a bargain

Your wrist ached in Victor’s grip as he hauled you through the hospital doors, into the echoing gloom of the parking garage. Every step in the high heels felt clumsy, the bracelets jangling like alarm bells, earrings brushing your neck with each stumble. Victor moved with the ruthless certainty of a man who already decided your future, dragging you behind him like you were weightless.

He stopped before a sleek silver Mercedes, its chrome glinting in the fluorescent light. With a sharp motion, he flung the passenger door open, his dark eyes burning.

“Get in, Yulia,” he ordered, gravel in his voice.

Your chest tightened. That name felt like a shroud pressed over you. You shook your head, trembling, forcing your voice through the fear. “No. My name is Steve, not Yulia. You can’t just erase me. I won’t give up my life.”

For a heartbeat Victor’s face was still, then rage split across it. He seized your wrists, slamming you hard against the cold steel of the car. Pain shot through your spine, a gasp tearing from you—high, sharp, foreign to your ears.

“Give up!?” His spit flecked against your cheek as he roared. “What have you give up? You alive because of Yulia’s sacrifice! Alive! You walk, you breathe, you speak with her body. Beautiful, young body, full of life. And soon—” his grip burned into your wrists “—soon you will have rich husband.”

Fear thrummed inside you, quick and frantic.

Victor’s voice rose louder, cracking. “And me? I lose everything! My woman, my wife-to-be—gone before we…” His jaw strained as he searched for the word. “…before we consummate our love.” His nostrils flared, his chest heaved. “I grow to love Yulia, even from apart. I pay the site, I pay for her comfort, her ticket here. I pay for her body, her new beauty. I pay for Yulia—and Yulia I will have!”

Your eyes blurred with tears. The terror hollowed you out. Your voice cracked into sobs before you could stop it. “Don’t hurt me—please!” The plea slipped into words you hadn’t chosen. “Ne obizhay menya! Pozhaluysta, Victor!”

The syllables stopped you cold.

Victor froze too. The fury drained from his face, replaced with stunned awe. His grip loosened, then dropped away. His hand lifted instead to brush along your cheek, tender as silk. “Yulia…?” he whispered, voice breaking. “Can it be true?”

You shivered, tears running hot down your face.

“The doctors said… maybe some part of you still here.” His thumb traced your lips, his eyes shining wet. “Perhaps… I did not lose you.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t trust your own voice. But his hand tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze into his.

“I am hard man,” Victor murmured. “But not cruel. Not to you. I keep my word. I let you see your old family. I help you stay here, gain citizenship, though it take years. After that… you free to leave me.”

Relief crashed over you in dizzy waves.

“But in return,” he pressed close, breath heavy, “you will be Yulia. You will live as her, act as her—for me, for all. You learn our letters, our language. I show you our chats, our videos, so you know her, and me.”

The weight of it sank deep inside you. Trapped. Bound to his obsession, to a body that wasn’t yours. But what choice did you have?

You nodded slowly.

Victor’s whole face brightened, disturbingly joyful. “Good. Very good. Victor Abramov is not bad man. I be good husband. You, you be good wife.”

His gaze locked on yours, searching, until satisfaction lit in his eyes. “Now I give you time. Ten days. You learn Yulia, you learn us. You adjust.” His tone hardened, steel beneath the softness. “But wedding night… you be my wife. Completely. From then on.”

Your mouth worked, but only a whisper came. “I… I understand. I agree.”

Victor threw his head back, laughter booming through the garage. “A bargain, yes! Ha! Then come, my bride. I show you our new home.”

And with a flourish both gallant and terrifying, he guided you into the passenger seat.