Elena's POV
The world had taken on a strange, sharp-edged quality. Colors seemed too bright, sounds too loud, and every stranger's glance felt like a threat. For three days after seeing the black car swallow Nikolai Volkov, Elena moved through her life like a ghost haunting her own existence.
Sleep was impossible. Every creak of her apartment building was a footstep. Every car idling outside was a sleek, black sedan. She jumped when her own phone rang, her heart trying to claw its way out of her chest. The cheerful Christmas decorations dotting the city felt like a taunt, a glittering veneer over something dark and crawling.
She tried to cling to routine. It was all she had. Open the clinic. Care for the animals. Smile at the owners. But her hands shook when she gave vaccinations. Her mind wandered during consultations, her eyes constantly flicking to the front window.
Bella, the puppy, was picked up by a joyful Lily and her grateful mother. The little girl hugged Elena tightly, a sparkle of innocent happiness. "Thank you for saving my Christmas, Dr. Elena!" she'd chirped. The words were a knife to Elena's heart. She hadn't saved anything. She'd possibly doomed herself.
The money for the surgery was left in an envelope. Elena stuffed it into the cash register without counting it. Money felt meaningless. What good was money against men who moved in silent cars and wore wolves on their skin?
On the fourth day, the paranoia peaked. It was a deep, bone-level certainty that she was being watched. Not constantly, but in moments. A man in a beanie seemed to look at her too long from the bus stop across the street. A delivery van was parked outside her building for hours with no one getting in or out. She started taking different routes home, sticking to the well-lit main streets, avoiding the shortcuts through the quiet neighborhoods she used to love.
That evening, as she turned the sign on the clinic door to 'CLOSED,' the feeling was a physical weight on her shoulders. The prickling on the back of her neck was so intense it was almost painful. She fumbled with the keys, her breath making little clouds in the freezing air.
Just get home. Lock the door. Make tea. Watch something stupid on TV. Pretend everything is normal.
She decided to cut through Millennium Park. It was longer, but it was full of people enjoying the Christmas market, the ice rink, and the giant, glittering tree. Safety in numbers. She pulled her coat tight around her, buried her chin in her scarf, and walked fast, her boots crunching on the salt-strewn path.
The park was a winter wonderland of forced joy. Carolers sang. Children laughed. The smell of roasted nuts and mulled wine filled the air. Elena weaved through the crowd, a single, terrified figure moving against a tide of happiness. She didn't see the lights or hear the music. She was listening for footsteps behind her, watching for a break in the pattern of the crowd.
She was halfway through, the giant Christmas tree looming ahead, when she felt it. A space opens around her. The crowd seemed to part, not for her, but for the two men who had fallen into step beside her.
They were massive. Not just tall, but broad, solid, like moving pieces of a mountain range. They wore dark, impeccably tailored wool coats over suits. They didn't look like they were enjoying the festive atmosphere. They looked like they were on a mission.
"Miss Petrov?"
The voice was calm, polite, and came from her immediate left. It was the politeness that made it so terrifying. It wasn't a question shouted across a crowd. It was a quiet, certain statement made right next to her ear, as if they'd known exactly where she was all along.
Elena's whole body locked. She stopped walking. Her blood turned to ice water in her veins. She slowly turned her head.
The man on her left had a face that was all planes and angles, clean-shaven, his hair trimmed short. His eyes were a flat, neutral brown. He held no expression, neither friendly nor threatening. He simply was. An immovable object now planted in her path.
"H-how do you know my name?" she whispered, the words barely a puff of vapor in the cold.
"Mr. Volkov requests your presence," the man said. His accent was faint, but there a Eastern European cadence that hardened the consonants. The name 'Volkov' hung in the air between them, a key turning in the lock of her worst fears.
The world seemed to narrow to a tunnel. The cheerful sounds of the park faded into a dull roar. She saw the other man, a near-twin to the first, glance casually around them, his gaze scanning the crowd not with wonder, but with tactical assessment.
"I… I don't know anyone by that name," she lied, her voice trembling uncontrollably. It was a pathetic, transparent defense, and they all knew it.
"He is grateful for your assistance the other night," the first man continued, as if she hadn't spoken. His tone was that of a concierge confirming a dinner reservation. "He would like to thank you personally. A car is waiting."
Thank you personally. The words were so normal, so civilized, draped over an action that was anything but. This wasn't a request. It was a beautifully wrapped command. A summons from a king… or a wolf.
Her eyes darted around, a wild, trapped animal looking for an escape. The carolers sang "Silent Night." A couple skated hand-in-hand on the ice rink, laughing. A father lifted a squealing child onto his shoulders to see the tree. No one looked at the pale, frozen woman flanked by two giants.
If she screamed, what would happen? Would these polite men become impolite? Would they simply cover her mouth and guide her away, and would anyone in this festive throng even notice? Or would they see a woman causing a scene, maybe drunk, with two well-dressed friends helping her home?
The second man made a slight gesture with his hand toward the curb that ringed the park. There, idling smoothly beside a line of festive horse-drawn carriages, was the car. Long, black windows so dark they seemed to absorb the surrounding Christmas lights. The rear door was already open, a yawning rectangle of deeper black.
"Please," the first man said. It was the most terrifying word she had ever heard.
Trembling violently, every instinct screaming to run, Elena found her feet moving. One step. Then another. The men fell into place beside and slightly behind her, a perfectly coordinated escort. They didn't touch her. They didn't need to. Their presence was an unbreakable cage.
She felt the eyes of the park on her now, but they saw only a woman walking with two companions. They didn't see the sheer terror that had turned her limbs to lead. They didn't see the silent scream behind her eyes.
The walk to the curb was the longest twenty yards of her life. Each step was a surrender. As she neared the car, the smell of its expensive leather interior wafted out, mixed with a hint of cold, clean cologne. It was the smell of power, and it made her nauseous.
She stopped at the open door, staring into the dark interior. She could see nothing inside. It was like looking into a cave or a mouth.
"Miss," the first man prompted gently, his hand appearing to rest lightly on the top of the door frame.
This was it. The point of no return. If she got into that car, she was entering his world on his terms. The clinic, her apartment, her simple, quiet life, it all seemed to shrink and vanish behind her, back in the glittering, deceptive safety of the park.
With a final, shuddering breath that wasn't quite a sob, Elena bent at the waist and climbed into the darkness.
The door shut behind her with a soft, airtight thump, sealing her in. The sound of the park was instantly gone, replaced by a profound, soundproofed silence. The interior lights were dim. The seats were vast and empty. A glass partition separated her from the front.
She was alone in the plush, rolling prison. The car began to move, smooth as oil, pulling away from the curb and the Christmas lights, carrying her away from everything she knew.
"Miss Petrov? Mr. Volkov requests your presence." They open a car door for her.