Chapter 3 - Ilana
I don’t remember walking off the stage.
One minute, there was a hammer striking wood, and the sound echoed like a gunshot. The next, rough hands leading me through a back hallway that smelled like sweat and bleach. The lights blurred, and the floor tilted. My pulse was too loud in my ears.
“Move,” someone barked.
I did, because what else was left to do?
My body moved on its own, half numb, half trembling.
The man who’d bought me walked ahead of us.
He was taller than everyone else around us and broad-shouldered, and appeared mostly unbothered as if everything happening around us was not utterly insane.
His stride was deliberate, slow enough that I had to match it, fast enough that I could barely breathe.
He didn’t look back once.
The corridor opened into a quieter room, smaller, with a desk and two men waiting behind it. They looked bored, like accountants who’d seen worse.
“Mr. Chernykh,” one of them greeted, tone dipped in respect. “The payment?”
Chernykh. That was his name.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a checkbook before my eyes, and scribbled a number like he was paying for wine and not an actual, living, breathing human being.
I watched his hand, long fingers with a heavy watch gleaming under the light.
The kind of watch that costs more than some apartments.
Living with my brothers had taught me things like these.
The man behind the desk looked at the figure, blinked once, and nodded. “Everything’s clear. Thank you, sir.”
My stomach turned. Half a million.
This man, a complete stranger, had paid half a million for me.
I didn’t even know my own price until he set it.
He handed over the paper without looking at me. His movements were smooth, efficient, and dangerous in their calmness. Nothing about him said kindness or mercy because he was clearly all about efficiency and control. Complete and terrifying control.
A soft sound filled the room as his phone buzzed in his pocket.
I watched as he pulled it out and pressed it to his ear, barely glancing at the screen. “Bring the papers to the other house,” he said. His voice was deep and quiet, but it carried like a command. “Tonight. No mistakes.”
He hung up before whoever was on the other end could answer.
The other house. Papers.
My fogged brain couldn’t connect the dots yet, but the tone in his voice made my skin prickle.
Everything about him did. He finally turned towards me, and that was when I really saw him.
He was exactly the kind of man the world warned you about.
The kind you never made eye contact with for too long because you would either melt or burn.
Blond hair, cut clean and slicked back from his face.
Eyes dark enough to look almost black from this distance, though when the light caught them, they flashed golden brown, almost burgundy, like the edge of a flame.
The suit fit him perfectly. Every movement screamed money, but not the kind that came from inheritance. But the kind that came from power instead.
“Come,” he said simply.
I didn’t move. My throat burned, my voice somewhere between a whisper and a rasp. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
The word safe sounded wrong in his mouth.
I stayed still.
His gaze flicked to the guards. “Untie her.”
They hesitated until he added, quieter, “Now.”
The one with the gravel voice who liked to whistle stepped forward and sliced the rope around my wrists.
He wasn’t whistling now. The string of released tension made me wince.
My skin was raw, wrists swollen. He didn’t apologize, but simply looked at me like I was another piece of logistics to handle.
The same way all of these men had been treating me for days now.
“You can walk,” the man who had just bought me said. “Or I’ll carry you. Your choice.”
The exhaustion in my bones made the decision for me. I walked. I wanted to fight him, to run away, but all of these men in the room, except maybe the two accountants, would easily catch me. I did not have the energy to be caught again.
Outside, the night air hit like a slap. I inhaled greedily, desperate for the smell of something that wasn’t damp concrete.
But the relief was short-lived because a car parked at the curb didn’t belong in this kind of world.
Black, sleek, low to the ground. The kind of car men bought to announce their power without saying a word.
It was immaculate and probably cost more than my entire education.
He opened the passenger door and waited.
I didn’t move. “You can’t just-”
“Get in,” he said.
Three words. No threat. No raised voices. Just certainty.
I felt like a child around him. Despite not being tied up any longer, I knew I could not run away, and the helplessness made me want to cry out loud or scream.
I did not know what I had been looking for in the ballroom when my gaze had landed on his face.
But somehow, staring at his hardened expression had made me feel calmer.
He wasn’t laughing like the others, and his eyes weren’t hungry.
He almost looked disgusted with the whole affair, as if he, too, was not there out of his own will.
My legs obeyed before my pride could catch up.
Inside, the leather was soft, the air cold from the air conditioning, and the faintest scent of smoke clung to him when he got in beside me. He started the engine. It purred instead of roared. Everything about him was like that, quiet power and controlled violence.
I pressed my hands against my lap to stop them from shaking. “Why—”
“Don’t talk.”
Then shut me up.
The city lights flashed through the tinted windows, fragments of gold and red bleeding into the car.
We drove for what felt like forever without any music or words between us.
Just the hum of the road and my heartbeat tripping over itself.
He didn’t look at me once. But every few minutes, I felt his gaze slide my way for at least half a second, sharp as a blade.
The silence started to choke me. “You paid half a million dollars,” I said quietly, staring straight ahead. “For what?”
“For you.”
It shouldn’t have sounded like that. Like possession.
Like truth. For some reason, nothing about him terrified me.
My kidnappers had scared me, even if I had refused to show fear, but this man beside me made me feel safe.
It almost felt as if I was beginning to lose my mind after the kidnapping, but I could not justify my feelings.
Everything felt muddled, and I no longer felt like I belonged in my own body.
From my skin to the silk dress, which still clung to it, everything felt foreign.
“Why?” I asked instead, wanting to keep him talking.
His hand tightened on the steering wheel, the leather groaning under his grip. “You’ll understand soon.”
My pulse jumped.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“I don’t know yours either.”
“Ilana Walters.” I did not tell him my real name. Not yet. Not until I find out who he is.
“Avgust.”
The name didn’t suit him and still suited him all at once. It sounded too human for someone carved out of shadow.
“Avgust what?”
He didn’t answer.
But I already knew. Avgust Chernykh. But if that name held any significance in Miami, I did not know. Although the reactions and respect he elicited from people with just a glance were enough to tell me that there was something about him that was bigger than just money.
I stared out the window, trying to memorize turns, landmarks, anything.
But the city melted into darkness too fast. The fatigue crept back in, thick and heavy.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, willing my head to stop spinning.
None of this felt real. The lights, the suits, the bidding, his voice cutting through the noise.
None of it. It all blurred into something my brain refused to file under reality.
I was dreaming. I had to be.
I closed my eyes for what I thought was just a second.
When I opened them, the car was pulling up to iron gates taller than any building I’d lived in before. They opened without a word. Cameras turned toward us. The drive was lined with trees, the house at the end massive and cold, light glowing behind tinted windows.
The car stopped in the driveway, right in front of the large wooden doors sprawling on my left.
Avgust got out, came around, and opened my door. The man clearly had manners.
“Get out.” Or maybe not.
I stepped onto the gravel. The crunch under my heels echoed too loudly.
The mansion loomed above us, all sharp edges and shadows.
It had no warmth or any sign of life. It was beautiful but simply made of glass and stone.
He walked ahead, and I followed because there was clearly nowhere else to go.
Inside, everything gleamed. From the black marble floors to the silver fixtures, a faint smell of gun oil and rain clung to everything.
I had seen luxury before, but not like this. This was something else.
He spoke once, over his shoulder. “You’ll stay here for now.”
“For now?”
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He answered, murmured something in Russian which was too low for me to catch. He kept the phone back in his pocket and turned towards me. “It’s ready.”
“What is?”
He didn’t reply.
He turned around and looked at me for the first time properly, eyes unreadable. For some reason I could not understand, all I could think was how handsome he looked in the warm lights of the mansion spreading around us. He was undeniably good-looking.
“You’ll need to sign something.”
I immediately returned to reality, shaking my head at him.
“What kind of something? A slavery agreement?”
His lip twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he turned, heading deeper into the house without a backward glance as if he simply expected me to follow. “You’ll see,”