a cage lined with silk. I didn't know which was worse.
The sound of footsteps outside the door broke my thoughts. My stomach flipped, and I froze, waiting. The knob turned slowly, and for a split second, I thought it might be him. But when the door creaked open, it wasn't Judas.
It was one of the guards-a towering figure with a face set in stone. He didn't step inside, just hovered in the doorway like he wasn't sure whether to speak or stand guard.
"Miss Rosewood," he said finally, his tone clipped but not unkind. "Boss wants to see you. Now."
My stomach dropped. So much for the absence of punishment.
I nodded before following the guard down the hall, my pulse thudded in my ears as we descended the staircase. The house was quiet, the kind of silence that made every breath louder than it should. The guard didn't say a word, didn't glance back to see if I was following, and I clung to the edges of my scarf as if it could shield me from whatever awaited.
When we reached the study, he opened the door without knocking, stepping aside for me to enter. The moment I crossed the threshold, the tension hit me like a wall. Before the guard shut the door after him.
Judas was behind his desk, his focus entirely on the laptop in front of him. He didn't look up, but his presence filled the room, like an unspoken authority that made the air feel heavier. The soft glow of the screen highlighted the sharp lines of his face, his dishevelled hair making him look almost boyish. Almost.
The illusion didn't last. The polar neck sweater he wore clung to his broad shoulders, the dark fabric emphasizing his powerful frame. Matching slacks sat comfortably on his muscular legs, and he wore no shoes, just socks, a detail that somehow didn't lessen his presence. If anything, it made him more intimidating-like he didn't need to try, like he ruled this space effortlessly. And he did.
I hovered near the door, shifting awkwardly on my feet. My fingers curled into the hem of my sweater, and I debated whether I should sit or stay standing. Was I allowed to sit? Would he tell me to?
The soft click of his laptop snapping shut snapped me out of my spiral. His gaze lifted, pale and sharp, and the moment his eyes landed on me, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room.
His eyes raked over me consciously, starting at my toes and dragging upward with a hunger that made my skin prickle. His lips didn't move, but his gaze said more than any words could. It wasn't kind, wasn't gentle. It promised things-things I wasn't ready to acknowledge, let alone name.
I cleared my throat, trying to break the spell. "Pervert," I muttered under my breath unconsciously but his sharp ears caught it. Of course, they did.
One brow arched lazily and his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smile. "What was that, Ptichka?" His voice was smooth, low, and utterly lethal.
I froze, heat rushing to my cheeks as I scrambled for a response. "Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You wanted to see me?"
He leaned back in his chair, the movement deliberate as he stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. The casual posture was a lie-everything about him was controlled, calculated. "I did," he said simply, his eyes never leaving mine.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I shifted on my feet again, wishing I dared to meet his gaze head-on instead of letting it fluster me. When he didn't say anything more, I blurted, "Why?"
His head tilted, and the look he gave me was almost amused. Almost. "Why?" he repeated, the single word laced with mockery. "Because I can."
The simple answer made my chest tighten, and I pressed my lips together to keep from saying something reckless. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he enjoyed watching me squirm.
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
I hesitated for just a moment before obeying, sinking into the chair and gripping the arms tightly. My nerves buzzed as his eyes bore into me invasively.
"Good," he said softly which made me sit up straighter.
His gaze pinned me in place like a predator watching its prey.
Then he said the name.
"Ivan."