Chapter 3
Katrina
Ilasted two hours before I started pacing.
Two hours of sitting on the edge of my bed in the staff quarters, staring at my phone. Running the numbers in my head over and over until they blurred together into one massive, impossible problem.
Fifteen thousand dollars. New identities. Ninety days.
Marcus got out in ninety days, and when he did, he'd come looking.
He always came looking. Three years, two states, and four different names hadn't been enough to shake him.
He'd found me in California. Found me in Tennessee.
He'd find me here too, eventually. Unless I disappeared for real this time.
Unless I had the kind of money it took to vanish properly—not the cheap fake IDs I'd been scraping together funds for, but the real deal. The kind that came with credit histories and paper trails and all the legitimacy that kept you hidden in plain sight.
The kind Olek Sidorov could provide with a phone call.
"Fuck," I muttered, dropping my head into my hands.
My phone buzzed. Shanice.
SHANICE
You figure it out yet?
Working on it.
Work faster. Z asked about Christmas again. I don't know what to tell her.
My chest tightened. Zara. My baby sister who wasn't a baby anymore but still believed in Santa Claus and happy endings. Who drew pictures of our family—her, me, and Shanice—living in a house with a yard and a dog.
Who had no idea that my ex–whom she adored–was the reason we were running.
Tell her things will be fine. I promise.
I hit send before I could second-guess it.
Another buzz.
How?
I didn't answer.
Instead, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror above the dresser. Same face I'd had yesterday. Same body. Same brown skin that Marcus had marked with his fists and his rage.
Same woman who'd sworn she'd never let a man control her again.
And here I was, considering letting Olek Sidorov do exactly that.
Except it wasn't the same. Was it?
This was a transaction. A contract. Terms and conditions and an end date. Ninety days and then I walked away with everything I needed to keep Zara safe.
Ninety days of letting him touch me. Use me. Fuck me however he wanted.
Heat crawled up my neck at the memory of his voice in the pantry. I'll make you come so hard you forget your own name.
Arrogant bastard.
Arrogant, gorgeous, terrifying bastard who'd been eye-fucking me since May and didn't even try to hide it.
I'd noticed, of course. I wasn't blind. Olek Sidorov was the kind of man who made you notice—all that height and muscle wrapped in expensive suits, with a face that belonged on a movie villain and eyes that stripped you naked from across the room.
Eyes that heated up every time they landed on me.
I'd told myself it didn't matter. That I was here to work, to save money, to stay invisible until I could afford to run again. I'd kept my head down, kept my distance, kept that wall firmly in place between employer and employee. But I'd noticed him too.
The way he moved like violence wrapped in silk.
The way his voice dropped when he said my name.
The way he'd started finding excuses to be wherever I was—the library when I dusted, the kitchen when I checked inventory, his study when I brought coffee.
The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
And God help me, some traitorous part of me had wanted to let him.
I pressed my palms to my face. "You're thinking about it. You're actually thinking about it."
My phone showed 10:47 PM. One hour and thirteen minutes until midnight.
I grabbed my hoodie and slipped out of my room, moving quietly through the staff wing.
The mansion was different at night. Empty, dark, full of shadows and secrets.
Most of the staff had gone home. Only a handful of us lived on-site, and they were all asleep by now.
I knew where I was going before I admitted it to myself.
Up the back stairs. Down the main hallway.
Past the formal rooms that nobody used and the art that cost more than I'd make in a lifetime.
To the door of his study. Light spilled out from underneath it.
Of course, he was still awake. Probably sitting at that massive desk, drinking his vodka, waiting to see if I'd come crawling back.
I should leave. Go back to my room. Figure out literally any other solution that didn't involve selling myself to a Russian mob boss. Instead, I knocked.
"Come in, Katrina."
My heart jumped. He'd known it was me. I pushed open the door.
Olek sat behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business being that distracting.
He wasn't working. No laptop open, no papers spread out.
Just him and a glass of vodka and those pale eyes locked on me like a predator spotting prey.
"You're early," he said. "Still have an hour."
"I'm not here to give you an answer."
"No?" He leaned back in his chair. "Then why are you here?"
Good question.
I closed the door behind me and crossed my arms. "I want to negotiate."
Something flickered in his expression. Surprise? Approval? "Negotiate?"
"You laid out your terms. Now I want to lay out mine."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
"I'll stand."
"Suit yourself." He picked up his vodka. "I'm listening."
I'd rehearsed this on the walk over. Had the words lined up like soldiers. But now, standing here with him watching me like that, they scattered. I forced them back into formation.
"If I agree to this—if—then I have conditions."
"Such as?"
"First, no marks. Nothing visible. I still have to work here, and I can't have the staff asking questions."
He nodded slowly. "Acceptable."
"Second, I stay on birth control. That's non-negotiable."
"I'll need to see proof."
My stomach flipped. "Excuse me?"
"Proof that you're taking it. I'm not interested in baby-trapping scenarios."
"You think I," anger spiked hot and sharp. "I don't want to get pregnant. Trust me."
"Then showing me the pills shouldn't be a problem."
I wanted to throw something at his smug face. "Fine. What else?"
"That's your condition, not mine. Keep going."
Right. I was supposed to be negotiating, not getting derailed by his…
Focus, Katrina.
"Third, you get tested before we do anything. Full panel. And I see the results."
"Already scheduled for tomorrow morning." He took a sip of vodka. "Next?"
"No claiming me outside of this arrangement. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your," I struggled for the word. "whatever. This is business."
"Agreed." He set down his glass. "Though I reserve the right to be possessive during our arrangement."
"What does that mean?"
"It means no other men. Not for ninety days."
I laughed. "You think I have time for other men? I work sixteen-hour days."
"Good. Then it won't be a problem." His eyes glittered. "Anything else?"
Yes. A thousand things. But the big ones, the ones that made my skin crawl with memory.
"You don't choke me. You don't hit me. And if I say stop, you stop."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Olek stood slowly, his full height suddenly intimidating in a way it hadn't been before. He rounded the desk, and I forced myself not to step back.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
I was already looking at him.
"No. Really look." He moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive. "I'm going to fuck you in ways you've never been fucked. I'm going to push your limits and make you beg and take you apart piece by piece. But I will never, never hurt you the way he did."
My throat closed.
"Do you understand me?" His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Whatever that piece of shit did to you, I'm not him. I don't get off on fear. I get off on pleasure. Yours and mine."
I couldn't speak.
"So here's what's going to happen," Olek continued. "You're going to give me a safe word. Something you'd never say during sex. And if you use it, everything stops. No questions. No consequences. Clear?"
A safe word. Not stop, because stop could mean keep going in the right context. But a word that meant actually stop.
"Red," I whispered.
"Red," he repeated. "Good. Use it if you need it. I won't be offended."
He meant it. I could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. Whatever else Olek Sidorov was—a criminal, a killer, a cold-blooded bastard—he wasn't Marcus. That shouldn't have mattered. It did.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"After ninety days, I walk away. You don't follow me. You don't track me down. You let me disappear."
"After ninety days," he said, "if you still want to disappear, I won't stop you."
If.
Like he thought I might change my mind. Arrogant didn't even begin to cover it.
"Then we have a deal," I heard myself say.
Olek smiled. It was the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen.
"Not yet, we don't." He returned to his desk and pulled out a folder. "I need it in writing."
Of course, he did. He handed me the folder. Inside was a contract—actual legal paperwork, printed on expensive stock, complete with terms and conditions laid out in precise black text.
"You had this drawn up already," I said.
I scanned it. Everything he'd said in the pantry was there, plus a space to add everything I'd just negotiated. I filled them in, then continued reading. Confidentiality clauses. Compensation terms–split into two payments. The ninety-day limit. At the bottom, two signature lines.
"I told you. I'm prepared."
"You were that sure I'd say yes?"
"I'm that sure you need what I'm offering." He held out a pen. "Sign it, and half the money transfers tonight. The other half will be sent to you after thirty days. You'll have the identities by Friday."
I stared at the contract. At my name typed neatly above the signature line.
This was insane. Reckless. Dangerous. This was also the only way I'd keep Zara safe.
I took the pen. Signed my name. And felt the trap close around me like velvet-lined steel.
Olek countersigned, then pulled out his phone.
Three taps and he turned the screen toward me.
Transfer complete: $7,500.00
"Tomorrow night," he said. "My bedroom. Ten PM."
"What?"
"You signed the contract, Katrina. That means you're mine starting now." He stood and buttoned his jacket, suddenly all business. "But I'm going to give you twenty-four hours to get used to the idea. Tomorrow night, you come to me. Voluntarily. No fear. No hesitation."
"And if I do hesitate?"
His smile was slow and wicked. "Then I'll fuck the hesitation right out of you." He walked to the door, opened it, and paused. "Get some sleep," he said. "You're going to need it."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with a signed contract and the sinking realization of what I'd just agreed to. I looked down at the paper in my hands. Ninety days. I could survive anything for ninety days.
Right?