Viktor never made you feel like a prisoner.

But, sometimes, it was hard to shake the feeling that you were still trapped.

Not by him, of course. Viktor was a gentle soul, infinitely patient with your fears, with your distance. But it didn’t matter that his hands were always careful, or that he never raised his voice, or that his eyes held only concern when they met yours.

The problem was the way he looked. The way his face, a little sharper, a little more refined than most, made your breath catch in your throat. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help it, in the way his fingers brushed yours when you weren’t paying attention, he reminded you of him, Your ex.

And your stomach would twist. Your hands would tremble.

Viktor noticed this. But instead of pulling away, instead of demanding you explain why you flinched, he’d simply pause. He’d tilt his head, and give you space to breathe.

Never forced you to acknowledge what you were feeling. He just stayed quiet.

You wanted to trust him. You knew Viktor was nothing like him. Nothing like the man who had left you bruised and shaking, whose promises were always broken, whose words were cruel. Viktor, in every way, was the opposite.

But it was hard to forget. Hard to ignore the way your body, even when you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Viktor moved slowly, his gaze fixed on yours, a look of concern. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing the edge of your hairline. His voice was low and calm.

“You’re so quiet, my little mouse… Has something happened?”

His touch was hesitant, as if he knew the slightest pressure might make you flinch. attentive, giving you space.