23. Mia
MIA
For the first time in more than a week, I decide to work a full shift tonight.
Ethan doesn't argue when I tell him over breakfast, just nods and asks me to text when I'm leaving Sable. The restraint probably costs him something, but I appreciate it more than I can say.
Service goes smoothly. Tuesday dinner crowd is steady without being overwhelming, the kind of night where everything clicks into rhythm and the kitchen hums like a well-tuned engine.
Jamal's on fire, calling out orders with precision while the line cooks work their stations with confidence that comes from repetition.
By the time we finish the last table it's quarter to eleven. The dining room empties, Tanya counts tips at the bar, and I start breaking down my station with movements so automatic I could do them blind.
"You good to close?" Jamal asks, shrugging into his jacket.
"Yeah. Go home."
"You sure? I can stay if you want company."
The offer is kind, but I shake my head. "I'm fine. Just finishing up here."
He studies me for a beat, probably debating whether to push. Whatever he sees in my expression makes him nod.
"Lock up behind me. And text your husband when you leave so he doesn't send the National Guard."
I flip him off. He grins, heads out through the back.
The kitchen falls quiet except for the walk-in's hum and the occasional creak of the building settling. I finish wiping down surfaces, check that everything's properly stored, set the alarm system before grabbing my bag from the office.
My phone shows three texts from Ethan. The most recent reads: "How much longer?"
I type back: "Heading out now. Home in forty minutes."
His response comes immediately: "Be safe."
I pocket my phone, flip off the lights, and step out into the humid night.
The street is quiet at this hour. A few pedestrians, the distant sound of traffic from the main avenue, streetlights casting orange pools across the pavement. I turn toward the subway station three blocks away, bag slung over my shoulder.
I make it half a block before I notice the footsteps behind me.
Not unusual. People walk this route all the time, heading to transit or late-shift jobs or wherever their nights take them. But something about the rhythm makes my shoulders tense, instincts honed by two years of hypervigilance kicking into gear.
I speed up slightly. The footsteps match my pace.
My hand finds my phone in my pocket, thumb hovering over Ethan's contact. I'm probably being paranoid, seeing threats where there's just another person walking home.
The footsteps get closer.
I'm reaching for the call button when hands grab me from behind. One wraps around my waist, the other clamps over my mouth, muffling the scream that tries to tear free.
I'm dragged backward into an alley between buildings, heels scraping against pavement. My phone drops from my fingers, clatters somewhere in the darkness.
Then there's fabric over my eyes, rough and suffocating. A blindfold cinched tight enough to block out all light.
"Don't scream." It's Derek's voice in my ear. "I have a knife. If you scream, I'll use it. Understand?"
The blade presses against my ribs through my jacket, sharp enough that I feel the pressure even through layers of fabric.
I go completely still. Every muscle locked, breath coming in shallow gasps through my nose while his hand stays clamped over my mouth.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Always so smart, Mia. That's what I've always loved about you."
He adjusts his grip, one arm wrapped around my waist to pin my arms, the other keeping the knife steady at my side. We start moving deeper into the alley, away from the street and whatever slim chance exists of someone seeing this happen.
My mind races through options. Fight back and risk the knife. Scream and hope someone hears before he follows through on the threat. Stay compliant and pray he makes a mistake.
None of them are good.
The blindfold makes everything worse, senses narrowing to the sound of our footsteps on concrete, Derek's breathing near my ear, the pressure of the blade against my ribs.
"I've missed you," he says conversationally, like we're catching up over coffee instead of him kidnapping me at knifepoint. "Missed our conversations, the way you'd challenge me. That lawyer of yours doesn't appreciate what he has."
I try to speak but his hand stays firm over my mouth.
"Shh. Just listen. That's all you need to do right now. Listen and understand that this is happening because you made choices. You left me, embarrassed me, married some arrogant attorney who thinks he can protect you. All of it brought us here."
We stop moving. I hear metal scraping, maybe a door opening. Then I'm being pushed forward into a space that smells like dust and motor oil.
"This is temporary," Derek continues, his voice echoing slightly in what must be an enclosed space. "Just until we can talk properly. Until you remember what we had together before you ruined everything."
The knife lifts from my ribs. For half a second I think about running, but before I can move there's rope around my wrists, pulled tight enough to bite into skin.
"I'm going to remove my hand now," he says. "If you scream, I'll cut you. If you try to run, I'll cut you. If you do anything except sit quietly while we talk, I will cut you. Are we clear?"
I nod, jerking movements that make the blindfold shift slightly.
His hand lifts from my mouth. I gasp in air, chest heaving, but I don't scream. The threat of the knife is too real, too immediate.
"There," Derek says, satisfied. "See how well we communicate when you're actually listening?"
I'm pushed down onto something hard, maybe a chair or a crate. My bound hands make balancing difficult. The blindfold stays on, plunging everything into darkness.
All I can think about is Ethan.
Ethan, who might never find me.
The thought makes my chest constrict, breath coming faster while panic threatens to overwhelm rational thought.
"We have so much to discuss," Derek says, his voice moving around me in the darkness. "Starting with that marriage certificate. Ending with you understanding exactly who you belong to."
The knife touches my throat.
Light pressure, just enough to make me freeze completely, and all I can think is: Ethan, please find me. Please.