65
Clara
Son of a goddamn motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit!A string of curses forms in my head before my eyes even open.
My skull feels like someone hammered nails into it and left them there to rattle around for fun. My mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a vodka bottle—because of course Maksim couldn’t just let me have a normal fucking day without drugging me like I’m some unruly pet.
The lavender-woodsy scent hits next, wrapping around me like a smug reminder of where I am.Leonid’s house.The stupid spa-like blend he probably thinks is calming only pisses me off more. My fingers twitch against the silky sheets, my nails curling into them as my brain catches up to the last thing I remember: the tight airline uniform, Maksim’s stupid smirk, and that drink—
That fucking drink.
I swear, when I see him again, I’ll cut his balls off with a butter knife. Slowly.
I crack my eyes open, the dim light from the bedside lamp sharpening the edges of the room I’ve come to recognize. Cream-colored walls, flawless hardwood floors, designer everything. Of course, there’s a glass of water on the nightstand—like that’ll erase what they did. Next to it, a folded note catches my eye.
I grab it, unfolding the paper with a flick of my wrist, already bracing myself for the bullshit.
“Be a good girl. It’s for your own good.”
My blood pressure spikes so hard I think I see stars.
“Good girl?” I hiss, crumpling the note into a ball. “What a mother-humping, ball-slapping, dick-toothed clusterfuck.”
The uniform clings to me like a second skin, making every movement a reminder of Maksim’s little plan. I shove the sheet off, sit up, and chug the water in one go, if only to clear the acid bubbling up my throat.
The water helps, but my throat still feels like I swallowed sand. I snatch my phone. 3:47 AM. Six missed calls from Pam about Elijah’s skiing adventures and one text with a video I’ll watch when the screen stops trying to stab my retinas.
I hit Leonid’s number and bring it to my ear. The line rings once. Twice. Then it goes straight to voicemail.
I grind my teeth and call again. Same thing.
“Coward,” I mutter, my thumb already hovering over the voicemail button. Fine. If he won’t answer, he’ll hear me, anyway.
“Listen here, you arrogant bastard,” I snarl after the beep. “When I get my hands on you—and I will—I’m going to take that fancy watch of yours and shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be telling time with your teeth. And Maksim?” I laugh. “Hope he’s written his will. Actually, no. I hope he hasn’t. I want his koi fish to inherit everything just to spite him after I’m done.”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the bed—or I try to. It bounces once, then lands on the edge, wobbling precariously before settling, mocking me. My anger flares hotter. My fingers twitch.
I grab the phone again, hitting Leonid’s number with a little too much force. The rings stretch out, dragging my patience until it finally dumps me into voicemail again.
When the tone beeps, I tighten my grip on the phone, letting the words fall into the silence like a challenge.
“Leonid Kuznetsov, I swear to God, if you don’t pick up this phone, I will personally find you and make you regret every decision you’ve ever made. Drugging me? Keeping me out of this? Who the fuck do you think you are? You’d better pray Maksim is faster than me because when I’m done with him, you’re next. And thatnote—‘Be a good girl’? What am I, a dog? Watch your back, Leonid. That’s all I’m saying.”
I end the call with a jab at the screen and fling the phone onto the bed.Fuck.This time, it bounces once, twice, then skitters off the edge, landing with a sharp thud on the polished hardwood floor. It slides toward the door just as it swings open.
Kayla steps over it without missing a beat, balancing a silver tray that smells like heaven. The faint clink of a glass against the plate breaks the tense silence as she nudges the door closed with her foot. Her sharp, knowing eyes take in the scene—me, still in the ridiculous uniform, standing by the bed with my hands clenched like I’m ready to strangle someone.
“SeñoritaClara.” She lowers the tray onto the small table by the window. The faintest twitch pulls at the corners of her mouth before she schools her expression. “You missed dinner.”
“Kayla,” I say, tugging at the hem of the skirt where it’s climbed halfway up my thigh. The damn thing feels like it’s welded to my skin. “You didn’t have to bring me anything.” I glance at the clock and sigh. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”
Kayla doesn’t so much as flinch at the suggestion. Instead, she shakes her head with a knowing smile, her hands smoothing her apron like it’s a reflex.
“Late?Señorita, this is nothing.” Her tone is calm, almost amused. “I’ve worked forSeñorLeonid long enough to know what real late looks like.”
She pauses, giving me a pointed once-over that lands squarely on the ridiculous uniform. “And I’ve definitely seen worse.”
I huff a small laugh despite myself, gesturing down at the uniform. “You mean worse than this? Hard to believe.”
