Page 15 of Used Bratva Bride

I turn for the door, calling over my shoulder. “I’ll send for the doctor. You’ll sit still and deal with it.”

She doesn’t respond, but the way her jaw clenches tells me all I need to know.

Chapter Five - Julie

Pain has a way of making time stretch, turning seconds into minutes, minutes into hours. I don’t know how much time has passed since I woke up in this hell, but it’s been long enough for the ache in my arm to settle into something relentless, something sharp and unyielding.

More than a day. More than a day, and I’ve barely moved, barely spoken, barely breathed. I can’t afford to stay still any longer.

I don’t know what they plan to do with me. I don’t know what Mikhail Sharov wants, what he expects, what kind of twisted game he’s playing. I do know enough to realize that waiting around, doing nothing, isn’t an option.

My body protests as I sit up, my left arm pulsing with pain, the bandage still wrapped tightly around my wound. I glance down at my right wrist, at the cold metal cuff keeping me tethered to the bed. I inhale through my nose.

I can do this.

With my free hand, I reach into my hair, fingers fumbling slightly as I pull out one of the small pins securing the loose strands. My arm shakes from the strain, but I push through it, gritting my teeth as I twist the pin into the lock.

It takes longer than I want it to. Every motion sends a fresh wave of pain up my arm, sweat forming along my brow as I try to steady my grip. The cuff digs into my skin, cold and unforgiving, and for a moment, frustration surges inside me.

Then—click.

The cuff pops open, the weight of it falling away from my wrist. For a second, I just stare at it. Then I move.

I push the covers back and ease off the bed, my bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. The air in the room is heavy, thick with something oppressive. The silence feels too deep, like the entire house is holding its breath, waiting for me to make my next move.

I tiptoe toward the door, pushing it open with careful fingers. The hallway is dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the walls. My heart pounds as I slip out, my breath shallow as I move down the corridor.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I know what I need—an exit.

The house is massive, with endless doors and hallways that twist and turn, unfamiliar and imposing. Every step I take feels like a risk, every creak of the floorboards a warning.

Then, finally I see it.

A door. My pulse quickens as I rush toward it, hands shaking as I reach for the handle. I twist, pull—locked.

A sharp breath leaves me, frustration clawing at my chest. My head whips around, scanning for another way out. Then—a window.

It’s slightly open, just enough that I can pry my fingers under the edge. Hope flickers inside me as I grip the frame, forcing it upward.

A cool gust of air brushes against my skin. Freedom is so close, I swear I can taste it.

Except, a hand emerges from the darkness, gripping the window frame and shutting it firmly.

Ice spreads through my veins. My breath catches, my pulse skittering wildly as I freeze in place.

There’s someone behind me.

The air feels too thin, my body locked in place as I force myself to turn around.

Mikhail towers over me, his presence a wall of dominance, his broad frame covering each side of me like a trap I never saw closing. His dark eyes gleam with something unreadable, something cold, something cruel.

“You really thought you could get away, Julie?”

His voice is low, almost teasing, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it. It sends a shiver down my spine, not just from fear, but from the realization that he wanted this to happen. He was watching me, letting me believe for a fleeting moment that I had a chance—only to snatch it away.

The game was never about escape. It was about control.

I press my back against the window, my pulse hammering in my throat. He steps closer, each movement deliberate, drowning out the space between us.

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