Page 55 of Twisted Pact

My stomach churns again. I roll onto my side and pull my knees to my chest, breathing through nausea that won’t fade no matter what I do.

This has to be stress. Has to be my body reacting to weeks of being held captive. To the constant fear and uncertainty and impossible choices.

It’s too soon for it to be anything else. Has to be.

It can’t be anything else.

I won’t let it be anything else.

The thought makes panic rise in my throat. I shove it down and focus on breathing. In and out. Slow and steady.

Everything will be fine. Alexei will come back. The threats will be eliminated. I’ll finish my degree and get back to my normal life.

Everything will be fine.

I repeat it like a mantra until exhaustion finally drags me under and sleep claims me, and I can stop thinking about impossible choices and dangerous men and the fact that my body feels wrong in ways I’m terrified to acknowledge.

When I wake hours later, the sun has moved across the sky. I’ve slept through most of the day.

The nausea is replaced by a hollow feeling that might be hunger or something else entirely.

I eat the cold toast from breakfast. Drink the orange juice that’s gone warm and force myself to consume calories even though nothing tastes right.

My phone shows no updates from Alexei about when he’s coming back.

The guards change shifts outside my door. New faces. Same instructions to keep me safe and contained.

I wander to the window and look out at the estate grounds. Trees sway in the breeze. Lawns manicured perfectly. It’s beautiful here. Peaceful.

And I’ve never felt more trapped in my life.

Afternoon fades to evening. The sky turns orange and pink as the sun sets, and still no word from Alexei about when he will return.

I’m alone with my thoughts, my nausea, and the growing certainty that something fundamental has changed.

Something I’m not ready to face.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

16

Alexei

Seven days without Mila feels like seven years, and I hate admitting it.

I pull through the gates and park in front of the main house. The security team has done its job, with new cameras lining the perimeter, thermal sensors, and motion detectors. Everything I ordered and more.

I head inside to find her in the kitchen making tea. She’s wearing jeans and one of my sweaters that hangs off her shoulder. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she looks exhausted.

When she sees me, something moves across her face. Relief, maybe. But she hides it quickly behind crossed arms and a scowl.

“You’re back,” she notes with zero emotion.

“I’m back,” I confirm with a nod, taking care to match her nonchalance.

“You said it would just be a few days. It’s been a week.”