Page 126 of Bratva's Intern

I pulled out my phone to order an Uber but hesitated. It wasn’t far. Just a ten-, maybe fifteen-minute walk. Why waste the money? Since getting my first salary, my bank account had never looked better, but I didn’t have to go spending recklessly because I was sleeping with a billionaire.

Fuck. I’m in a relationship with a billionaire.

What kind of world did we live in that someone like me could have caught the attention of such a powerful man? There was nothing special about me. Hell, I wouldn’t even say I was particularly good in bed. Our amazing sex life was all Maxim.

I could walk.

So I did.

Headphones in, I let my mind wander. Tried not to think too hard about what I was doing, going back to surprise a man who literally told me to go home and strip.

Totally normal.

Very chill.

It wasn’t until I passed an alleyway that I noticed the sound behind me. Footsteps.

At first, it felt comforting that someone else was walking the same route. But they didn’t pass. Not even when I stopped to respond to a message from Jess asking if she should make dinner for two or if I was spending the night with Maxim again. The footsteps faded, but as soon as I started walking again, they picked back up.

Quick, heavy, and uncomfortably close. It wasn't the first time I'd been out late or even alone, but something about this felt different. Off.

I turned my music down and removed one earbud. The footsteps seemed to grow louder. They were deliberate, echoing on the near-empty road. Panic rooted itself deep within me, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Keep it cool. Don't overreact.

I weaved in and out of the street lights, creating as much distance as possible between myself and the ominous presence behind me. But with every turn, the steps grew closer.

A second glance back revealed a silhouette, a large figure shrouded in darkness that was undeniably pursuing me. My breath hitched painfully in my throat: fight or flight? Only one of those was an option for me.

I slowed. They slowed.

I sped up. So did they.

My throat tightened. My grip on my phone went white-knuckle.

Okay. Okay. Deep breath.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe I was about to become a cautionary tale on a true crime podcast.

I had no confidence in my ability to outrun anyone. If only I hadn’t skipped out of gym often during high school. Why hadn’t I called an Uber?

Left with no other choice, I spun around, holding my phone like a weapon. “What the fuck, man?”

The stranger stopped midstep, hands raised. Tall, buzz cut, square jaw, and muscles for days. Dressed in all black, like someone who played the role of a silent bodyguard in a thriller movie.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quickly.

“Why the hell have you been following me? Who are you?” I tried to sound demanding, tried to imitate Maxim’s scowl, but inside I was shaking.

“I was just protecting you.”

“Protecting me? From what?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Morozov sent me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’m with Mr. Morozov’s security. My name’s Viktor.”

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