Page 19

The ride to the clinic is silent except for the occasional mewl from the kitten in my lap. She’s weak, barely moving, but she’s still here. That’s the only thing keeping my thoughts from spiraling out of control.

Mikhail didn’t come with me. Of course, he didn’t. He sent two of his guards instead—Arlo and another one whose name I don’t know. They sit stiffly on either side of me in the back of the black SUV, their presence a reminder that I’m not really free.

Not that I care about that right now.

All I care about is getting help for this tiny creature I’ve somehow grown attached to. My fingers stroke over her soft fur, careful not to disturb her further.

Every few seconds, I glance down, checking to see if she’s still breathing. My stomach twists every time I don’t see movement right away, but then I feel the faintest rise and fall beneath my fingers.

She’s fighting. I just hope I got her here in time.

The drive feels endless, even though it’s probably less than twenty minutes before we pull up in front of a sleek, modern-looking building. The words Veterinary Emergency Clinic glow in muted white lettering above the entrance, and before I can fully process, one of the guards steps out, opening the door for me.

I clutch the kitten close, my hands numb from holding her so tightly, and step into the clinic. The moment I do, the sterile scent of antiseptic and something vaguely medicinal washes over me. The space is quiet, far too quiet, with no other patients in sight.

It’s private. Exclusive. Of course, it is.

Everything in Mikhail’s world is tailored for his convenience, including the places he takes injured animals. I doubt a single person in this building would dare to turn me away, not when they know who sent me.

A woman at the front desk nods at the guards before waving me through. “Right this way,” she says smoothly. “Dr. Petrov is expecting you.”

I barely hear her words as I follow, my pulse pounding in my ears.

The vet is a middle-aged man with silver at his temples and a calm expression. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. The second I set the kitten down on the exam table, he gets to work.

I stand stiffly beside him, watching his every move as he gently lifts one of the kitten’s paws, presses lightly along her ribs, checks her ears and gums. My throat is dry.

“Well?” I force the question out, my voice brittle with fear.

Dr. Petrov straightens, pulling off his gloves. “It’s an infection,” he says, his tone reassuring. “She’s very weak, but you brought her just in time.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my chest loosening just slightly.

“She’ll need antibiotics and fluids,” he continues. “We’ll keep her here for observation overnight, just to be safe, but I don’t see any reason she won’t recover.”

My legs almost give out from relief.

I nod quickly, my hands gripping the edge of the table. “Can I see her before I go?”

The vet smiles. “Of course.”

I watch as they set up an IV, the tiny needle taped to her fragile leg. Her small body looks even more delicate against the stark white of the blanket beneath her, and I have to blink back the stinging in my eyes.

“She’s a fighter,” Dr. Petrov says kindly.

I can only nod again, swallowing hard.

A sudden presence beside me makes me stiffen. I turn slightly, finding Arlo, my guard, standing closer than I expected.

“You look tired,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

I blink at him, caught off guard. The guards never speak to me unless it’s an order.

His face is unreadable, but something lingers in his dark eyes. Something almost… assessing.

“I’m fine,” I reply automatically, though the exhaustion dragging at my limbs says otherwise.

His gaze flickers over my face before he jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Maybe refresh. Bathroom’s that way.”

I hesitate.

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten. Like there’s a second meaning buried beneath the words.

I don’t question it. I should be suspicious, but I’m too drained to think straight.

I nod once, casting one last glance at the kitten before forcing my feet to move. As I step into the hallway, my thoughts are still tangled in a mess of exhaustion and unease.

The restroom is empty. Cool, sterile lighting reflects off the polished tile floors, casting a faint glow over the mirrors. I press my hands against the sink, trying to steady my breathing, but my mind is too cluttered. The kitten is safe for now. That should be enough to calm me.

It isn’t.

Something about Arlo’s behavior doesn’t sit right with me. He’s been silent for weeks, treating me the same as any other prisoner under Mikhail’s watch, and now, suddenly, he’s playing the role of the concerned escort?

My stomach churns.

I reach for the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. The chill grounds me, momentarily clearing my head.

Then, the door creaks open. I stiffen, expecting to see Arlo—or worse, another of Mikhail’s men demanding I hurry up.

It’s neither. It’s her. Sophia. I freeze, barely able to believe my own eyes.

She stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes scanning me with unreadable intensity.

“Sophia?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

She steps closer. The tension in the air is suffocating. I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. She takes another step and reaches out, like she might actually hug me, but she stops, drops her arm and, instead, asks, “You okay?” Her voice is softer than I ever remember hearing it.

I nod, but I don’t fully trust my own answer.

She pulls back, scanning me like she’s assessing any damage. “You look better than I expected.”

“Thanks?” I reply hesitantly.

There’s a pause before she steps back, her arms returning to their usual crossed position. The warmth of the moment fades, and I recognize the calculating gleam in her eyes.

Whatever this is—it’s not just a rescue mission.

“Arlo works for you,” I state, piecing it together.

Sophia tilts her head, neither confirming nor denying it, but the silence is answer enough. My heart pounds.

She’s here for a reason. Whatever that reason is… it’s not simply to save me.

I should be relieved, shouldn’t I? This is my chance. My way out.

My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.

If I go back with her, I return to the same toxic, suffocating world I’ve always known. I return to a father who never cared, to a family that sees me as nothing but a tool, a disposable asset.

Mikhail….

I force the thought away before it fully forms.

It was a phase. That’s all. A dangerous, confusing phase.

Sophia pulls something from her coat pocket and presses it into my palm. A phone.

“Do us a favor, Julie.”

I blink, staring at the small device in my hand.

She continues, tone measured, deliberate. “I know how close you’ve gotten to Mikhail.”

My blood runs cold. Arlo. He reported to her. Of course, he did.

Sophia lifts a brow at my silence. “Don’t look so surprised. I had to know what I was dealing with. It turns out, you’re more useful than I thought.”

A pit forms in my stomach. She’s not here to save me. She’s here to use me.

“What do you want?” I ask warily.

Sophia steps closer, lowering her voice. “The Bratva is negotiating a major deal with a man named Greg Evans.”

I recognize the name. He’s a businessman with deep ties in multiple industries—legal and illegal alike. Mikhail has mentioned his name once or twice in passing.

Sophia continues, her expression unreadable. “I need to know how much they’re offering him.”

I exhale sharply, gripping the phone tighter. “You want me to spy on my husband,” I say flatly.

Sophia doesn’t flinch. “I want you to do something useful for once.”

The words hit like a slap, even though I should be used to them by now.

“If we know what they’re offering, we can sabotage the deal,” she says. “Make Evans a better offer. Turn him against them.”

I swallow, my throat dry. It makes sense. It’s a strategic move. A clever one. One that would weaken Mikhail’s position significantly.

Except… I stare down at the phone in my hand, feeling its weight like a chain. Everything in me screams that this is the right choice. That I should want to help my family. That this is my chance to prove I do have value to them.

My hands tremble slightly.

Mikhail. The man who stole me from my world. The man who forced me into marriage. The man who has been both my captor and my protector. The man whose touch lingers on my skin, whose voice sends shivers down my spine, whose presence invades my every thought.

I can’t ignore the pull in my chest. The hesitation. The doubt.

Sophia watches me carefully. “This is bigger than you, Julie,” she says, her voice smooth but firm. “You have a chance to actually matter here. Do you really want to waste it?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t know.

The weight of the phone in my hand feels heavier than it should.

I tighten my grip, looking up at Sophia, who watches me with expectant eyes. She isn’t here to save me—at least not in the way I had hoped. She’s here for my help, for this.

For me to prove myself useful. My chest tightens.

This is it. This is my chance to be more than just a forgotten daughter, more than a pawn passed around by men who see me as nothing but leverage.

Sophia must see the hesitation flicker across my face because she leans in slightly, voice lowering to a persuasive murmur.

“This isn’t just about business, Julie,” she says smoothly. “Mikhail humiliated our family.”

My stomach twists at the bitterness in her tone.

“He took you—married you—just to make a spectacle out of us,” she continues. “Now, he wants to kill me for something I didn’t even do.”

I inhale sharply. Valeri Sharov. Mikhail is convinced that Sophia had a hand in his uncle’s death. He’s made no secret of that.

She’s telling me she’s innocent?

I should have known. Sophia is ruthless, but she isn’t reckless. She doesn’t make careless moves that put our family in danger. If she had orchestrated Valeri’s death, she wouldn’t have left any trace of it. Mikhail is hellbent on revenge.

Sophia leans against the sink, arms crossed. “We have to get back at him and the Bratva. This is just the first step.”

I stare at her.

“If we gain financial leverage over them, we weaken them,” she explains. “Sabotaging this deal with Greg Evans will make them bleed. When the time is right….”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. They’ll strike when the Bratva is vulnerable. Mikhail—my husband—will be right in the center of it.

I swallow hard. This should be a simple choice. Mikhail is my captor, my enemy, the man who took everything from me. He made a mockery of my family, forced me into his bed, into his life. He controls me, owns me in ways I never imagined possible.

Something inside me twists uncomfortably.

He has humiliated the Spades. He’s dangerous, controlling, a force of power that no one dares defy. I’ve spent so long seeing him as the villain, and yet….

I think about the way he looks at me. The way his touch burns, the way his presence consumes the air around him.

The way he kissed me roughly on our wedding night. The way he held me down, made me his.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Sophia’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Once we finish this job, I’ll get you out of there.” She tilts her head, studying me.

“This is your chance, Julie,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “You can prove your worth. To us.”

To them. To the family that has overlooked me my entire life.

I bite my lip, forcing down the doubt clawing at my insides. I should be thrilled. I should feel relieved that she’s giving me a way out.

Mikhail is ruthless. He’s the Bratva’s leader. He would never hesitate to kill if he found out I had betrayed him.

Still, Sophia is right. He’s already made his move against us.

This is the only way to win. I nod, the motion feeling stiff, foreign.

Sophia’s lips curl into a small smile. “Good girl.” She presses the phone deeper into my palm. “Keep this. Use it wisely.”

I stare at it, willing myself to believe I’m making the right decision.

“Go now,” Sophia urges, glancing toward the door.

My heart hammers as I slip the phone into the folds of my dress.

I take a deep breath, then turn and exit the restroom without another word.

***

The ride back is silent.

The driver doesn’t speak, and I keep my head turned toward the window, watching the city blur past.

The phone in my pocket feels like a ticking time bomb.

When we pull into the long, gated driveway of Mikhail’s estate, I feel the weight settle deeper in my stomach.

It’s strange—walking back into this place, this home that was never meant to be mine, and yet somehow, I’ve started to know its every detail. The way the grand hall echoes when it’s empty. The warmth of the kitchen when the maids prepare meals. The cold luxury of the master bedroom where I wake up tangled in silk sheets that still smell like him.

I close my eyes. It’s only a matter of time before I have to make my next move.

I have to find out about the Greg Evans deal. But Mikhail is always watching me.

How the hell am I supposed to get anything out of him without raising suspicion?

As I step inside, I barely make it two steps before a familiar, commanding voice stops me in my tracks.

“You’re back.”

I turn slowly.

Mikhail leans against the grand staircase, his gaze dark and unreadable. His suit jacket is off, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. He looks impossibly intimidating, yet effortlessly powerful, as always.

The way his piercing eyes rake over me makes my stomach tighten.

“Is the kitten alive?” he asks flatly.

My breath catches. Right. The kitten. I nod. “She’s getting treatment. They said I brought her in on time.”

He doesn’t react at first, but then, a slight flicker of something—relief?—crosses his face.

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. “Good,” he says, turning away. “Go upstairs. You need rest.”

His dismissiveness grates at me, but I bite my tongue. I nod once, stiffly, and force myself to move.

As I make my way up the stairs, I press my hand against my pocket, feeling the small, hidden weight of the phone. The countdown has begun.