Page 34 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
I was dehydrated, and these past two days, each time I tried to stand, my head would spin, tossing me back to the ground. My throat was dry, food no longer stayed down, and every hour that passed, I felt worse than before.
That bastard wanted me to perish in here. It’s clear to me now. He was a heartless son of a bitch, and I hated him with every fiber of my being. There was a fuckin’ camera in here, meaning he was watching me—he’d been watching since the day his goons kidnapped me.
Yulian knew that I was going through hell; he saw it the last time he was here, and I was certain that he could see my struggles through the CCTV’s live feed. Yet, he chose to do nothing.
He claimed I was no use to him dead, but he sure as hell wasn’t making any moves to keep me from dying. Maybe he enjoyed this—watching me suffer, struggling to hold on to what little sanity and life I had left in me. If so, he enjoyed it a little too much.
I swear to God, if I die down here, my vengeful spirit will haunt this mansion and kill every living thing—man and animal alike.
I sat in the corner of the room, legs pulled to my chest, and arms wrapped around them. My body trembled, and my teeth clenched as I fought the fever threatening to take my life. My skin was burning, slick with cold sweat.
My head was heavy, as were my eyes, and my heart wouldn’t stop pounding like a drum in my chest. I felt my soul gradually leaving my body. And in that moment, all I could think about was how my ghost would torment that son of a bitch, Yulian—make him suffer.
My eyes felt like they were burning. Literally. My lips quivered, and when I heard the front door open, my heart skipped a beat.
I raised my head, and there he was, slowly closing the distance between us. Although my vision was blurry at the moment, I knew it was him—Yulian. His cologne gave him away. His footsteps echoed off the walls, each click amplifying my headache.
“You look like hell…” he said, his voice trailing off, fading into the background.
By now, I was already on my feet. Barely. I hadn’t so much as taken one step forward when I felt the ground rising to meet me. My eyes rolled backward, and the world went dark.
However, before I drifted unconscious, I thought I heard him say, “Hold on, I got you.”
Maybe he did say that. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it wasn’t.
Whatever the case, I felt his strong arms catch me before my body hit the floor.
Then, I passed out.
***
I wasn’t sure how long I was out, but when I finally came to, everything was different.
My eyelids fluttered open, a slight groan escaping my lips as I blinked a few times to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Although my vision was still blurry, I knew for a fact that this wasn’t the dungeon.
No.
It was a master bedroom.
My eyes squinted at the chandelier’s soft light, while I scanned the opulent room, drinking in the exquisite interior. The bed beneath me was super comfy, as were the pillows under my head. It was warm in here, and the thick white blanket that covered me felt like clouds wrapped around my body.
It was heavy—but plush—and strangely comforting. I winced, a hand flying to my forehead as I adjusted beneath the blanket, safe and unharmed. My body was still a little sore, and a dull ache lingered at the back of my head. The fever had broken, but it wasn’t completely gone.
The faint scent of sandalwood wafted through the air, mixed with the rich and masculine aroma of Yulian’s cologne.
This must be his bedroom.
That thought hadn’t fully settled when I caught sight of the giant portrait of him hanging on the wall.
“Look who finally decided to wake up,” he said, his voice deep, husky, and closer than I thought.
My jaw tightened, and I turned to face him, furious—all that pain and resentment flooding back in.
He was seated on a sofa beside the bed, legs stylishly crossed like a man in control of the situation.
“You son of a bitch,” I cussed, struggling to sit with my back against the bed’s headboard.
“Now that’s no way to say, ‘thank you,’” he said, that twisted smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
