Chapter 27 My head pounds when I come to. A slow, dull ache throbs behind my eyes, spreading outward in waves that make it nearly impossible to think. I try to move, but my limbs won't cooperate. They feel heavy, disconnected, like they belong to someone else entirely. I must be drugged. Then I realize why: I'm restrained. The cold bite of metal digs into my wrists, and panic floods me instantly. I snap my eyes open, desperate to figure out where the hell I am. The room is dim, lit by a single bulb hanging overhead that sways slightly, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor. Bare cement walls and floor surround me. There are no windows in this room. It's small, musty, and drafty. I'd know the smell of a New York basement anywhere, though I'm not exactly sure whose basement it is. All I know is that I'm alone, chained to a chair, and I have no idea how I got here. My pulse thunders in my ears as fragments of the night claw their way back to the surface. I remember bolting from Sergei's mansion in a panic. I was driving down a dark road, terrified about my next move. Then headlights filled my mirrors, boxing me in. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I look myself over. My shirt is wrinkled and dusty, one of the straps torn. My legs are scraped. My forehead stings. I lift my head and find a thick, sticky crust of dried blood at my hairline. Who did this to me? Questions swarm, but one truth cuts through-I have to get the hell out of here. It doesn't matter who took me; what matters is that I get free. I yank at the chains, but they don't budge. They're anchored to the chair, which is bolted to the floor. I twist and pull, ignoring the bite of metal against my skin. My wrists are already raw, but I keep yanking. Panic doesn't care that it's futile. "Hello?" I cry out, my voice hoarse and cracking. "Is anyone there?" There's no response, just the soft hum of the light above me and the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the far corner. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the fear, but it's no use. I'm suffocating. The damp basement air doesn't help. A door creaks somewhere above me, and I jolt upright at the sound. I'm terrified of who might be coming down the stairs, but I need to act brave. They can't know how scared I already am. Footsteps descend the stairs, and a woman emerges in pale blue scrubs and white sneakers. Her hair is pulled into a bun, her eyes lined with exhaustion. She's a nurse, that much is clear. "Hi," she says gently when she sees me watching her. "You're awake." No shit, I want to say. But I bite it back. This woman might be my only chance of salvation. She walks toward me slowly, cautious and non-threatening, like someone would approach a feral animal. She sets a small white medical kit on the floor before kneeling beside me. "Don't be afraid," she says, her voice low and even. "I'm just here to check on you. Can I take a look at that cut?" My throat is sandpaper, but I manage one nod. She opens the kit and dabs my forehead with sterile gauze, her movements practiced. It stings, but I don't flinch. "Where am I?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my best effort. "I'm sorry," she says. "I can't tell you that." "You can't tell me that?" I jerk against the chains. "You have me chained to a fucking chair, and you won't tell me where I am?" Her eyes flick up to mine, and I see a mixture of pity and fear. She's captive here too-only she isn't in chains. "I don't make the rules," she says quietly. "I'm just here to keep you alive. I promise, no one wants to hurt you." "Too late for that!" I snap. "Why am I here? And why am I chained like a damn animal?" She presses a clean gauze pad to the wound and tapes it down with steady fingers. "There are people negotiating for your release," she says. "It's just going to take some time. You're a means to an end, nothing more. Really, you're one of the lucky ones." "Negotiating?" My blood runs cold. "Who's negotiating for me?" She doesn't answer. I blink at her, heart pounding. "Please," I whisper. "I'm a nurse, too. Can you at least tell me if this has anything to do with Sergei Volkov?" Again, she won't look at me. That's answer enough. She finishes wrapping my wrist where the metal of the cuffs has rubbed the skin raw and stands. "I'll be back soon with some water and something to eat," she says. "Try to get some rest." And then she's gone. The door clicks shut, and I'm alone again. "Try to rest," I mutter bitterly. "That's not fucking likely." I sag against the chair, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I don't cry, not yet. Not because I'm strong, but because the terror hasn't broken through the shock. I don't know how much time has passed. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe two hours. There's no natural light in here, nothing to help me anchor to reality. Just the buzz of the overhead light and the growing ache in my back from the way I'm seated. The door swings open again. The nurse is back, I hope. Maybe she brought food and water like she promised. But the figure who comes down the stairs is a man. He's tall and looks fairly young. He's impeccably dressed in a gray tailored suit and gleaming black shoes. He moves with effortless confidence, as if doors open before he even reaches them. He's maybe thirty, only a few years older than me, yet everything about him screams power. He's dangerous and arrogant. My breath catches in my throat. "Well," he says, surveying me with a cool, dispassionate gaze. "You clean up nicely. I won't lie to you, you looked pretty shitty when they dragged you in here." I don't respond. I just stare, trying to decide whether he's the type who wants a reaction or the type who respects silence. He steps closer, folding his hands as neatly as his suit. "You must be Nicole." I glare. "Who the hell are you?" He smiles faintly, as if the question amuses him. "My name is Semion," he says. "And you're currently a guest of the Chechen Bratva." My blood turns to ice. Another Bratva. So this is about Sergei. "Why am I here?" I ask, forcing myself to sound bold. "You're here because of Sergei." I flinch at Sergei's name; it confirms everything I've feared. Maybe I was right to leave, except leaving landed me right in his enemy's hands. "I don't know anything," I say quickly. "I'm just a nurse Sergei hired to take care of his mother. Please, just let me go." "See," he says, crouching down so we're eye level, "I don't believe you. Sergei employs a lot of people, and I've never seen any of them have such a high level of security. You're important to him, which makes you very valuable to me." I try to keep my expression blank, but my heart is beating so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I told you, I'm only important because I take care of his mother," I say. "If you're using me as leverage, you've picked the wrong person. Sergei doesn't care about me at all." "Maybe that's true," Semion says. "Then again, maybe you're just saying that because you think it'll help you get out of here. Don't worry, Nicole. I have no intention of hurting you. As soon as I get what I want, you can go back to playing house with Sergei." I swallow hard, the heat rising to my face. He sees it and smirks. "Too easy," he hums. "Trust me, Nicole, I did my homework. You're more than a nurse. You'll stay here until negotiations wrap. Behave, and you'll get basic care. Push me, and I'll make an example out of you." I lift my chin. "Sergei will kill you," I say, venom in every word. "At least we're honest with each other now, Nicole," he says with a pleased smirk. "This isn't personal. I don't want to hurt you. Usually I'm bullshitting when I say that, but you seem sweet, so I'll give it to you straight." I bite my tongue, holding back all the bitter words that come to mind. I hate this man and I've only known him for five minutes. "You're lucky, you know," he goes on. "Most people who cross the Bratva don't get this level of hospitality. Stay quiet afterward, and we won't come for you. Consider it a rare chance at survival." "Why me?" I breathe, unable to help myself. "I'm not part of any of this." "No," he agrees. "You're not. Which is exactly why it hurts him more." I suck in a breath. He's a vindictive bastard. He's actually enjoying this. He stands slowly, straightening his jacket with a practiced flick of the wrist. He turns toward the door, but pauses just before stepping out. "One more thing," he says without looking back. "Don't try to escape. You wouldn't want to hurt the baby." The floor drops out from under me. "What?" My voice is barely a whisper. "What did you say?" But he's already gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm left alone in stunned silence. How could he possibly know about the baby? He really has been watching me. I feel sick. All this time I've just been happily doing my job and falling for Sergei, thinking I was safe. But this man has been following me every time I've been off the grounds. He knows about the baby. I wonder what else he knows. Will I ever be safe again? Is Mia safe? My parents? If anything happens to my loved ones because of Sergei, I'll never forgive him. I try to breathe, but a weight crushes my chest. I curl in on myself as far as the restraints allow, knees drawn up, willing myself not to cry. Tears will only make me feel more helpless. But the tears come anyway. Hot. Silent. Angry. I sob into the darkness, my shoulders shaking, my stomach tight with the ache of helplessness and fear. Every instinct screams to protect the life growing inside me, yet I can't even get off this fucking chair. I should have just stayed with Sergei. I left out of fear, but I've landed in the middle of something much worse. I could blame Sergei for all of this, but it's clear that I was safe with him, at least. I'm here because I left-simple as that. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...