Darkness clung to every corner of the room. I sat on the bed, knees pulled to my chest, heart still hammering from the encounter.
I wasn't dead.
Yet.
My fingers curled into the sheets. Aleksandr—because that had to be his name—had spared me, but I wasn't naive. This wasn't mercy. It was ownership.
I was alive because he allowed it.
The second man—Dmitry, if I remembered correctly—made it painfully clear that I was disposable. One wrong step, one foolish decision, and I'd be buried six feet under.
I took a deep breath, forcing the panic to subside. Crying wouldn't help me now.
Instead, I needed to understand the situation I was in.
Who were these men? Why had I never heard of them before?
I'd spent enough time on the streets to recognize power when I saw it. But Aleksandr wasn't just powerful. He was something else—something more controlled, more dangerous. A predator who didn't need to bare his teeth to remind you what he was.
A shiver ran down my spine.
The door opened suddenly, and I flinched.
A woman stood there.
She was tall and poised, with sleek black hair tied into a perfect bun. Her sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes gave her the air of someone who didn't tolerate nonsense. She wore a simple black dress—elegant, but practical.
"You," she said, her voice crisp. "Get up."
I hesitated, but her gaze darkened, making it clear she wasn't the type to repeat herself.
I obeyed.
She studied me for a moment before sighing. "Follow me."
I swallowed hard and stepped forward, my bare feet silent against the floor.
The hallway was just as grand as the room—dark wood, expensive paintings, and a chilling silence that made my skin prickle.
We descended a flight of stairs, and my anxiety grew with each step.
Where was she taking me?
When we reached the ground floor, I caught sight of several men in suits, some armed, their gazes flickering toward me with mild curiosity before returning to their conversations.
I quickly looked away.
The woman led me through a set of heavy double doors, revealing a spacious kitchen. Stainless steel counters gleamed under the overhead lights.
"This will be your responsibility," she said, motioning to the kitchen.
I stared at her. "You want me to cook?"
"You said you would do anything, didn't you?"
I pressed my lips together. She had a point.
She walked toward the fridge, opening it to reveal ingredients I hadn't seen in years—fresh vegetables, quality meats, shelves lined with everything a professional chef would need.
"Breakfast is at seven sharp. The boss prefers his coffee black. You will prepare meals for the staff as well."
I swallowed. "And if I mess up?"
She arched a brow. "Then you'll have bigger things to worry about than a burnt dish."
A knot formed in my stomach.
She closed the fridge and turned back to me. "What's your name?"
"...Mira."
"I'm Karina. I oversee the household staff." Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, unimpressed. "You don't look like much."
I bristled at the insult but kept my mouth shut.
"Try to keep up." She walked toward a side door. "There are rules you'll follow if you want to stay breathing. First, don't speak unless spoken to. Second, you don't leave the mansion. Ever. Third..."
She paused at the door, looking at me over her shoulder.
"Don't be stupid enough to cross Aleksandr."
A chill settled in my bones at the way she said his name—like it was both a warning and a death sentence.
Then she was gone.
I exhaled slowly. So this was my life now.
I wasn't dead.
But I wasn't free, either.
Aleksandr
I sat in my office, listening to Dmitry rant.
"This is ridiculous," he snapped, pacing in front of my desk. "A witness, Aleksandr. We don't keep them alive."
I took a sip of my whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass. "She's harmless."
"She's an inconvenience," Dmitry shot back. "You should've killed her."
I leaned back in my chair, watching him with mild amusement. "I didn't."
His jaw clenched. "Why?"
Why, indeed.
I had told myself it was practicality. Killing her would have left a mess, and I hated messes.
But something about the girl's fearless desperation intrigued me.
She had begged, yes. But she hadn't crumbled.
Even when she had every reason to.
"She won't be a problem," I said simply.
Dmitry exhaled harshly. "I don't like this."
"You don't have to."
Silence stretched between us.
Dmitry sighed. "Fine. But if she tries anything, I'll handle it."
I gave him a sharp look. "She's mine to handle."
He didn't argue, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease.
I smirked slightly.
Let him worry.
The girl wasn't a threat.
Not yet.
But I had a feeling she would be something much more interesting.
And I was looking forward to it.