Page 11 of The Russian's Bought Bride

But I’ve made my decision, and I’ll make it work, like I always do.

Chapter 4 - Dani

Everything feels muted as I surface slowly.

Rather than flooding in at once, it’s more like drifting up through something heavy after being weighed down, leaving my thoughts sluggish and garbled.

The distant ringing in my ears is soft at first, then it becomes louder as I try to focus.

My body doesn’t feel like mine.

That’s the first real thought that lingers in my mind, even while nothing makes sense yet.

It’s all slightly wrong, like my limbs are too heavy and numb. I can’t move like my entire body is made of stone, and my throat is dry like I haven’t had water in days.

I try to move my hand, but it barely twitches.

Panic flickers weakly in the back of my mind, but it’s muted and dulled by whatever is still in my system. My eyes stay closed for a few seconds longer as I try to piece things together, but more than anything, I want my full awareness to return.

Finally, shapes and light start to form around me, and after a beat, I realize I’m staring up at a ceiling somewhere, and more feeling returns to my body.

Light hits me, but not harshly like the surgical room I remember. It’s softer and dimmer with the same warmth as a regular bedroom. It almost feels more like waking up at home after sleeping in.

Then, everything else registers, and it’s wrong.

Everything about this is wrong.

My gaze drifts slowly with an unfocused edge, then it sharpens as my vision adjusts to the space around me. The ceiling isn’t the sterile white I expect, and it definitely doesn’t look like something you’d find in a hospital.

My heart starts to pick up, uneven and unsteady, not completely sure why I’m starting to panic, but grasping at the dread slowly dribbling into my system.

I force my head to turn, and a quiet groan slips out as the motion sends a wave of dizziness crashing over me.

The room comes into view in fragments, including a large bed, dark furniture, and expensive-looking details that aren’t clinical enough. There aren’t any machines beeping beside me anymore, no curtain dividers, and no rolling trays of instruments.

Piece by piece, clarity settles in, and it hits me at once.

This isn’t a hospital room.

My heart rams against my ribs as I try to push myself up, but my body protests immediately, and I’m dragged back down again. My arms tremble uselessly before collapsing against the mattress.

“Easy.”

A male voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, sounding far too calm for the amount of confusion swirling inside me.

My head jerks toward the sound, slower than I want it to be, but I make it happen anyway. My vision lags behind as I try to focus on the figure sitting beside the bed, and a wave of nausea hits me.

A man with dark hair and broad shoulders, dressed in all black, looks down at me, watching closely with a relaxed posture and sharp focus.

I don’t know him. I don’t know where I am.

Another man, this one shorter and more attentive than intimidating, comes into view as he looks me over, doing something I can’t quite make out.

“Where…” My voice cracks, coming out as barely more than a rasp. I swallow hard and wince at the dryness in my throat. “Where am I?”

Neither of them answers immediately, but the taller one keeps his hands in his pockets and watches from a step or two behind the other.

The slight hesitation that comes from him sends a fresh wave of unease through me.