Rachel
I stare at the screen of my phone, thumb hovering over the message app like I’m trying to will it into saying something different.
No missed calls. No frantic texts. No panicked voicemails begging to know where I’ve been for the past week.
Nothing.
Just a handful of messages in the group chat, all of them planning the next Great Night Out.
That’s it. Like I’m a flake, not a missing person.
I shouldn’t care. But I do. It simmers in my chest, sharp and sour, as I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“Everything okay?”
Clara’s voice pulls me from my spiral. I look up to see her leaning in the doorway of the sunroom, one hand resting on her belly.
She’s radiant. Glowing in that way pregnant women do when they’re calm and deeply loved.
Her hair is twisted up in a messy knot, and she’s wearing a floaty cream dress that makes her look like something out of a fairytale.
I shake my head. “Just checking my messages.”
She walks over slowly and sinks into the armchair opposite me with a sigh. “Bad news?”
“No,” I admit. “That’s the problem.”
She raises an eyebrow, waiting.
I flip the phone around so she can see the empty screen. “I’ve been gone for almost a week. Not a single one of them thought I might be in trouble. They thought I was being dramatic. Again .”
Clara tilts her head. “And were you?”
“No,” I snap, then immediately soften. “I mean… maybe sometimes I used to leave early. But I always told them I was going so they wouldn’t worry. But this was different. I was literally kidnapped from right outside the club.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Sometimes it takes something awful to show you who’s really in your corner.”
I nod, eyes stinging. “I keep thinking about how easily I could have disappeared. How I almost did. And they just went back to their plans like I don’t even exist.”
She doesn’t say I told you so. She doesn’t have to.
Clara leans forward slightly. “What did you do, before all of this?”
I let out a short laugh. “I’m a graduate accountant. Or, I guess I was. I worked for a firm in the city. You know the type, gray walls, quiet desks, spreadsheets that never end.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“Oh, it was,” I say, sarcasm thick. “I was one of twenty junior analysts. They called me the ‘Excel Whisperer.’ I didn’t mind it, not really. But no one noticed me unless something went wrong. My manager couldn’t even remember my name. Always called me ‘Grace’ for some reason.”
Clara smiles gently. “And now?”
“Now…” I glance out the window. The estate stretches beyond the glass, all stone paths and flowerbeds and guards who nod respectfully when I walk past. “Now I’m in a mansion with men who kill for honor and kiss like it means something.”
Her laughter is warm and surprised. “That’s quite a shift.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “And I’m not sure I want to go back.”
Clara’s expression shifts, her gaze sharpening with curiosity. “That’s not just Stockholm syndrome talking?”
“No. I don’t feel trapped. Not with Nikolai. If anything, I feel… seen. It’s terrifying, but in a good way.”
She nods. “That’s exactly how it started for me too.”
I blink. “Was it scary?”
“At first. Maksim isn’t exactly a man who makes small talk. But then I realized he wasn’t trying to control me. He was trying to protect something he didn’t think he deserved. Loving a man like that means learning how to speak the same language. It’s not always easy, but it’s always honest.”
I let that sit for a moment. The quiet hum of the estate. The breeze filtering through the open windows. The heavy truth of everything that’s happened.
“I just thought they’d ask after me. Check in with me,” I whisper. “Even just one of them.”
Clara leans forward and places her hand gently over mine. “You found someone who would burn the world down to bring you home. That’s worth more than a dozen friends who didn’t notice when you vanished.”
The sting in my chest eases a little.
I squeeze her hand. “Thanks.”
She gives me a slow, knowing smile. “Anytime.”