Chapter Four
Lena woke to the samecracked ceiling and the same stale air.
For a few seconds, she didn’t move.She just stared up at the thin fracture line running across the plaster, her eyes tracing it like she had memorized every jagged turn.
Then it hit her again.It was not a slow realization this time, but a blunt, suffocating truth.She wasn’t going home.
A low, frustrated sound slipped out of her throat before she could stop it.She turned onto her side, dragging a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the curls as if even they refused to cooperate.
Second day.Her second day in this place, and day two as Maksim’s prisoner.
The word still didn’t sit right in her mind.It felt too extreme and surreal.It was more like something that belonged in headlines, not in her life.
Yet here she was, waking up in a bed that wasn’t hers, in a room that smelled faintly of dust and iron, with no control over when she could leave.
Her chest tightened.The walls felt closer today, so much smaller.
The room pressed in on her—the peeling paint, the worn furniture, the single narrow window that barely let in light.Everything about it whispered confinement.
Lena sat up abruptly, swinging her legs off the bed.Her foot tapped restlessly against the floor, her body buzzing with a restless energy she couldn’t release.
She hated this, the waiting and the not knowing.The silence that stretched for hours with nothing to break it but her own thoughts.
She had tried the door earlier that morning, out of habit more than hope.Unsurprisingly, it was still locked, controlled by that Bratva bastard.
Lena clenched her jaw.She paced the room once, twice, her steps uneven on the creaky floorboards.What she needed was a feasible plan, to somehow outwit Maksim
The front door opened, and the sound cut through the apartment like a blade.Lena froze.
Her heartbeat kicked hard against her ribs, instinct flaring sharp and immediate.She snapped her gaze to the doorway, every muscle in her body tensing.
Her ears picked up heavy footsteps, but they were not the controlled, measured steps she had come to associate with Maksim.
These dragged unevenly.Something was wrong, she thought with certainty.
He appeared in the doorway a second later, and Lena’s breath caught.
Blood, dark, wet, and unmistakable stained his shirt.It spread across the fabric in uneven patches, some already drying, others still fresh.
His movements were slower, less precise, like each step required more effort than it should.For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Her fear flared first.It was sharp, immediate and electric.Then something else cut through it.Instinct, and it wasn’t the kind that told her to run.Although that urge to bolt was there too, clawing at the inside of her skull.
Now.This is your chance.
He was hurt, moved slower.Certainly Maksim was off-balance in a way she hadn’t seen before.The man who had felt untouchable yesterday suddenly looked human and breakable.
Her gaze flicked to the door, which was still locked, but he controlled it, she reminded herself.
Which meant if she moved fast enough and if she hit him, hard, somewhere vital, then maybe she could grab whatever he used to open it.
Maybe she could run before he recovered.Hell, perhaps she could make it out of the building before the bastard even noticed.
Her pulse surged.Her body tensed, muscles coiling with the possibility.
She could do it—at the very least Lena had to try. The thought came wild and desperate, fueled by the claustrophobic weight of the apartment pressing in on her from all sides.
The walls, the air, and the silence ...everything in this place whispered stay, and every part of her screamed back go.Lena curled her fingers slightly at her sides.
