When Ulyana finally woke up, she immediately wished she hadn't. Her head was pounding.
Not an ordinary headache.
A deep, throbbing ache that seemed to pulse behind her eyes and spread through her skull.
Every pulse made it worse. Her senses felt strangely numb and muted. As though there was a layer of cotton separating her from the world around her.
Even opening her eyes felt difficult, the light overhead was painfully bright.
A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.
Ulyana squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to force her memory to cooperate.
Think.
Come on.
Think.
The pounding in her head intensified.
Fragments surfaced.
Disconnected.
Broken.
But there.
The flowers.
She remembered the flowers.
A beautiful arrangement had been delivered to her office that morning.
The card had made her smile.
Then her phone.
ROWAN 💓Calling...
A warmth spread through her chest at the memory.
Even now.
Even through the fear she could still hear his voice.
"Morning, Angel."
A shaky breath escaped her.
She remembered teasing him about his schedule.
About sleeping.
About taking care of himself.
The familiar back-and-forth.
The way he always managed to make her smile.
The conversation had ended with promises.
Call me when you can.
Stay safe.
Take care of yourself.
The usual.
The sort of conversation she'd had with him dozens of times over the past few months.
Then… work.
Meetings.
Approvals.
Emails.
A blur of activity.
Her mind followed the thread further.
And another memory surfaced.
A gala.
That's right. There had been a gala that evening. One of those high-profile social events she couldn't reasonably avoid.
Investors.
Politicians.
Executives.
The wealthy and influential gathered together under chandeliers and camera flashes.
She remembered getting ready after work.
Changing outfits.
Fixing her makeup.
Lisa helping coordinate the remainder of her schedule.
Lionel driving her.
The memory sharpened slightly.
The entrance.
Photographers.
People calling her name.
Questions.
Smiles.
The familiar performance required of a Vasily.
She remembered laughing politely.
Networking.
Greeting guests.
Making conversation.
Representing Nivasa.
Representing her family.
Representing herself.
Nothing unusual, nothing threatening, nothing that should have ended with her waking up here.
The memory pushed further.
Trying to continue. Trying to reveal what happened next, but suddenly everything became fog.
Blurry.
Indistinct.
Faces without names.
Conversations she couldn't fully hear.
A drink in her hand.
Music.
Crowds.
Then…
Nothing.
The memory simply stopped. As though someone had taken scissors to the timeline and cut the rest away.
Ulyana's stomach dropped, she remembered arriving, she remembered the event beginning but she couldn't remember leaving, couldn't remember getting home, couldn't remember seeing Lionel afterward, couldn't remember sleeping... couldn't remember anything.
Her breathing quickened.
The gap in her memory suddenly felt enormous.
Terrifyingly enormous.
Because whatever had happened…
Whatever had taken place after that gala…
It was hidden somewhere inside those missing memories. And right now, she had no way of knowing whether the answers would bring relief or make everything far, far worse.
-
After several more hours of drifting in and out of consciousness, Ulyana finally felt stable enough to sit upright.
Barely.
Every movement still made her head pound.
The nausea had dulled somewhat, though it lingered in the background like an unwelcome companion.
Slowly, she pushed herself up on trembling arms.
The room immediately swayed.
She closed her eyes then tried again. This time she managed to stay upright.
For several moments she simply sat there breathing, trying to understand where she was.
The room was dimly lit.
Industrial.
Nothing like a hotel.
Nothing like a home.
Nothing like anywhere she should have been.
As her vision gradually focused, she began noticing details: metal shelves, tool chests, oil stains on the concrete floor, stacks of tires, car parts scattered throughout the space.
Several vehicles sat elevated on hydraulic hoists.
A mechanical workshop or at least something very similar to one.
The smell confirmed it. The faint scent of fuel lingering in the air.
Ulyana frowned. What am I doing in a workshop? The question felt absurd. Yet there she was sitting on an old couch pushed against one wall.
Feeling completely out of place, she glanced down at herself.m, now dressed in different clothes than she'd worn to the gala.
Which wasn't particularly helpful. Someone had changed her clothing at some point.
The realization made her stomach twist. Her fingers instinctively found the necklace around her neck.
The pendant.
Still there.
Relief washed through her. At least that remained.
For several more minutes she sat quietly.
Listening.
Trying to hear something.
Anything.
Eventually faint voices drifted toward her from somewhere deeper inside the building.
Male voices.
Several of them.
Conversation.
Then footsteps.
Ulyana immediately straightened, every muscle in her body tensed. She reached for the closest item to her, a spanner on a side table.
The footsteps grew louder and closer before a large roller door somewhere nearby rattled.
More voices.
Then a side door opened, a group of men entered the workshop.
Ulyana's heart immediately began pounding.
Not because they looked threatening but because she had absolutely no idea who they were or whether she should be afraid.
The men stopped when they noticed she was awake.
Several exchanged surprised looks.
One muttered something under his breath.
The room fell quiet for a few seconds, nobody moved or spoke.
Everyone simply stared.
Including Ulyana.
Who was trying very hard not to show how frightened and confused she actually felt.
Because right now these strangers appeared to be the only people who might know what had happened to her.
And she wasn't sure whether that was comforting or terrifying.
-
The silence stretched awkwardly.
Ulyana looked at the men.
The men looked back at Ulyana.
Nobody seemed entirely sure what to do.
Fortunately, Ulyana had one advantage.
Back in high school, she'd studied Spanish.
She wasn't fluent by any means, not even close. But she knew enough to recognize accents, common phrases, and hold a very basic conversation.
Listening to the men speak amongst themselves, she quickly realised they were Mexican.
That at least narrowed things down.
Taking a steadying breath, she spoke slowly.
"¿Alguien habla inglés?"
Does anyone speak English?
The reaction was immediate, the men exchanged surprised looks.Then began talking rapidly amongst themselves.
Far too rapidly for Ulyana to follow, she caught a few words. Missed most of them.
Then one name kept appearing.
"Julio."
"¡Julio!" Another voice called out.
Then louder, "¡JULIO!"
A chorus followed. "Julio!"
"Julio!"
The enthusiasm was almost alarming.
Several heads turned toward a small office overlooking the workshop floor.
A moment later, the office door opened and a short Mexican man poked his head out.
He looked to be somewhere in his fifties, wearing grease stained overalls and reading glasses.
An expression that suggested he'd been interrupted in the middle of something important.
"Hmmm?"
Immediately half the workshop started pointing at Ulyana.
The man blinked and looked at her.
Looked at them then sighed. The sigh of a man who already knew he was about to inherit someone else's problem.
One of the mechanics rapidly explained something.
Another pointed at Ulyana.
A third gestured wildly.
Julio listened patiently.
Then looked at Ulyana.
And to her immense relief, spoke in English.
"Hello." His accent was thick but understandable, "You speak English?"
Ulyana nearly cried, "Yes."
Julio nodded. "Good."
Then he pointed toward the men behind him.
"...these idiots do not."
The entire workshop immediately erupted in protests.
One threw a rag at him.
Julio ignored them.
Ulyana stared then, despite the headache and confusion and fear, a laugh escaped her. The absurdity of the situation finally breaking through.
Julio looked pleased. "Good."
He folded his arms. "you feeling better."
The comment immediately made Ulyana pause.
Because that implied something important.
Something she desperately needed answered. Her expression became serious.
"What happened to me?"
The workshop instantly fell silent.
Julio's smile faded.
The mechanics exchanged looks.
Ulyana got the distinct impression that everyone in the room knew far more than she did.
-
Julio's expression became complicated.
The mechanics around him suddenly found the floor very interesting.
Nobody seemed eager to answer.
Which immediately put Ulyana on edge.
"What happened to me?" she repeated.
Julio scratched the back of his neck, searching for the right English words.
"You…" He pointed at her. "…taken."
Ulyana froze. "What?"
Julio nodded. "You taken." His brow furrowed in concentration. Trying to communicate something far more complicated than his English allowed.
"I find you." He pointed to himself. "Me."
Then gestured toward the workshop. "Bring you here."
Ulyana stared at him. Her pulse immediately accelerated.
"No." The word escaped before she could stop it.
Julio nodded slowly. "Sí."
"No, I mean…" She swallowed. The room suddenly felt too warm.
"What do you mean taken?"
Julio looked toward the other mechanics.
Several of them began chiming in with rapid Spanish.
Julio held up a hand silencing them, then looked back at Ulyana.
"You sick." He pointed at his own head. "Not good."
Then he mimed someone carrying a limp body.
"You sleep."
His face darkened. "Bad men."
Ulyana's stomach dropped.
Bad men.
The phrase was simple. Childishly simple.
Yet somehow terrifying.
"What bad men?"
Julio shook his head. "No know. No good."
"You don't know who?"
He shook his head again. "No know."
Then pointed toward several mechanics.
"We see. We help."
One of the younger mechanics nodded enthusiastically.
Julio continued. "You sick."
His expression softened. "Ten day."
Ulyana felt the blood drain from her face.
Ten days.
Hearing the number spoken aloud somehow made it real.
Then Julio showed her the date.
Three weeks since the gala.
The number her family would have been living with.Three weeks of people searching for her.
Three weeks of uncertainty. Three weeks gone.
Her hand instinctively found the pendant hanging around her neck.
Still there. For some reason that nearly made her cry.
Julio noticed.
His expression softened. "You okay now."
Despite his attempt to comfort her, her mind was racing.
Questions piling on top of questions.
Where was she?
Why had she been taken?
Why hadn't they contacted her family?
Who took her?
Why was she here?
And perhaps most importantly - Did anyone know she was alive?
The thought hit her like a truck.
Her head snapped up. "Phone."
Julio blinked. "Phone."
She looked around desperately. "Please, I need a phone."
Immediately.
Right now.
Somewhere out there, Rowan, Nikolai, Ivan, Vadim, Hak, Graham.... Everyone she loved probably believed she was either dead or never coming home.
That felt far worse than her headache ever could.
-
The first person Ulyana managed to contact was her grandfather. The moment the call connected, relief flooded through her.
"Deda."
Silence.
Then a shaky exhale.
For a man who commanded enormous respect and carried himself with unwavering authority, Nikolai suddenly sounded like every one of his years.
"Ulyana."
Her heart squeezed. "Deda, you sound exhausted."
The line went quiet.
Neither of them needed to say why.
Twenty-five days.
Twenty-five days of not knowing whether she was alive.
"Deda, I don't have much data on this phone, but I'm okay, safe."
As okay as she could be, anyway.
She quickly explained everything she knew;
waking up in a mechanic workshop, the severe headache, experiencing gaps in her memory, Julio and the mechanics, the fact that they'd told her she'd likely been drugged.
Then how they'd found her after a crashed vehicle had been abandoned on a road outside the city.
How they'd brought her back to the workshop rather than leaving her there.
How they'd fed her.
Protected her.
Looked after her.
Nikolai listened silently.
Only interrupting to ask a few precise questions. When she finished, she could hear him exhale again.
A little steadier this time. "They saved your life."
"They did."
Then Nikolai's voice became firmer. "We'll compensate them properly."
Ulyana smiled. "That sounds like something you'd say."
"It sounds like something your grandmother would've said."
The comment softened both of them.
Then Nikolai cleared his throat. "Notify your boyfriend."
Ulyana blinked. "My boyf—?"
The realization hit. She laughed despite everything.
A tired but relieved laugh.
"Yeah."
A smile appeared. "I'll call him."
"Do so immediately Dear."
- -
Several thousand kilometers away…
Rowan Volkov was in the middle of an argument.
A calm argument.
The kind where everyone around him became nervous, airport management, flight scheduling, security clearance complications, fueling approvals, the logistical nightmare at this point.
The poor airport official standing opposite Rowan was rapidly losing confidence.
Then Rowan's phone rang.
He glanced down.
An unknown number.
Ordinarily he would've ignored it but something made him answer.
"Volkov speaking."
"Hi." The moment he heard her voice, everything around him disappeared.
"Angel?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Complete silence.
The airport official looked confused.
Graham froze.
Hak looked up instantly.
And Rowan almost stopped breathing.
"Hi."
The second confirmation hit harder than the first because it was real.
Not a lead.
Not a report.
Not a sighting.
Her.
Actually her.
And she's alive.
Rowan immediately turned away from everyone. The argument forgotten.
The airport forgotten.
The world forgotten.
"Where are you?" The question came out instantly.
Ulyana explained everything.
Up to the fact that she'd pieced together that she was somewhere in Guadalajara, Mexico.
She explained that she remembered nothing after the gala.
Nothing beyond arriving to the gala, going about her business then waking up in Guadalajara.
The entire time Rowan remained silent, listening and taking mental notes.
When she finished there was a pause.
"Have you been to a hospital?" The question came sharply.
Protectively.
"No."
"None?"
"None."
"Angel."
"I made sure." Her voice softened.
"I made sure to check."
Rowan remained silent.
"No hospitals."
"No doctors."
"No authorities."
"No records."
Nothing that might complicate her situation further before they understood what had happened.
"I made sure."
The reassurance eased something inside him. Not much but enough.
For the first time in days, Rowan unclenched his jaw and eased his shoulders because she was alive.
Confused.
Missing memories.
Halfway across the world.
But alive.
Suddenly every problem became solvable, every obstacle became manageable, every delay became irrelevant.
Because after thirteen days of not knowing anything about her abduction yet, he finally knew exactly where she was.
And he was coming to collect.