Chapter 9 After I agree to help Mrs. Volkova, things move fast. I apply for a leave of absence from the hospital, and it's approved just two days later. I can't help thinking Sergei had something to do with the lightning-fast approval. The timing aligns perfectly with his mother's discharge. Between juggling shifts, tying up loose ends at work, and coordinating with Human Resources, I haven't had much time to sit down and truly process what I'm about to do. I've been keeping myself busy so I don't spiral. Even now, rifling through my closet and deciding what to pack for my temporary home, I focus on the task so I won't overthink the rest. Mia lounges on my bed, scrolling lazily through her phone, though we both know it's a ruse. Every so often she glances up, as if about to speak, then thinks better of it. She hasn't really said anything about my decision, which is unusual for her. When I first told her I planned to leave the hospital to care for Sergei's mom full-time, I expected her to jump down my throat. But, oddly, she just asked if I needed her to take care of my apartment. I seriously couldn't ask for a better friend. "I still can't believe you're really doing this." Mia sighs from my bed. She's been lounging there for the last half hour while I've packed. "Why are you leaving me?" I pause, sweatshirt in hand, and glance at her, my heart aching at the thought. What am I going to do without my daily dose of Mia? "It's just temporary," I remind her. "As soon as Mrs. Volkova is back on her feet, I'll be back and it'll be like I was never gone." Something in my voice must give me away, because she sets her phone on her stomach and studies me, brows knitting. "Are you sure you're okay?" The question hangs between us while I search for an honest answer. I can't lie to my best friend, but the truth is I don't know if I'm okay. So much is up in the air. I've been dissociating, cramming each worry into its own compartment so I don't have to face any of them. I sit on the edge of the bed and wipe a damp palm down my thigh. "I'm pretty nervous," I admit. There's no hiding it from her, she's fluent in Nicole. "About living with Sergei?" she asks, sitting up to meet my eyes. "It's a lot to process at once." I let out a slow breath. "This could change my life, or it could be a huge mistake. I have no idea which." "Well, it's a lot of fucking money," she jokes. "I'd love to make that kind of mistake." I grab a decorative pillow and hurl it at her. She shrieks, then bursts into laughter. "All right, all right. Just don't forget us little people when you're a legit millionaire." "That money is going straight into an account for the baby," I remind her, repeating the plan I made the second Sergei offered that ridiculous sum. "After all, it's his baby-even if he doesn't know it yet. Think of it as child support paid up front." "And he would probably give you even more if he knew you were having his baby," she says, voicing the same argument that's been circling my head since I accepted the offer. "You see how much he cares about his mom. I'm sure he'd be even more protective of his child." "Or he might ask me to get rid of it." "Does that really jibe with the interactions you've had with him so far?" she asks. Her gaze sharpens, and I know she's right. Of course she is. Sergei hasn't given me any reason to doubt him. Sure, he never called after our date, but there was never any expectation that he would. "The chemistry when we first met was insane," I say softly. "I've never felt anything like it, and I doubt I ever will again. It was intense, to say the least. But now I'll be living in his home as his employee, caring for his mom. The dynamic has completely changed. It almost feels... tainted." "Yeah, that's a hell of a shift," Mia agrees, sitting up a little straighter. "You don't really know him, despite how hot the sex was. And it's not like you trust him enough to open up about all the shit swirling inside you. He isn't me, for Christ's sake." I can't help but laugh. I can always count on Mia for that. "Exactly," I agree. "And he's clearly got so much going on with his mom. Would there ever be a good time to tell him?" "Maybe not right away." Mia shrugs thoughtfully. "You're not doing anything wrong by keeping it to yourself for now. You need time. Space. And maybe once you settle in, once you get a feel for who he really is, you'll know when the right moment is." "I just wish I knew what to expect," I murmur. Mia snorts. "You're moving in with a hot, enigmatic stranger who's offered you enough money to buy a small island." She laughs. "There's no telling what to expect, but I think that's half the thrill." I collapse beside her on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. "I don't know that I need any more thrill in my life right now." She grins and tosses a pillow at me. "Well, you could always let me take the job while you run away from Dr. Grabass all day," she suggests wistfully. "Yeah, yeah," I say, catching the pillow and hugging it to my chest. "I get it. I should feel lucky to get a break from the hospital, however long it lasts." Mia's smile softens. "I think you're really brave, Nic. It might not feel like it right now, but you are. And no matter what happens, I'll be here. Always." Tears prick at my eyes, and I cough to mask them. She already knows I'm a softie. "Thank you," I say, grabbing her hand and squeezing tightly. "That means everything to me." She flops back on the bed so we're lying head to head. "Just promise me one thing." "What's that?" "Don't forget me when you're living in your mansion, eating caviar and getting foot massages from your sexy Russian boss." We both descend into a fit of giggles. "Foot massages? Really?" I say between peals of laughter. "I'm just saying, if he offers, take it. You're carrying his child. He owes you at least that." Eventually I haul myself up and keep stuffing my suitcase until I'm not even sure it will close. As I'm about to zip it shut, Mia tosses a small, sleek object inside. I fish it out and examine the unexpected addition. "What is this?" "It's a taser," she says nonchalantly, as if she hasn't just thrown a literal weapon into my bag. "And this..." she says as she reaches into her oversized tote bag and pulls out a little canister, handing it to me, "is mace. Just in case you're ever in a sticky situation." I laugh uneasily, realizing it hasn't even occurred to me that I could be in danger. Of all my anxieties, that possibility never crossed my mind, and now I question that oversight. "Do you really think I'll need these?" Mia drops down onto the edge of my bed, elbows braced on her knees, watching me closely. "I think you're stepping into an unfamiliar situation with no idea what to expect. Of course I hope you won't need them. But I'd rather you have something and not need it than need it and not have it." I zip the bag closed, pressing down as though I can pack away the nerves knotting in my stomach along with my clothes. "He's not a serial killer," I say quietly, more of a reassurance for my own nerves. "Probably not," she agrees with a shrug. "But he is rich, secretive, intense, and hot in a really dangerous way." I shoot her a look, but she just raises her eyebrows like she's daring me to argue. I can't. "I'm not in any way questioning your judgment about this. You're neither stupid nor reckless. And I respect the hell out of your reasons for taking this job. You're looking out for your baby's future and your parents' present. This is just my small way of letting you know that I'm always looking out for you." "You're the best friend I could ever ask for," I say earnestly, throwing my arms around her. "And you know I'll lock these away the moment I unpack-I don't trust myself not to accidentally maim someone." "That's my Practical Patty," she teases. We carry my suitcase out to the living room, resting it by the front door. The apartment feels strangely still, like it's holding its breath waiting for me to leave. As strange as it sounds, I'm sad to leave without a definite return date. We collapse on the couch and Mia curls her legs beneath her and rests her head on the cushion. I tuck a throw pillow into my lap and lean back, grateful for the quiet. We've sat here a thousand times before like this, exhausted after shifts, laughing over stupid reality shows, crying after breakups, venting about patients or hospital politics. It's our place to just be us. And this might be our last time here for a long while. "It really will be weird without you at the hospital," Mia says softly, breaking the silence. "I'm going to be that sad girl who eats lunch all by herself." "Half the staff eat by themselves." I smile faintly. "Besides, I'll still be around. I'll call whenever I can. We'll FaceTime and text all the time. It'll be like I'm still there. You won't even notice I'm gone." "Liar." She snorts. "I always notice when you aren't there." My heart aches, but I just reach over and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back. My phone buzzes in my lap, its glow slicing through the dim room. I glance down, expecting another late-night spam text. Instead, I see a text from my bank. $20,000 Was Deposited into Your Account My brow furrows. I tap the alert, and the number staring back at me makes my mouth go dry. I blink at it, wondering if it's a glitch, but another notification comes through. This time, a text message. Consider this an advance before you move in. I'll see you soon. My fingers tremble slightly as I turn the screen toward Mia. Her eyes widen instantly. "Holy shit," she breathes. "Yeah," I agree, swallowing hard. "So it begins," she says, her voice low. "I know." I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. Mia sits up straighter, her face more serious than I've ever seen it. "Look, I've been supportive, and that hasn't changed, but now that this is real I need to say this: If something feels off, at any point, you call me. Okay? Day or night. If you get even the slightest weird vibe, you leave. You pack your bags, and I will be there in a cab with a bat in one hand and my own taser in the other." "Deal." I laugh, but it's shaky. She studies me for a beat, then yanks me into a hug, arms banded tight around my shoulders. "I love you, Nic. You're one of the smartest, kindest people I know. You deserve good things. Don't forget that." I press my face against her shoulder and whisper, "I won't." When she pulls back, there's moisture in both our eyes, but neither of us acknowledges it. We turn on a rom-com and try to enjoy our last few hours together. 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...