Page 3 of Paid for By the Bratva

The room spins around me as flashes of the night invade my thoughts. A murky haze hangs over my memories, making it difficult to recall the details. I see myself dancing with the pushy guy, his hands on my waist, his breath hot against my ear. But then the scene blurs, and panic rises in my chest. The images flicker and distort like an old film reel, leaving me disoriented and unsettled.

We went back to his apartment for a midnight dip.

Did I sleep with him?

God, I hope not. I can’t remember.

"Ugh," I groan as I try to piece together the events of the night. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat, struggling to chase away the nausea that grips me.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter under my breath, cursing myself for letting things get so out of hand. My reckless pursuit of freedom has led me down a dangerous path, and I can't shake the feeling that I've made a terrible mistake.

I pull the covers up around me, trying to escape the harsh reality of my actions.

"Hey, are you alright?" a concerned voice asks from the doorway, jolting me from my thoughts. It's Abram, his brow furrowed with worry.

"Uh, yeah," I lie, forcing a weak smile onto my face. "Just a bit of a headache."

He nods, not entirely convinced, but doesn't press further. "Well, take it easy today, okay? I’ll send the maid with your breakfast. Should I call the doctor?"

“No need,” I insist.

He’s reluctant but agrees against the doctor before closing the door behind him.

I let out a shaky breath, relieved that he didn't question me further.

An hour later, the buzz of my phone startles me from my nap, and I reach for it.

"Hey, beautiful," the message reads from an unknown number. "Had a great time last night. Bet you did, too—I've got the pics to prove it."

I immediately sit up.

My stomach churns as I frantically scroll through the attached images, each one more explicit than the last. We’re kissing on his couch; I’m in my underwear in the pool, his hands under my bra. A video follows, showing me in a compromising position where I’m straddling him in the pool.

Though one can’t tell what’s happening exactly, it looks very, very bad.

"I can't believe you thought you could just walk away after getting me so hot and bothered," the next message reads. "You're gonna make this right, or everyone will see what a slut you really are."

I feel sick, bile rising in my throat as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? I thought I was being independent, but instead, I've fallen straight into his trap.

"Please," I text back, my hands shaking. "Don't do this. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Should've thought about that before," he replies, his words cold and unforgiving. "Meet me this Saturday or your precious brothers find out how much of a whore their baby sister is. I found you on social media. Bring fifty grand, and this all goes away."

50 grand? I panic, realizing he’s blackmailing me. I can’t just withdraw that kind of cash without raising red flags with my brothers. I’ll probably have to pawn off my jewelry or something.

"Okay," I agree, desperation seeping into every fiber of my being. I’ll do whatever I have to. "Just please don't hurt me or my family."

"See you tonight, Babe," he texts, the threat lingering between us like a dark cloud. “I’ll send the location.”

As much as I want to curl up and cry, I know I need to act. My mind races, weighing the options before me. Do I tell my brothers and face their anger and disappointment?

My brothers have always been my protectors, shielding me from the harsh realities of the world. But if I go to them now, they'll only see it as confirmation that I can't handle myself—that I'm not strong enough to survive on my own.

I should handle it myself.

I jump out of bed and walk over to my locker. I take out a portion of my jewelry, outdated pieces that don’t hold much sentimental value. A diamond set I received from a distant aunt, some gold coins, and a pair of solitaire earrings that I received on my 16th birthday from an uncle.

This would do. After tonight, I make a promise to myself that I’ll be careful who I accept drinks from.

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