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MIA

It’s him.

He’s here.

Again.

For me.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over.”

His words sink like stones in my gut. I try to speak, but the lump in my throat won’t budge, won’t let me.

Instead, I break out in a cold sweat, palms clammy and slick even as I wipe them on my dress.

Yulian’s hand grabs mine. His warmth lets me breathe again, but it also anchors me, and right now, I don’t want that. I’ve fallen prey to an old terror, one I never fully learned to fight, only outrun.

But now I’m stuck in place, and all I can feel is Brad’s dark eyes on me, glinting with cruel amusement.

Brad’s presence, inching closer into my personal space.

Brad’s mocking tone, slithering around me like a snake, dripping with venom and promise.

Brad’s claim, all over again.

“Finally.” Brad smirks, pure self-satisfaction and smug entitlement. His crisp white suit crinkles as he steps closer. It’s his signature color, even off the altar. “I’ve got you now. Be a good girl and come with me, and no one’s going to get hurt.”

I’m thrust back into the body of the little girl I was five years ago. Too young to know what was good for her. Too lovestruck to recognize the monster who held her by the throat.

He’s back. He came to get me. I’ll never be free.

I’ll never ? —

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” It’s Yulian’s voice, snapping me out of it. Yulian’s dark, deep rumble, cold as Siberia and dangerous as frostbite. “You’re in my house, Baldwin. I decide who gets hurt.”

Finally, Brad’s eyes flick to Yulian. Bored, annoyed—like he’s just another obstacle on the road to his undisputed victory. “Is that how you talk to all your guests, Lozhkin?”

“You’re not a guest,” he snarls. “You’re a pest.”

“Really?” Brad pulls a sleek, black letter from his breast pocket. “And here I thought your invitation was an olive branch.”

The word “invitation” lands straight on Yulian’s nerves. I can feel his grip twitching with barely-suppressed anger.

“A secretarial mistake,” he growls. “Surely, you couldn’t think I’d want you here.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, tossing the invitation on the floor. His eyes veer to me. “But someone else does. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

My hands start shaking. Or maybe they’ve been doing that all along, and I’m only now noticing. I have no idea. All I know is what I heard, and what it’s doing to me.

Those two words— sweet thing— keep echoing in my panicked mind, sending it further into a tailspin. Reminding me of all the other times he’s said them.

You know you want it, sweet thing.

C’mon, sweet thing. Don’t make me hurt you.

You’re mine, sweet thing. All mine, forever.

He reaches for me. Like that night in the church. Like countless nights before.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for it?—

But his touch never comes.

When I open my eyes again, Yulian’s hand is wrapped firmly around Brad’s wrist. I can see Brad’s fingers turning pale, the blood flow cut off.

“This again?” asks Brad, masking his fear behind disgust.

“I’ll give you a choice,” Yulian says icily. “You can leave here on your own two legs, or you can leave in a body bag. Your call.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from the scene. From Brad’s wrist caught in Yulian’s vise, like a butterfly about to be crushed. How often did I dream of this, back then? That someone— anyone— would swoop in and save me?

And why is guilt all I can feel now that it’s happening?

Because you know how much it’s costing him, the wicked voice at the back of my head whispers. His business will suffer because of you. His company will suffer because of you. Even that young, peppy engineer that just talked your ear off for half an hour—they’ll all suffer because of you.

Everybody suffers because of you.

Even your own son.

After a long staring contest, Brad clicks his tongue in disdain. “Fine,” he scoffs. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Yulian. There’s nothing worth doing here anyway.”

He sneers at me as he says it. One last, vulgar humiliation.

Yulian doesn’t let go.

“Boss,” Maksim’s voice comes in a whisper. “Your investors are looking.”

It’s true. There’s a small crowd around us. As the argument got more and more heated, the guests must have gotten curious.

Again, everyone is watching.

Again, it’s all my fault.

Finally, Yulian throws Brad’s arm back down. “Go,” he spits. “And stay out of my sight.”

Brad rubs his wrist, his lips curled into a grimace. He was always good at that—pretending nothing touched him. That pain wasn’t pain unless he willed it to be.

“Gladly,” he replies.

Then he turns to me.

His smirk falls back into place. Cruel, sharp—a weapon. “See you around, sweet thing.”

It’s a promise. Like all those horrible promises he made to me over that wretched summer.

You’re mine. All mine.

You belong to me. No one else can touch you unless I say so.

I will never let you go.

The second he’s gone, I bolt towards the door on the opposite end of the hall.

“Mia!” Yulian calls after me, but I barely hear it. My head is pounding, blood rushing in my ears, drowning out all sound.

I run to the end of the deserted hallway. My left heel twists and snaps off, throwing me off-balance, sending me careening into the pristine white tiles.

The pain barely registers.

You’re mine.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe.

All mine, sweet thing.

Suddenly, I can’t see.

I will never, never, NEVER ? —

Hands press on my shoulders. I fend them off in a frenzy, like a cornered animal fighting for her life. “Stop!” I gasp, trying to yell and failing. “Don’t touch me! Don’t?—”

“ Blyat’, Mia, calm down!”

My eyes snap open.

Yulian.

I take him in piece by piece, through a wall of tears and fog.

Dark hair—check.

GQ stubble—check.

Gray eyes—check.

“Help me,” I croak.

Yulian doesn’t make me say it twice. “Follow my lead.”

At times like this, I get why he’s the pakhan. How he can command thousands with a single gesture.

He puts my left hand to his chest, then places my right one on mine. “Breathe,” he instructs. “In, hold, out.”

“I can’t,” I sob. “I can’t, I?—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts me off. “Now, do as I say. Breathe, Mia.”

Mindlessly, I obey.

I have no idea how long it lasts. How long it takes before the world slowly comes back to me, in bits and pieces.

Smell returns first. Then touch. I feel Yulian’s cologne surrounding me, his arms a wall of protection around me. Comforting, familiar. Warm.

My voice comes back last. “Sorry,” I rasp. “I think I just had a panic attack.”

“No shit, Nurse Winters.”

For some reason, that makes me laugh. “You’ve got an awful bedside manner, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” His lips quirk, that precious dimple appearing just off to the side.

“Really?”

“No. Actually, you’re the first.”

The first. I don’t know why, but those words manage to thaw the last piece of ice in my heart.

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t happen like in the movies. There’s no montage, no chorus, no soft notes rising through the air. My makeup is smeared, his suit is rumpled. My hair’s a mess and his gun is peeking from under his jacket, ruining the illusion of Prince Charming kneeling at Cinderella’s feet.

And yet, it’s perfect.

This time, he kisses me slowly. Without hunger, without urgency. With all the caring he pretends he doesn’t feel, his ice mask slipping just enough to let me glimpse the warm skin behind it.

He kisses me like he means it.

Then a chill breaks the spell.

I have no idea where it comes from. Why goosebumps are spreading on my arms like wildfire. It should be desire, not terror—not this.

But when I look up, I realize why.

At the other end of the hallway, a figure is staring. A man dressed in white, fists clenched at his sides like he wants to punch a hole in the nearest wall.

Brad.

“Mia?”

“He saw us,” I murmur. “He saw the kiss. He…”

Panic spreads in my heart. The same panic that gripped me whenever a guy friend dared say hi to me, whenever my dad’s buddies would hug me, whenever a man on the street would stop me because I dropped something.

“… He saw everything.”