Page 196 of Bleed with Me

“I’ll handle it.”

“Alive,” I warned as he turned toward the door, and he shot me a glance.

“No promises.”

The door closed behind him, and I looked down at the paperwork. For the next hour, I reviewed payments, approved changes to the security teams, and rejected three requests from men who apparently believed the new female boss would sign anything placed before her. They were about to experience an unpleasant awakening.

My phone vibrated beside the folders, pulling my attention from the papers. The number belonged to Aryna’s school. I smiled, expecting another complaint about her talking during class or refusing to eat something green.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Zhumagulov?” a woman asked. The smile disappeared from my lips. Her voice was too cautious.

“Yes.” I stood up on instinct.

“This is Mrs. Pearson from St. Catherine’s Academy. I’m calling about Aryna.”

“What happened?” I inquired; a short pause made my stomach twist with uneasiness.

“We wanted to confirm whether someone from your family collected her early.”

“What?” Confusion filled my body as I stopped before the window, squeezing the phone.

“A man arrived approximately twenty minutes ago with written authorization. He said there—”

“I didn’t authorize anyone,” I cut her off sharply.

“Mrs. Zhumagulov, the authorization came from your husband’s registered email address.” My pulse roared in my ears. “The security code was correct, and Aryna’s bodyguard confirmed the collection.”

“Put her bodyguard on the phone,” I commanded, fisting my palm.

“I’m afraid we can’t reach him.”

“What do you mean you can’t reach him?” I hollered, ignoring Ignatio’s surprised glance from the hall.

“He left with them.”

My fingers went numb around the phone.

“Lock down the school,” I ordered. “Don’t let anyone leave and save every recording from every camera. I’m on my way.”

“I—yes, of course.”

I ended the call before she could say anything else and immediately dialed Aryna’s bodyguard. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail.

My thumb hovered over Dorian’s name. He mentioned an operation that morning, something complicated that made no sense in my head. I had no idea whether he was already inside the OR, and calling the hospital could waste precious minutes.

My mind worked at its full capacity to make a quick plan of action when the phone vibrated in my hand again.

Unknown number.

Without thinking, I slid to the right, and a video appeared on the screen, making my heart stop. Aryna sat in the back of a vehicle, her small wrists bound together with a plastic tie. Tears covered her pale cheeks, and someone stuffed a cloth between her lips. Her frightened coral-blue eyes stared directly into the camera.

Jesus fuck!

However, one word instantly shot through my mind. Alive. She was alive.

The video lasted only five seconds, followed by a message.