Chapter 3
ROWAN
The office is smaller than the warehouse and several degrees warmer. The cold has already worked its way deep into my spine and shoulders, so the change feels gradual rather than immediate.
The walls are painted a tired beige that has yellowed along the seams, and a metal desk sits flush against one wall beneath a narrow window that has been painted shut from the outside, the brush strokes still visible where someone decided fresh air wasn’t necessary.
Frosted glass fills the upper half of the door, turning shadows into blurred shapes, and a deadbolt has been thrown from the other side with a solid metal click that leaves no doubt we’re locked in.
Lila stands in the center of the room, turning slowly as if searching for exits that don’t exist, her breathing still uneven from being dragged down the corridor. Then she comes toward me with the focus she usually reserves for a patient who insists they’re fine while actively bleeding.
“Talk to me,” she says quietly, her eyes moving over my face, and then my abdomen, before returning again.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. I press my lips together and shake my head slightly. “No. I’m not fine.”
She doesn’t interrupt or rush in to fix it. She just watches me the way she does when she knows I’m about to say something I don’t want to.
“I’m pissed,” I admit, the anger burning just beneath my ribs. I fold my arms, then unfold them again because the motion feels defensive. “And I’m trying not to let that turn into me doing something stupid.”
Her shoulders straighten almost instinctively. Her fingers curl briefly against the edge of the desk before relaxing.
“And I’m worried about Kiren,” I add, my voice lowering despite myself. “If they’re bold enough to pull something like this, he’s going to react.”
I swallow hard. “And when he reacts, people get hurt.”
For a moment, neither of us fills the silence that follows.
“And I don’t have the luxury of losing control right now,” I finish, my hand moving briefly to my abdomen without thinking. “Not like this.”
Her eyes drop to where my palm rests, and her expression changes briefly. It’s not pity or fear, but something closer to protectiveness.
Then the other thought rises.
“Ivan.” I don’t soften the edge in my voice.
Her eyes lift immediately, finding mine.
“What’s he doing here, Lila?”
She exhales through her nose and looks toward the door before answering, as if checking to make sure it’s still closed.
“He’s connected,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I can give you,” she murmurs.
“That’s not good enough.”
She bites her lip and crosses her arms loosely, a gesture she only uses when she’s holding something back.
“This isn’t what you think.”
“I don’t know what to think,” I answer, and this time I don’t try to soften it. I lean forward in the chair, planting my feet flat against the floor so she can’t look past me like this is manageable. “I just know he walked in like he was expected to be here.”
Her lips flatten into a thin line. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means he wasn’t surprised,” I cut in. “It means he didn’t look confused or like someone who stumbled into a situation.”
My pulse is climbing now, not from fear, but from the anger I’ve been holding since the warehouse floor.
“He wasn’t coming to rescue us,” I note. “He walked in like he’s part of this.”
Her fingers tighten against her sleeves. “That doesn’t automatically—”
“And you’re with him,” I snap.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask. I stand and take a step closer, neither aggressive nor retreating. “You looked surprised to see him. But you also didn’t look shocked.”
Her throat works as she swallows audibly. “I didn’t know he would be here,” she says, and this time she doesn’t look away. “I swear to you, I didn’t.”
I believe that. That’s what makes this worse.
“Then why is he?” I demand. “Why is the man you’re dating suddenly standing in the middle of my kidnapping?”
Her shoulders tense. “I didn’t think he was capable of this,” she says.
“That’s not an answer,” I shoot back.
“It’s the only one I have.”
I glare at her, frustration tightening my chest. “You don’t get to give me fragments. Not after what we just went through.”
Her jaw tightens briefly before she smooths her expression. “I’m not excusing this,” she says. “I’m trying to understand it.”
“Start with me.”
She hesitates. And that hesitation isn’t guilt. It’s fear.
“You’re protecting him,” I accuse.
“I’m trying to stop this from spiraling,” she fires back.
“Spiraling?” I repeat. “We were shot at. Kidnapped. Tied up and dragged through a warehouse.”
Her chin lifts slightly. “I didn’t know it would go this far.”
“And how far did you think it would go?” I press. “Because from where I was sitting on that floor, it didn’t look like he was improvising.”
Her expression falters momentarily. “I didn’t know Arkady would be involved,” she says.
That’s new. My stomach clenches, and not just from adrenaline. “But you knew Ivan was.”
She doesn’t respond immediately. And that silence is louder than anything she could say.
“Lila.”
“I didn’t know it would escalate,” she repeats, but there’s less confidence in it now.
“You didn’t answer me.”
She exhales slowly, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.”
I let out a short, unamused breath. “It doesn’t get to be complicated when I’m the one sitting in the middle of it.”
Her eyes drop briefly to my abdomen. I notice. “Don’t look at me like that,” I say quietly.
“I’m just—” Her voice trails off.
“I’m angry,” I admit, the words coming faster now. “Very angry. And I’m trying not to let that turn into something I can’t take back. But you need to understand how this looks.”
She swallows hard enough that I see it. “I’m still your best friend,” she states.
“I know,” I answer.
That’s what makes this worse. Because if she weren’t, I’d already be done asking questions and trying to read between her words.
The quiet that follows feels strained rather than calm, the air between us thick with everything we haven’t resolved. We’re not standing in my kitchen or leaning against a nurses’ station. We’re locked inside a room with a painted shut window and a deadbolt we can’t reach.
Lila studies my face, searching it as if she’s trying to gauge how much damage has already been done. I can almost see the calculation behind her eyes as she pivots from argument to survival. Then her focus sharpens. She turns toward the door, stepping away from me and into motion.
“Hey! Hello!” she calls out, her voice firm without tipping into panic. “We need water!”
She waits half a breath, then adds, louder this time, “And something to eat!”
Nothing moves beyond the frosted glass.
“She’s pregnant!” she says, her patience thinning. “If you want cooperation, you keep her hydrated!”
There’s a muted scuff beyond the door, boots dragging lightly against the concrete before the sound fades down the hall.
Lila exhales through her nose and turns back toward me, the rigid edge in her posture softening.
“You’re cold,” she says, brushing her hand briefly along my sleeve as if confirming the temperature through the fabric. “Sit.”
I lower myself into the metal chair because conserving energy makes sense when the environment is controlled by someone else. The chair legs drag faintly across the floor, and the sound echoes in the small room.
She leans against the desk instead of hovering, which I appreciate, and crosses her arms loosely over her chest while her eyes return to the door.
“We’re not on the main floor anymore,” she says, quieter now. “They took us through a side corridor. I counted two turns and one set of stairs.”
“I heard a second lock engage,” I tell her.
She nods once.
The air smells faintly of paper and oil, cleaner than the warehouse but still industrial. Somewhere deeper in the structure, something metal expands with a soft ticking sound as the temperature changes. Then a dull impact reverberates through the wall to our left.
Lila straightens instantly.
Another sound follows, louder, accompanied by voices that come through the wall more clearly than they did in the open warehouse.
“…your men are sloppy,” Arkady’s voice cuts through, cool and exact.
The tone alone identifies him.
“They did exactly what was required,” Ivan answers, his cadence controlled but edged.
“What was required,” Arkady repeats, as if examining the phrase for weakness. “And yet one is not accounted for.”
“That’s not my concern,” Ivan answers calmly.
“It’s mine.”
The room feels smaller now, and the air thinner.
“They moved quickly,” Ivan counters. “You insisted on speed. You got it.”
“And in the process, you lost control,” Arkady accuses.
There’s the faint scrape of a shoe across the floor, followed by the subtle movement of bodies.
“You forget who brought you leverage,” Ivan notes.
The silence that follows feels intentional rather than uncertain.
“Leverage,” Arkady replies, almost contemplative, “is useful until it begins to believe it’s a partner.”
I feel Lila’s shoulder tighten beside me.
“You wouldn’t have access without me,” Ivan pushes.
“And you wouldn’t have protection without me,” Arkady snaps.
A hard metallic sound cuts through the quiet. I don’t see the weapon, but I know the sound of a situation turning dangerous.
“Know your place,” Arkady warns.
There’s a tight pause that lingers too long.
“You’re confusing alliance with ownership,” Ivan challenges.
“You mistake my tolerance for dependence.”
Another voice cuts in closer to the wall. “Sir—”
The gunshot detonates before the warning completes.
It explodes beyond the wall, forceful enough to rattle the vent above us and send a tremor through the floor.
Lila’s breath breaks into a sharp inhale, and her hand clamps around the edge of the desk hard enough that the blood drains from her fingers.