Chapter 13 – Valeria #2
It doesn’t help.
My fingers tighten on the table as panic begins to rise—not sudden, but crawling.
Spreading.
Cold and immediate.
I try to straighten.
I can’t.
Not fully.
“Elise…” I manage one last time, but it’s barely audible now.
And then my voice stops cooperating entirely.
The sound around me fades. Laughter. Music. Glasses clinking. Elise’s voice.
Everything pulling away like it’s being taken from me one layer at a time.
My grip slips slightly on the table.
Suddenly, before I fall, arms close around me.
Instinctively, I try to push them away. Weakly.
Don’t touch me.
The thought is there. But it doesn’t reach my body fast enough to matter. The grip tightens instead—firm, controlled, familiar.
“Milaya.”
It’s Timofey’s voice. Close. Sharp with something I can’t fully process.
“Are you okay?”
My head lolls slightly before I can stop it. And the resistance in me…breaks.
Not because I want it to.
Because I don’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.
I lean into him.
The world tilts again—but this time I’m not falling alone.
Arms shift under me as I’m lifted off my feet. I register Timofey in fragments now.
His chest.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat—too fast.
The weight of his arms holding me like I matter.
The sound of his voice cutting through the noise around us, low and controlled.
“What happened?” someone asks—distant.
“Move,” Timofey says sharply.
Footsteps. Voices. Panic bleeding into the edges of the room.
But I can’t focus on any of it.
My cheek rests against him as he moves.
Each step is solid. Certain.
I feel his grip tighten slightly, like he’s anchoring me to something real.
Something safe.
But I still can’t speak.
Can’t respond.
Can’t explain what’s happening inside me.
Only fragments remain.
Movement.
Heat.
The pounding of his heart against my ear.
And then—a door opening.
I’m lowered carefully onto something soft. A bed.
The sensation is distant, like it’s happening to someone else.
But I feel his hands still there for a moment—steadying me, making sure I don’t slip further.
Voices fill the room.
Timofey’s voice cuts through first.
“Call a doctor. Now.”
There’s movement—fast, urgent—but before anyone can respond, another voice interrupts.
“Sir…forgive me for being forward, but a doctor will be too late.”
The room shifts.
I can’t turn my head, but I recognize the voice anyway.
Elena.
Her voice is steadier than the panic around her.
“We have something in the garden I can use to make a mixture for her. It won’t take ten minutes. Please let me do it.”
A pause.
Sharp. Heavy.
Like the entire room is waiting to see what breaks first.
Then Timofey speaks again—closer now, right above me.
“Do it,” he says immediately.
A beat.
Then colder, controlled:
“You have ten minutes. If you pass it—you’re fired.”
I want to react to that.
To argue.
To tell him that’s not fair.
But nothing comes out.
Not even air properly forming into words.
Instead, the world blurs again at the edges.
Footsteps explode into motion. A door slams so hard it rattles through the walls.
And then—silence, for half a second. Before I feel it. A hand brushing my hair back. Careful. Almost trembling with restraint.
And then—a soft kiss pressed to my forehead.
Timofey.
Still here.
Elena returns almost immediately.
I barely register movement before Timofey is shifting me—careful, controlled, keeping me upright as if I might slip away again if he lets go for even a second.
“Milaya,” he murmurs against my ear, low and steady. “Stay with me.”
Something cold touches my lips.
A glass.
Then liquid.
Forced gently but firmly into my mouth.
It’s bitter.
Sharp.
Green and sour, like crushed leaves and something older underneath it.
I cough immediately, trying to pull away, but a hand steadies the back of my head.
“Easy,” Timofey’s voice soothes, closer now. “Easy…breathe.”
I splutter again, but more of it goes down this time.
Warmth follows almost instantly.
Not comfort.
Not yet.
But relief.
The tight, crushing pressure in my chest begins to loosen—slowly, like a knot being forced open.
My breathing steadies in fragments.
Inhalation.
Exhale.
Inhale again.
The world stops spinning quite so violently.
I open my eyes.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Timofey is still there—right in front of me, sitting on the bed now, one arm behind me like he’s afraid I’ll collapse if he doesn’t anchor me.
His jaw is tight.
Eyes sharper than I’ve ever seen them.
Not panic.
Control fighting panic.
Across the room, staff members stand frozen.
Shock. Fear. Uncertainty.
Elena is at the foot of the bed, hands clenched together so tightly her knuckles are white.
She looks like she’s holding her breath, waiting to be blamed.
When my eyes fully focus, she exhales sharply—like she’s been released from something.
“Thank God…” she whispers.
Timofey doesn’t move his gaze from me.
But his voice cuts through the room. Cold again. Commanding.
“Everyone out.”
No one argues.
Not even a second of hesitation this time.
The room clears in a rush of footsteps and lowered heads, and just before Elena sweeps through the door, Timofey calls, “Wait.”
Elena freezes in the threshold.
Timofey doesn’t look away from me when he speaks. “You. What’s your name?”
“Elena,” she says quickly, voice still shaking.
A beat.
Then he nods once.
“Good,” he says. “You did well.”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she didn’t expect that answer.
He finally looks at her then.
Focus sharp. Absolute.
“From this moment,” he continues, “you will personally oversee everything Valeria eats or drinks. No exceptions.”
Elena swallows hard. “Yes, sir.”
“The attacks are escalating,” he adds, quieter now, but no less dangerous. “I will not risk her again.”
His hand tightens slightly against my back, as if reinforcing the sentence with touch.
Elena nods quickly. “Understood.”
Then she’s gone too.
The door clicks shut.
Timofey doesn’t let go of me. Not even slightly.
“Tell me what happened,” he says.
His voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it now. Sharper. Controlled anger held on a very tight leash.
I swallow, still feeling the strange aftertaste lingering at the back of my throat.
“I was talking to a woman,” I begin slowly. “Blonde. She said her name was Elise.”
His jaw tightens immediately, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“We were just talking,” I continue. “Small talk. She made me laugh. I took a drink from a waiter and…then it started.”
My fingers flex slightly against the blanket.
“The dizziness. The…loss of control.”
I glance up at him then, trying to read his face.
He’s already frowning. Deeply. Focused. Like he’s reconstructing every second I just described.
“What?” I ask quietly.
Because something about his expression has shifted.
His eyes narrow slightly.
“You said you were speaking to a woman when it started,” he says.
“Yes….”
His gaze doesn’t move from mine.
“There was no one beside you when I got to you,” he says flatly.
I blink. “What?”
“I saw you from across the room,” he continues, voice tighter now. “You were alone.”
The words don’t make sense at first.
They sit there, refusing to align with what I remember.
“That’s not—” I start. Then stop.
Because I remember her.
I remember her voice. Her questions. Her laughter.
I remember not being alone.
My chest tightens again, but not like before. This is different.
This is doubt.
“No,” I say quietly. “She was there. We spoke the whole time. She never left. Elise. That’s what her name was.”
Timofey studies me for a long moment.
Not doubting me.
Measuring the certainty in my voice.
Then he exhales slowly through his nose. Controlled.
“It’s probably a fake name,” he says finally. “And a planted interaction.”
My throat feels tight. “Planted?”
“Yes,” he replies. “To distract you. To get close enough for this.”
He pauses.
“I’ll look into her. Every staff member. Every guest. Every movement near you tonight.”
His hand shifts slightly at my back again. Grounding. Anchoring.
“But you need to understand something, Valeria.”
I look at him.
His eyes are steady now. Absolute.
“No one approaches you by accident anymore,” he says. “Not in this house. Not anywhere.”
A beat.
“We are past coincidences.”
My stomach tightens again—but this time, I’m fully awake to it.
He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough that only I can hear it.
“We have to be careful from now on.”
His gaze hardens.
“Because whoever is doing this will stop at nothing to hurt you.”