Chapter 1 #3
We drive through the industrial district wrapped in a heavy, pulsing silence—one that feels suffocatingly familiar.
I stare out the window as the dark buildings blur past, trying to ignore the sharp throb in my foot, until he finally breaks the quiet.
“Tell me about your OnlyFans.” I whip my head around to glare at him.
He seems like someone who is used to getting every of his demands met.
I’m really not sorry to disappoint him. “I do not want to discuss my personal life with my kidnapper.”
He chuckles, then looks at my foot resting on the seat. “If it bruises and you need a cast or surgery, I will cover the cost. Don’t worry.”
“Quite generous of you. But not generous enough to replace a camera you broke.”
He leans in closer. My hair had already been scattered from all the yanking, and he uses his hand to smooth it down gently. “You have such unruly hair. It’s everywhere.”
He leans even closer and I push my face backward. “Okay. Haven’t you heard of personal space?”
His lips curl into a smirk as he focuses on the road, reclining into the passenger’s seat.
Ten minutes later we pull up to the hospital, and he carries me straight through the front entrance while his men spill out of the cars that followed us from the warehouse, trailing right behind us.
The receptionist looks up from her desk, her eyes widening the second she takes us in.
“I would like to get her checked out,” he says immediately.
Just that simple and seemingly plain sentence.
Yet, it is enough to get everyone moving.
They bring a wheelchair and he sets me down in it carefully, then turns to the receptionist and pulls out his wallet. “I’ll cover all costs.”
He looks down at me one last time. “Stay in the hospital for a bit. Don’t move around. Get your foot checked properly.”
With that, he turns and walks away, his men falling into step behind him.
I sit in the wheelchair, staring after the man who caused all this damage.
What the fuck even happened? The doctor examines my foot twenty minutes later.
She presses on my toes and I wince. “It’s just a sprain.
In two weeks it will be all better. Don’t put too much stress on it.
” She finishes the wrap and looks at me with concern.
“What did you hit, darling? An iron pole?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Something like that.”
An hour later, I limp across my apartment to the desk where my backup camera sits untouched. I reach into my bra and pull out the SD card I stashed against my skin. Stupid son of a bitch.
The card he destroyed was the backup I’d swapped in an hour before the kidnapping. The real evidence - the shots of the senator and the rep - had been safe in my cleavage the whole time. I can’t help it. A manic laugh rips out of me, echoing in the quiet room. He destroyed the wrong card.
“The bastard,” I mutter, checking the files. Everything’s here. Perfect.
He’s met a formidable Match.
I set up my ring light, change into my black lace set, and pull on my wig. Time to recoup my losses. I log in as “Ayame” and the viewer count begins its rapid climb.
“Hey everyone,” I say, slipping into my breathy, online persona. “How’s everyone tonight?”
The chat blurs with concern.
You look stressed. Who do we need to fight?
Delivered
I laugh, forcing the brightness. “I had a long day, guys, but I’m fine.”
I fall into the usual groove of flirty banter and small tips. Then a new username pops up. StrangeMoscow47.
A notification pings. He just tipped four hundred thousand rubles in a single burst. I freeze. My brain stalls at the number.
I see him type, waiting a full minute before sending it in.
Strange Moscow47
Hello, beautiful.
Delivered
A cold shiver races down my spine. The exact words from the factory.
Strange Moscow47
So, what do you have planned for me tonight?
Delivered
I’ve made quite an investment.
Delivered
I stare at the lens, my smile feeling like a porcelain mask. The bastard. He let me go, but he never stopped watching.
“I... I could sing?” I stammer, my Ayame voice cracking. “I have karaoke...”
Strange Moscow47
Beautiful lady, this is an 18+ platform, not a talent show on TikTok. I dropped quite a sum, and I expect a real show for my investment.
Delivered
I can almost hear his low voice saying the words directly into my ear and it leaves a shudder rushing down my spine.
My regulars jump in to defend me, telling him to back off, that I don’t grant requests like that.
But StrangeMoscow47 stays silent, and that only makes my anxiety worse.
It feels like he’s in the room with me, and I do a quick sweep to check if I’m alone.
Then I end the stream five minutes later, claiming I have a headache.
I sit in the dark for a long time, just thinking about that interaction.
I limp to the kitchen and grab a tub of my favorite watermelon ice cream, ignoring the fact I can't afford to keep buying it. I eat it straight from the container, letting the sugar numb the panic.
My phone chooses that time to buzz, sending me into a frenzy.
StrangeMoscow47 has sent you a private message.
I stare at the screen, spoon halfway to my mouth but I do not open it. Not yet. Taking another bite of ice- cream, I wonder just how much trouble I am in.