The sunlight had only just begun to stretch over the city when Elara's eyes fluttered open. A yawn escaped her lips as she reached lazily for her phone, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Her screen lit up, revealing a familiar name and a chaotic message that made her lips curl into a half-awake grin.
MAYA: I know you're busy getting orgasms from your billionaire boyfriend, but you and I haven't hung out in forever. Why not go out for dinner tonight after you knock off work?
Elara blinked, still foggy, and read the message again before chuckling to herself. Trust Maya to be blunt before 7 a.m.
She rolled onto her back, her thumbs moving across the screen with practiced ease.
ELARA: Sure thing. We can try that restaurant that has the spiciest and most delicious wings. I think I'm craving wings—I haven't had them in forever.
It only took a moment before a reply came in.
MAYA: Sure thing, wings it is. And some wine too. See you at 6 p.m. Be there on time. Straight from work.
Elara smiled again, warmth seeping through her chest. It felt like forever since she had done something normal. Something as simple as dinner with a friend.
ELARA: Okay, mom.
She tossed the phone aside with a small laugh and sat up, stretching her arms above her head. Her body ached slightly from all the stress and lack of sleep lately, but her mind felt a bit clearer. Last night she had finished another draft, the second of four, and while it wasn't perfect, it was something.
Progress.
Small victories.
She got ready for work with her usual rhythm—teeth brushed, hot shower, subtle makeup, hair loosely pulled into a professional bun. Her outfit was neat but simple: high-waisted pants, a soft blue blouse, and her reliable navy-blue blazer. She added small gold hoops and a nude lip. She looked composed. Efficient. Exactly what her boss expected of her.
Once her bag was packed and laptop tucked in, she opened her bedroom door and stepped out.
The scent of eggs and toast hit her immediately.
"Nope," she muttered to herself, walking into the kitchen with narrowed eyes.
There he was.
Nikolai.
Perched casually on the barstool by the marble island, a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and what looked like perfectly crisped bacon in front of him. The morning light streamed in from the massive windows behind him, catching the edge of his profile and casting a golden hue along his jaw. He looked like sin wrapped in silk. Shirtless again, but this time wearing loose black sweatpants and a bandage carefully wrapped around his midsection.
She didn't miss the coffee mug in his hand—or the way he leaned ever-so-slightly to the side, away from the pressure on his ribs.
Elara folded her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow. "Okay, if you made that food, I am tying you to a chair because what did I say about moving around with a fresh wound?"
Nikolai looked up with an innocent expression that was far too practiced. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."
"Answer the question."
He chuckled softly. "I got one of my men to bring it. I didn't make it. I listen. Occasionally."
"Occasionally."
"Besides," he added, taking a sip of coffee, "I'll be back in shape in no time. I heal fast."
Elara rolled her eyes dramatically and mocked him in a deep, gravelly tone. "'I heal fast, I heal fast.' Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're the Russian Wolverine."
He smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
She shook her head and made her way to the coffee machine. As the espresso brewed, she leaned against the counter, facing him. "Anyway," she said casually, "I'll be back a little late today. I'm having dinner with Maya."
Nikolai's expression faltered just slightly, his smirk softening. "Oh."
"I know what you're thinking," she said before he could speak. "It's fine. You and I both know I won't run away."
She paused, fingers tapping her ceramic mug slowly.
"Or at least," she added quietly, "I can't run away. You have eyes and ears everywhere."
Nikolai didn't argue. He didn't need to. They both knew it was true.
"I won't stop you from going," he said after a long moment, voice low. "But don't be late. If it gets to 9 p.m. and I haven't heard from you, I'm coming to find you."
Elara exhaled through her nose. "Yes, of course. I'll text you before then."
She grabbed her toast and scarfed down half of it while sipping her coffee. Despite everything, the familiar banter felt good—normal even. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she was already running calculations. Already imagining what it would take to escape if she ever truly wanted to. A flight? A fake identity? Or maybe just swimming into the ocean and never coming back.
But not today.
Today she had work. And wings.
After breakfast, she grabbed her bag, gave him a last glance—bandaged, shirtless, and still frustratingly handsome—and left the penthouse.
The ride to work was unremarkable. She had, of course, used his Audi again. It wasn't a choice. He'd handed her the keys her first morning under his roof and told her plainly that she was to use it. That was that.
But that didn't mean she had to like it.
The moment she pulled into the building's private parking lot and stepped out, she felt the weight of eyes on her. It was always the same. Whispers. Stares. Curious glances from coworkers who didn't quite know what to make of her sudden glow-up. The expensive Audi that her salary could never get her. All of it painted her as someone who had landed herself a rich, mysterious man—and they weren't exactly wrong. They just didn't know how wrong.
The receptionist offered her a polite smile.
"Morning, Miss Dawson. Coffee?"
"No thanks, I'm already running on caffeine and prayers," she muttered, flashing a tired grin.
She made her way upstairs to her department, where chaos was already in full swing. Deadlines loomed like vultures. Clients were being divas. Her boss—Mr Lenox—was hovering near her cubicle before she could even set down her laptop.
"Ah, Elara. Just the person I wanted to see," he said with a too-bright smile.
Oh God, here we go.
"I reviewed your draft last night," he continued. "Very clean. I can see the direction, I like where it's heading. But—"
Of course there's a 'but.'
"—I need you to finalize it by Sunday evening."
She blinked. "Sunday? The deadline is Monday."
"I know," he said, placing a folder on her desk. "But we've just received another client file this morning and I need you to handle both."
"I'm already handling two," she deadpanned.
"Because I trust your work."
That same line. The same passive-aggressive 'you're my favorite punching bag' line.
"Thanks," she said through gritted teeth.
The rest of her day was a blur of emails, designs, drafting new concepts, and hating Mr Lenox's guts. She barely had time to eat lunch, and by the time the clock struck 5 p.m., her lower back ached and her fingers felt like jelly. Still, she had made progress. And for Elara Reid, that counted as a win.
At 5:50 p.m., she packed up, smoothed her blazer, touched up her lip gloss, and grabbed her bag.
Dinner with Maya.
Finally, something normal.
She texted Nikolai as she waited for the elevator.
ELARA: Leaving work now. Heading to dinner. Don't send out the hounds.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and she stepped inside, exhaling slowly.
It was Friday night.
And for once, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be more than a prisoner in silk. Even if only for a few hours.
The restaurant buzzed with the gentle hum of chatter and clinking glasses, its ambiance a blend of moody lighting and warm, rustic charm. The kind of place where the food was as rich as the conversations it hosted—low hanging bulbs cast a golden glow over polished wooden tables, and a faint aroma of grilled spices and buttery garlic bread lingered in the air.
Elara pushed open the double doors and stepped inside, letting her gaze sweep across the semi-crowded room. She spotted Maya immediately—of course she did. Her best friend was never the type to blend in. Dressed in a scarlet wrap dress with gold earrings that caught the light whenever she moved, Maya stood out like fire in a dim room. She was seated near the large window that offered a perfect view of the city, a bottle of chilled white wine already set on the table and one glass poured and waiting.
The moment Maya saw her, she sprang up with a huge smile, waving exaggeratedly.
"Hey, girl!" Maya practically shouted across the room, drawing a few amused glances from nearby diners.
Elara chuckled under her breath and walked over.
Before she could get a word in, Maya wrapped her in one of her signature bear hugs—tight, intense, and completely overwhelming.
"I can't breathe," Elara managed, voice muffled against Maya's shoulder.
"Oh hush, don't be dramatic," Maya said, finally releasing her and pulling her back to arm's length to scan her up and down. "You look stunning, by the way. Absolutely glowing."
"I look tired," Elara said with a small laugh, smoothing her hands over the front of her blouse. "I've been buried in work all week."
"Yeah, yeah, the cursed designer grind," Maya replied with a dramatic roll of her eyes as they both sat down. "But you still look good. Rich looks good on you."
Elara raised a brow. "You make it sound like I've changed species."
"Well, you kinda did. I mean…" Maya leaned forward across the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What's it like living with your hot billionaire boyfriend, huh? How many orgasms have you had?"
Elara nearly choked on the sip of water she'd just taken. "Maya! Jeez, keep your voice down."
Maya snorted, completely unbothered. "Oh come on, don't act all shy. You used to tell me everything. I mean, hell, you once gave me a full review of that guy you dated in college and how he didn't know what to do with his hands."
Elara groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "That was different. That guy had the IQ of a toaster and absolutely no clue where the clitoris was."
"Exactly!" Maya said with a laugh that drew a few more glances from nearby tables. "So now you've upgraded to the Nikolai Volkov. Mysterious, gorgeous, brooding, richer than God, and into you. Come on, details. Don't make me beg."
Elara looked at her friend for a moment, emotions tangling inside her chest. She wished she could laugh and spill her guts the way they used to. But how could she even begin to explain what her life had become?
Maya only knew half the story—the shiny, glossy, illusioned half. The half where Elara had somehow managed to land a wealthy, private man who spoiled her, lived in a penthouse, and clearly had deep feelings for her. But Maya didn't know about the blood, the guns, the late-night wounds, the Bratva connections, or the fear that sometimes kept Elara awake long after midnight. To Maya, Nikolai was just a dangerously attractive man with secrets—not a mafia prince raised in a world of death and violence.
Elara forced a smile. "He's… intense."
Maya raised a brow. "That's all I get? Intense?"
Elara gave a small shrug. "He can be sweet. Thoughtful, even. But yeah, mostly intense. He has this way of just… knowing what he wants and going after it. No hesitation."
"Ugh, that sounds like a dream," Maya said with a wistful sigh, resting her chin on her hand. "I swear, the last guy I dated needed a PowerPoint presentation to figure out if he wanted to hold my hand."
Elara laughed. "Trust me, Nikolai is the opposite. He doesn't ask. He just… does."
Maya fanned herself with a napkin. "I need me a man like that. Tell me he at least cooks too. I need the full fantasy."
Elara smiled, a little softer this time. "Actually… he does. Not often. But he's not bad at it. His mom taught him."
"A tall, hot billionaire who cooks? Girl, if you don't lock that down I swear to God—"
"Maya." Elara cut her off with a look, then reached for her wine and took a sip. "It's not that simple."
Maya tilted her head. "Why not?"
Elara hesitated. How could she explain it? That she lived in luxury and fear at the same time? That she was torn between love and survival, and that every kiss with Nikolai came with the weight of the world behind it?
She sighed. "He has… a complicated life. His business is complicated. He's not like other guys."
Maya laughed. "You say that like he's Batman."
More like the Joker with a god complex, Elara thought bitterly. But she forced a laugh. "Something like that."
The waiter arrived then, setting down plates of their beloved wings, steaming and glistening with sauce. They smelled like heaven—sweet and smoky with just enough heat to promise tears.
Maya's face lit up. "Finally, something normal in my life. These wings are the only men who've never disappointed me."
Elara laughed again, genuinely this time. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to be here, with Maya, away from everything—even if just for a little while.
They ate, talked about work, joked about coworkers, and gossiped. For a while, Elara allowed herself to forget about bullet wounds and Bratva business, about the way Nikolai had looked at her that morning like he was already missing her before she left.
But the clock ticked on.
And deep down, she knew that the world waiting for her back home was far from ordinary.
Still, for the next hour, she was just Elara—the girl with her best friend, wings in hand, and the freedom to laugh like her life wasn't breaking into two completely different worlds.