23. Kat

Chapter 23

Kat

The rest of the day slips away in a blur.

Soon after Nik made the fatal mistake of challenging me, the personal shopper he promised arrives.

Caroline is a whirlwind of impeccable taste, and we hit it off immediately. For the first hour, I’m in heaven—sighing and squealing over luxurious fabrics, dripping in haute couture, and reveling in the extravagance of handmade leather shoes.

But as the hours stretch on, fatigue creeps in. Staring at my reflection in yet another stunning outfit, I feel the weight of the past few days pressing down on me. Even as I admire the elegant lines and rich hues do little to hide the exhaustion etched into my face.

“Stunning, isn’t it? The dress is Chanel, the shoes are YSL, and the bag, Dior. The lingerie, naturally, is Agent Provocateur,” Caroline chirps, gesturing to the delicate strips of lace and silk draped across the bed. “Mr. Stefanovich has impeccable taste.”

“It’s all gorgeous,” I reply, managing a tired smile. “I’ll take it. All of it, obviously. Please send Mr. Stefanovich the bill.”

Caroline beams, practically glowing with satisfaction as she begins tidying up. I can’t deny the pieces are beautiful, but by the time she finally leaves—after I’ve spent enough money to make even a Russian billionaire pause—I’m secretly relieved.

That relief is short-lived. Moments after the door closes behind her, Nik’s promised doctor arrives.

My distractingly handsome captor leans against the doorway, arms crossed, silently observing as the physician checks my head.

As expected, the injury is nothing serious. The doctor recommends rest and cold compresses, assuring Nik that I don’t have a concussion and will feel normal in a few days. With a brisk reminder to call if my condition changes, he packs up and departs.

Nik lingers a moment longer, his eyes sweeping over me—assessing, caressing. The air between us grows heavier with each passing second until he finally steps back, his expression unreadable, and follows the doctor out without a word.

Finally, I’m left alone. I waste no time slipping into clean clothes—a simple t-shirt and shorts. The soft cotton feels like heaven against my skin, but even that small comfort can’t mask how drained I am.

I crawl under the enormous bed’s covers, the weight of them instantly soothing. A contented sigh escapes my lips as the tension in my body melts away, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.

Sleep comes quickly, pulling me under like a warm tide. I let it take me, and within moments, I’m lost to a deep, dreamless slumber.

It feels like hours—days, maybe—pass before the first stirrings of awareness tug at me. But then, somewhere in the comforting darkness, I feel it—a presence.

Warm lips brush against my forehead, soft enough to feel like a dream. An impossibly gentle whisper in Russian follows: " Ya postoyanno dumayu o tebe .”

The words seep into the edges of my mind, clinging like smoke. I grasp at them, willing myself to remember. What do they mean? Why do they feel so... illicit, like I’ve stumbled into something I was never meant to hear?

Before I can hold onto the thought, a warm touch brushes against my lips. It traces their shape slowly, delicately, before I slip under again.

I don’t know how much time passes before I find myself in a long, cold hallway. The air is damp, water leaks down the gray walls, and flickering fluorescent lights cast everything in an eerie glow.

Then I hear it—a woman crying.

The sound is faint but raw, her erratic sobs cutting through the quiet. My stomach twists painfully because something about her voice feels… familiar.

I follow the sound, drawn toward a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor. With every step, her cries grow louder.

By the time I’m standing in front of it, my heart is pounding. I know that voice.

“A.J.?” I whisper, reaching for the handle.

Her sobs tear through me, each one sharper than the last. Panicking, I yank the door open, bracing myself for whatever’s waiting on the other side.

But there’s nothing.

Just darkness.

Her sobs grow louder, more desperate, and I step forward instinctively. My foot finds no ground.

I’m falling.

Air rushes past me as I scream, hands flailing until they catch a coarse rope. My hand burns as I cling to it, the fibers biting into my palms.

Above me, the doorway glows like a beacon. My muscles scream as I pull myself toward it, inch by agonizing inch. Sweat slicks my palms, making the rope slippery as I slide further down. It stings my eyes, dripping from my brow, but I don’t dare release my grip to wipe it away.

Then I see him.

The stronzo stands at the edge, his gold rings glinting under the harsh light. He sneers down at me, contempt and malice in his pale blue eyes.

I grit my teeth and push harder, ignoring the raw pain in my hands.

Just as I grip the edge, his polished Italian leather shoe comes down hard on my fingers, crushing them with ruthless force.

His cruel smirk widens as he kicks me in the face, sending me plummeting back into the void.

Cold water engulfs me. It’s so frigid, it knocks the air from my lungs.

I thrash wildly, desperate to find the surface, though in the suffocating darkness, I can’t tell which way is up. My lungs scream for air, the burn unbearable, until I finally break through. A desperate gasp fills my chest, but the reprieve is short-lived. The current grips me again, dragging me back under, merciless and unrelenting.

This is it. We’re going to die. The stronzo wins.

Then, through the chaos, I hear his voice.

“Shh, kiska . It’s just a dream.”

Warmth surrounds me, pulling me from the icy depths of my nightmare. My eyes flutter open and, disoriented, I find myself in Nik’s arms. His lips press softly to my forehead as his hands rub slow, soothing circles on my back. Burning hot strength radiates from him, wrapping around me like a shield.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “I'm here. It was just a dream.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I press my face into his chest. The clean scent of fresh linen and warm man grounds me, pulling me fully into the present.

“I was drowning,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“You’re here now,” he says, holding me tighter. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

“It was dark, and he pushed me. I was going to die. A.J... I couldn’t save her.”

“No one’s going to die,” he murmurs firmly. “You’re here with me, safe. I’ll always keep you safe—always.”

He rocks me gently, whispering soft, soothing words in Russian against my ear. Slowly, my sobs quiet.

“Sleep, kiska ,” he says after a while, guiding us back down until I’m lying in his arms.

“No,” I protest, clinging to him. “I’ll just go back to the nightmare.”

“You won’t,” he promises. “Not while I’m here. You've never been safer in your life. Sleep.”

I want to argue, but his steady strength and warmth lull me, and his fingers, drawing circles on my back, distract me. Despite the lingering fear, my eyelids grow heavier, and exhaustion wins.

When I wake again, sunlight floods the room, bright and hot.

Stretching, I groan softly and notice something that wasn’t there before—a chair beside the bed, pulled close as if someone had sat there, keeping watch.

The memories of the night before resurface, but in the daylight, they feel absurd, almost unreal. I’m half convinced I imagined it all.

As I shift to roll out of bed, something catches my eye—a small, brightly colored plastic bag on the pillow beside mine.

I pick it up, blinking at the label in disbelief.

Life Savers.

To keep me from drowning.

A laugh bubbles up, soft and unexpected, as I clutch the candy in my hands.