Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)
Chapter 14

SERENA’S EYES widen to the size of a full moon.

I bite my nails as I watch her gaze ping-pong between the Plan B packaging on the table and me. “Spill it, Lulu,” she commands. “And don’t you dare leave out any juicy details!”

I feel my cheeks heating up. “It’s not what you think, Ser. I mean, it is, but…”

She interrupts, “You had unprotected whoopie with a stranger? That’s so unlike you!”

I sink into the couch, feeling a mix of guilt and exhilaration. “I know, it was stupid, and now I’m freaking out.”

My best friend plops down next to me, her expression a mix of shock and amusement. “Honey, this is more drama than my ‘Moonlit Desires’ series. I’m half-scandalized, half-impressed.”

I wince. “But I’m still technically married to that slimeball David…”

She waves a hand dismissively. “That useless son of the gun? He’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Lulu, you deserve some fun.”

I nibble my lip, torn between guilt and exhilaration. “I don’t know, Ser. I feel like I’m crossing a line here.”

She leans in, her eyes gleaming. “Crossing the line? Honey, you catapulted over it. And I’m here for it! Who’s the mystery man? Anyone I know?”

I shake my head. “No, just… someone I met at Club V.

Damnit. Victor Morozov. Why can’t I shake him?

One night, that’s all it was. Barely even a blip in my life. But here I am, his name still rattling around in my head.

It’s stupid. Pointless. He’s gone, and I’m here, and that’s that. End of story.

So why does it feel like there’s a hole in my chest where he used to be? Why do I catch myself wondering where he is, what he’s doing?

I can’t do this. Can’t let myself get caught up in something that was never real to begin with.

It was one night. That’s all. And now it’s over.

Time to move on.

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I’m a mess, Ser. My store’s gone, Dad and the landlord are on my butt, and now this…”

She wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“You’re not a mess; you’re just… well, human. And honestly, your guy radar could use a serious upgrade. It’s like you’ve got a magnet for the ‘bad luck’ type.”

I let out a snort. “Wow, Ser, with pep talks like that, who needs enemies?” I can’t help but chuckle despite the chaos in my life. Serena always has a way of making light of even the darkest situations.

“But hey, at least you finally got laid after, what, a geological era?”

I grimace. “Eight months and twenty days, to be exact, long before David pulled his vanishing act. But who’s counting.”

“To be honest, I’ve always felt something was off with David…like a closed book.”

I nod, feeling a surge of bitterness. “More like a book in a language I can’t read. Always secretive, always distant.”

“God, Ser, what if there was more to David? What if…?”

“What? You think he was into something shady?” Serena’s eyes narrow, a detective-like glint in them. “Like what, already married with a family? Or smuggling diamonds?”

My stomach twists.

“I don’t know about the smuggling diamonds… but now that I think about it, he did have a lot of ‘business trips’ that never added up.” A chill runs through me as I recall that night. David, his face unreadable, lugging in a heavy suitcase, claiming it was just work stuff. But the way he avoided my eyes…

Serena grabs a cushion, hugging it to her chest. “Lulu, this is like something out of a crime novel. You think you were living with a criminal?”

My heart races, the pieces starting to fit together in a terrifying puzzle. Those late-night calls he whispered into, the strange friends who never stayed long.

“I-I just don’t know, Ser. But…”

“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Serena reaches over, her hand gently squeezing mine. She locks eyes with me, an eyebrow raised in anticipation. “But seriously, Lulu, I’m dying to know about what happened to you last night! Was he at least hotter than a summer in the Sahara?”

No matter how grim things seem, Serena’s got a gift for making everything feel a bit brighter and more bearable.

I sigh. “Hot doesn’t even begin to cover it. But it was just a one-time thing. No strings attached.”

Serena raises an eyebrow. “Famous last words. Watch, this will turn into a Stockholm Syndrome love story.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. More like a cautionary tale.”

“Come on, spill! Was he like one of those tall, dark, and handsome mysteries we fantasize about in our book club?”

I let out a laugh. “Exactly. But he’s so out of my league, it’s not even funny.” The thought of his commanding shoulders, firm chest, his towering form, and those comforting hands flood my mind. I jerk my head as if to physically cast away these thoughts.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, jolting me. I glance at the screen; it’s the insurance company calling.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, feeling a knot of anxiety. “It’s about the bookstore.”

Serena looks at me, worry etching her face. “Do you want me to stick around while you take that?”

I stand up, shaking my head. “No, I should handle this. Thanks, though, Ser. Really.”

She gives me a quick hug and heads out. Just before the door shuts, Serena sends a playful air kiss my way.

“Love you,” she whispers.

I catch it with a forced smile. “Love you too.” I feel my anxiety creep up.

I close my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the rapid breathing and the flutter in my chest. With a shaky hand, I finally tap “answer” on my phone, biting my lip nervously.

“Hello. Yes… yes… this is Laura Anne Thompson speaking.”

The line crackles before a brisk, professional voice answers. “Good afternoon, Ms. Thompson. This is Rachel Green from First Assurance Insurance. I’m calling in regard to your claim for Thompson Tales of Fifth Ave.”

My heart skips a beat. “Yes, about that…” I trail off, unsure what to expect.

Before heading off to Club V last night, I had already submitted the insurance claim online.

“Well, Ms. Thompson, we received an inquiry about a claim. However, we’ve noticed there have been no payments on your policy since March of last year.”

I freeze.

March?

My mind races back. That’s when David said he’d handle the insurance payments. My stomach churns. “You’re saying… there have been no payments since then?”

“That’s correct. We’ve sent multiple emails and physical letters to your address. The last was sent on June 15th, and another on August 3rd addressed to Laura Anne Thompson. We’ve had no response.”

I feel like throwing up.

Emails, letters… all while I was drowning in book orders and trusting David.

I bite my lip, tasting blood. “I… I never received them. I was scammed.”

There’s a pause on the line. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Thompson, but without the payments, your policy was terminated. We cannot cover your bookstore’s damages.”

No, don’t say it!

My mind whirls. This can’t be happening. I’m on the brink of losing everything.

“But… there must be something we can do?”

Rachel’s voice is sympathetic but firm. “I’m afraid our hands are tied without an active policy, Ms. Thompson. I truly am sorry.”

My throat tightens, a sense of dread washing over me. “Is there any way to reinstate it?

“To reinstate, you’d owe back payments plus a reinstatement fee. That’s around fifty-eight thousand dollars. With the penalty, lawyer fees, and other charges, you’re looking at a total of one hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars.” Rachel’s voice is sympathetic but firm.

“One… one hundred and twenty-eight grand?” My voice cracks. “I can’t… I don’t have that kind of money.”

Rachel’s tone is cautious, almost hesitant. “Yes, Ms. Thompson, but even if you reinstate the policy, we can’t cover the fire damage. It happened when your coverage was terminated.”

A lump forms in my throat, choking off my words.

Her voice has a tinge of sympathy, but it’s the kind that doesn’t change a damn thing. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Thompson. This is a tough situation.”

Tears blur my vision, unshed and burning.

“So, I lose my store, and there’s nothing I can do?” I murmur.

“Ms. Thompson. I wish there was more we could do. If you need any assistance or have further questions, please don’t hesitate to contact us.” Her words, meant to be comforting, feel like salt in an open wound.

I hang up, my back sliding down the wall as I sit on the floor.

I’m to blame.

That’s it.

Game over.