Elara didn't know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between the fifth wing and the third glass of wine, Maya had crossed the threshold from lightly buzzed and flirty to full-on, barely-coherent drunk. Her speech was slurred, her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and she was swaying in her chair like she was riding waves instead of sitting in a restaurant booth.
Elara, on the other hand, was just tipsy. Her head was light and warm, her thoughts slightly fuzzy, but she still had enough clarity to know that Maya was far too gone to get herself home.
"Okay, come on, time to get you home before you start dancing on tables." Elara stood up and pulled her phone from her purse, dropping her card on the bill before glancing back at Maya, who was now cradling her half-empty wine glass like a newborn.
"Nooo," Maya whined with a hiccup, resting her cheek dramatically on the edge of the table. "One more glass. Just…one…hic…glass. Pleaaase. I'm not even drunk. You're the drunk one."
Elara sighed deeply and pressed her lips together. "You're so drunk you just tried to call the waiter 'dad.' You are definitely done."
She tried again to get Maya to her feet, looping her arm around her shoulder, but Maya went boneless like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Ugh, you're dead weight," Elara muttered, laughing despite herself as Maya giggled and patted her cheek.
The last time Maya got this wasted, Elara had to enlist the help of a stranger to haul her into a cab—and that was back when they were in college. But now? She didn't trust anyone here, and she definitely couldn't manage this alone.
She closed her eyes briefly, inhaled, and did what she had sworn she wouldn't do unless it was truly necessary.
She dialed Nikolai.
It rang once. Twice.
"Elara?" His voice was sharp with worry, awake and alert even though she could tell he'd probably been resting.
"I need help," she said quickly.
"Did something happen?" The panic in his voice was immediate, as if he was already reaching for his gun.
"No, not like that. I just…" She glanced at Maya, who was now quietly humming and twirling a straw in her empty wine glass. "Maya's drunk. Really drunk. She can't walk, let alone stand. And I'm not strong enough to get her home by myself. I don't want to ask some random guy to help, so…"
She hesitated before finishing, "Can you send someone? I don't want you carrying her. You're still recovering, and I'm not about to let you make that worse."
There was a pause on the line, and then Nikolai's voice came through, firm and decisive. "I'll come with Sergei. Send me the address."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm coming. Send me the address, solnishka."
She sighed but sent him the restaurant's location.
Twenty minutes later, Nikolai's sleek black car pulled up in front of the restaurant. Elara stood outside with Maya half-slumped against her shoulder like a sleepy child. She spotted Sergei first, tall and broad-shouldered in his black button-down and tailored slacks. He opened the back door and stepped out.
Then came Nikolai.
Elara's heart clenched. He was dressed in a simple dark coat over a gray turtleneck, looking like he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than stepping out into the night to collect her drunk best friend. His jaw was tense, eyes scanning her first before flicking to Maya.
"I told you to rest," she said as he approached.
"And I told you not to worry," he replied, lowering his voice as he stood before her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Tipsy. Not drunk. Just…really tired."
He glanced at Maya. "And she's completely gone."
Maya stirred then, blinking and mumbling, "Heeeyyy…who's the hot guy?"
Elara flushed and gave a small, helpless laugh. "Yeah. Completely."
Sergei moved forward without a word, taking Maya gently from Elara's side. To his credit, he handled her carefully, lifting her like she weighed nothing and settling her into the back seat with a practiced gentleness that made Elara wonder how many times he'd had to deal with this exact scenario.
As Elara buckled herself in, Nikolai turned to her. "Where does she live?"
Elara bit her lip. "She lives alone. And I don't feel comfortable leaving her by herself tonight."
His gaze narrowed slightly. "You want to bring her to the penthouse?"
"If it's okay. Just for tonight. She'll be asleep the whole time, and I'll take care of her in the guest room. Please."
There was a pause, and for a moment, she thought he might say no.
But then he nodded. "Alright. Just tonight."
When they arrived back at the penthouse, Sergei carried Maya inside while Nikolai held the door open. Maya had passed out somewhere along the ride, her body limp and completely unaware of her surroundings. Elara led Sergei to the guest room—her room—and pulled back the covers while Sergei carefully laid Maya on the bed.
"Thanks, Sergei," she said quietly.
He nodded once, turned, and left.
Elara sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She gently removed Maya's shoes, then her earrings, and unzipped her purse to pull out her phone and put it on the bedside table. Her friend murmured something incoherent in her sleep and rolled onto her side, snoring softly.
Elara chuckled under her breath.
"This is what I get for saying yes to wings and wine."
She stood and grabbed a throw blanket from the chair, pulling it over Maya and tucking it in loosely.
Then she changed out of her jeans and blouse into her usual black t-shirt and cotton shorts, brushing her teeth quickly before slipping under the covers on the other side of the bed. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
It was strange having Maya here.
Stranger still knowing how little Maya knew about the truth.
Would she still smile if she knew that Nikolai wasn't just a billionaire with a mysterious job and high walls around his heart—but a Bratva heir with blood on his hands? Would she still gush and tease if she knew about the girls, the weapons, the power, the price of loving a man like him?
Elara turned on her side, facing away from Maya. The soft breathing beside her was comforting in a way she hadn't expected. Familiar. Grounding.
But it didn't erase the ache that had made a home in her chest.
She reached for her phone one last time.
ELARA: Thanks for tonight. For coming to get us.
Nikolai's reply came seconds later.
NIKOLAI: Anything for you. Get some rest, solnishka.
She stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she locked her screen and tucked it under her pillow.
Tonight was one of the rare nights that felt normal… almost. And she would take what she could get.
Even if she knew that tomorrow, her friend would wake up in a Bratva boss's penthouse—and that would be a whole new storm to deal with.
--------------
It was exactly 10:30 AM when a loud, blood-curdling scream shattered the silence of the penthouse.
Elara, who had been standing barefoot in the sleek marble kitchen, sipping cold water from a tall glass, nearly dropped it as her heart jumped into her throat. Her body moved before her brain caught up. She set the glass down hastily, water sloshing over the rim, and rushed down the hallway toward the guest bedroom—her room.
She flung the door open to find Maya sitting upright in bed, eyes wide with panic, hair wild, the blanket tangled around her waist like she'd been wrestling with ghosts all night.
"Maya!" Elara gasped. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Maya clutched the edge of the blanket with white knuckles. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice shaky and too loud, still not fully oriented. Her gaze darted from the grand chandelier on the ceiling to the polished hardwood floors and the art piece hanging on the far wall that probably cost more than her rent for a year.
"You're at Nikolai's penthouse," Elara said gently, stepping closer. "You were too drunk to go home last night. I couldn't leave you alone, so I brought you here."
Maya blinked rapidly. "Nikolai… as in…"
"Yes. My boyfriend. The billionaire one."
Maya gawked, mouth slightly ajar. "This is his place? Like, this—this place with custom crown molding and—wait, is that a freaking Versace lamp?"
Elara winced slightly. "Don't freak out. He's not here. He left earlier this morning to do some work."
"Work?" Maya echoed, still dazed, brushing her fingers over the edge of the silk comforter as if she were afraid it might bite her. "Does he run an empire or something? This looks like one of those places you only see in luxury home magazines. I don't even want to breathe in here too hard."
Elara chuckled, relieved that Maya's panic was at least fading into shock. "He does… big stuff," she said vaguely. "Look, just relax. You had a lot to drink last night. How's your head?"
"It feels like I got hit by a truck. A very expensive truck with custom tires and probably gold-plated seatbelts," Maya mumbled, rubbing her temples.
"Hang tight. I'll grab you some painkillers and make you breakfast. You'll feel better in no time."
Maya watched her with wide eyes as she disappeared into the hallway again. A few minutes later, Elara returned with a couple of paracetamol and a tall glass of water, which Maya accepted gratefully.
"Thanks," she said, popping the pills. "Please tell me I didn't throw up in your billionaire boyfriend's million-dollar bathroom."
"Nope," Elara said with a grin. "You were surprisingly well-behaved for someone that drunk. Just kept mumbling about how wings are better than love."
Maya groaned and covered her face with a pillow. "Kill me."
"Not today," Elara laughed. "Now, come on. Let's get you up. I made some breakfast."
With some effort, Maya dragged herself out of bed and followed Elara to the kitchen. As she stepped into the space, her jaw dropped again. The kitchen was massive and elegant—white marble countertops, soft-glow under-cabinet lights, state-of-the-art appliances that looked barely used. A huge bowl of fresh fruit sat like a decorative centerpiece on the center island, flanked by a clear glass vase of white lilies.
"I'm scared to touch anything," Maya whispered, trailing behind Elara like a toddler in a museum. "That toaster looks more expensive than my car. Is this countertop… heated?"
"Yes," Elara said, already sliding a plate of food in front of her. "And yes, you can touch things. You won't be charged for breathing."
Maya sat gingerly on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar while Elara placed a warm plate in front of her—fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp turkey bacon, golden brown toast with real butter, and a small bowl of mixed berries.
"Okay, you're officially not allowed to ever move out of this penthouse," Maya said as she took her first bite. "This is amazing."
"I borrowed some stuff for you to wear," Elara said, pointing to a neatly folded pile of clothes on a chair near the hallway. "I figured you'd want to get out of your outfit from last night."
Maya glanced down and blanched at the sight of her wrinkled, wine-stained blouse. "Ugh. God bless you. What would I do without you?"
"Probably sleep under a restaurant booth," Elara said with a grin.
As Maya ate, she continued to look around, her eyes growing rounder by the second. "Seriously… how are you not walking around here taking selfies every five minutes? This place is unreal. And I haven't even seen the whole thing."
Elara shrugged. "You get used to it. Honestly, sometimes it's too much. I'm more of a 'comfy couch and hot chocolate' kind of girl."
Maya narrowed her eyes and pointed her fork. "Don't you dare downplay this. You are living in a dream. With a hot, mysterious billionaire who is apparently also capable of cooking and letting your friends crash at his place? Girl. Do you know how rare that is?"
Elara chuckled, but it was hollow. Maya didn't know the truth. Didn't know the weight that came with every lavish detail of this penthouse. Didn't know that the man she called "hot billionaire" was also the same man who'd stitched himself up from a bullet wound just days ago, or that his business "work" often meant someone else wouldn't live to see another sunrise.
But Maya didn't need to know that. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Elara glanced at her friend—now happily eating toast and sipping coffee—and felt a pang of guilt. There was a whole world she was keeping hidden from Maya, and a part of her hated it.
"So…" Maya said between bites. "Have you two, you know, said the L-word yet?"
Elara blinked. "What?"
"Love, Elara. Love. That thing you used to roll your eyes at in movies. That thing people like me cry about after a single tequila shot."
Elara laughed softly. "No. We haven't said it. I mean… things are complicated." Nikolai had told her he loved her many times, and she loved him too, but his love was sick and dangerous and dressed in obsession. Yes he loved her but not the way Maya thinks.
Maya raised a brow. "Complicated how? I mean, the guy seems smitten with you."
Elara smiled faintly, her fingers curling around her coffee mug. "Yeah. He is. It's just… we're still learning each other, I guess."
"Well, he better treat you like a queen. Or I'll find him and smother him with his own hundred-dollar pillow."
"Noted."
Maya finished her breakfast and leaned back in her seat, patting her stomach. "Okay, I think I'm alive again. You've officially redeemed my hangover."
"Good. Now come get changed. I'm not letting you leave here looking like you lost a fight with a wine bottle."