Page 17 of Used Bratva Bride

We reach the room. The moment I step inside, I feel the shift—the inevitable crash back into reality. The cold emptiness, the reminder that this space isn’t mine. That nothing is.

I turn, just as he moves to shut the door.

The words slip out before I can stop them. “What are you going to do to me?”

Mikhail pauses. His fingers rest against the doorframe, his head tilting slightly, as if considering the question.

Then, slow and deliberate, he grins. The expression is lazy, knowing—dangerous.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

The sound of the door clicking shut is deafening.

I stare at it, my breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. The air in the room feels heavier now, as if the walls have closed in around me, suffocating me with the weight of my reality.

He locked it. I knew he would, but that doesn’t stop the rush of desperation that floods through me.

I lurch forward, grasping the handle and twisting hard. It doesn’t budge. I yank at it again, pressing my weight against the door, shaking it, hoping, praying—but it doesn’t move.

Of course not.

Mikhail is smarter than that. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

A strangled sound escapes my throat, frustration, fear—hopelessness. “Let me out,” I whisper, then louder, “Please, let me out!”

Nothing.

I slam my palm against the door, my wounded arm screaming in protest, but I don’t care.

“What are you going to do to me?” My voice cracks. “At least tell me that!”

There’s no response. No footsteps. Nothing.

My hands tremble as I step back, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The silence is worse than if he’d stayed to mock me, to toy with me, to tell me all the terrible things he has planned.

This? This is a different kind of power. He doesn’t need to answer. He knows my own mind will do the job for him.

I press my back against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor, my arms wrapping around my knees as I try to slow my breathing. I can’t be here, can’t be trapped like this. My body shakes as the reality sinks in deeper. Does my father even know I’m gone?

Does anyone? Sophia, Elise—would they even be looking for me? Would they care?

A lump forms in my throat, bitter and suffocating. My father barely looked at me before I left for the party that night. Sophia dismissed me the second she had bigger things to worry about. Elise—she’d notice, wouldn’t she? She’d see that I didn’t call, didn’t text, that I disappeared without a word.

What could she do?

Mikhail Sharov isn’t some common criminal. He’s a kingpin, a man who operates in the shadows with the kind of power that makes people disappear permanently.

No police. No authorities. No one is coming to save me. The thought is like ice in my veins, numbing me from the inside out.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against my knees as a tear slips down my cheek. I don’t want to die here.I don’t want to know what he means when he says I’ll find out soon.

***

I must have fallen asleep.

It’s the only explanation for how time passed, how the sheer exhaustion finally drowned out my panic and forced me into restless, uneasy dreams.

The sharp creak of the door jolts me awake.

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