The unlucky one.

Sienna

Adrian’s car had barely disappeared into the night when I felt it—that uneasy drop in my gut.

I lowkey didn't want to see him again, but at this moment, I wished he had stayed a little longer.

He left me in Natasha’s care,  and the second she opened her mouth, it confirmed what my instincts already screamed.

That voice.

I knew it.

I remembered it, sharp and cold from back at the country estate—wherever the hell we’d flown in from.

“She’s probably bled out by now. Wasting our time.” That was her,  the lady who said that when they came looking for me back then.

She’d said it like I was roadkill. And now, she was supposed to protect me? I bet she doesn't give a damn about my life.

Yeah. No thanks.

Her back was to me now, her heels clicking against the pavement like a countdown I didn’t ask for, her posture too relaxed for someone who should guard me home.

She drifted toward the group of guys Adrian had roughed up earlier, still nursing bruised egos, i guess.

And I? I just stood there, hugging myself, tired of jumping through these damn hurdles like I signed up for the Olympic chaos division.

I have been kidnapped, shot at, watched people die, and almost got my freedom.

I just wanted to go home now. I wanted to stop breathing recycled panic.

If—when—I made it out of this, I was never stepping foot near anything remotely shady again.

No charming strangers. No mysterious clubs. No reckless curiosity.

People have one-night stands and wake up in peace. Me? I wake up in someone’s dungeon of secrets and death threats.

I’m that girl. The unlucky one. And it’s about damn time I admitted it.

I sighed, climbed into the backseat of the SUV, and waited.

Natasha lingered outside, still deep in conversation with the men. She wasn’t even pretending to be in a rush. Her lips moved quickly, her tone clipped, the sharp glint of frustration making her body tense.

“I can’t believe the boss is just letting her go,” she snapped, loud enough that I could catch it through the cracked window. “She literally witnessed everything. Every face. Every damn detail. And we’re just... releasing her?”

The man with the busted lip nodded silently, throwing a glance my way. Like, I couldn’t hear them. Like I wasn’t two feet away, breathing the same air they were scheming in.

Then Natasha switched tongues—some foreign language I couldn’t place but recognized as not friendly.

Words slithered from her mouth like knives. I couldn’t make out anything specific, but the intent? That part was crystal. Very clear.

My hands clenched into fists on my lap. If I made it out of this, I was changing streets. New apartment, new SIM card, new everything—hell, maybe even a new last name. The only thing I was keeping was my job, and even that felt like a dangerous luxury now. This will become one big nightmare I woke up from.

Finally, she yanked open the door and slid into the passenger seat without a word. Just a glance.

One of those up-and-down, judge-you-in-your-skin looks that made the spine tighten. I tried for some sort of social armor—a weak, awkward laugh—but it came out more like a gasp for air.

And of course, she didn’t laugh back.

We sat in silence, but it was loud. The kind of silence that clings to the windows, that drowns you in the unsaid. Natasha didn’t need to say it: she didn’t like me. She didn’t trust me. And if it were up to her, I’d be in the trunk, not the back seat.

I stared out the window, heart rattling in my chest.

If I survive this, I swear to God—I’m out for real.

Natasha’s phone started ringing just as she switched lanes without signaling. She didn’t glance at the road—just reached for it like we weren’t speeding through traffic in a steel that could very well become our coffin.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Dear Lord, just let me escape evil today. Fully. Cleanly. Alive.

“Hi,” she answered flatly. Then her brow lifted. “He sent you away?”

She flicked a glance toward me, eyes unreadable, and I stared back like a deer in headlights—expression blank, brain scrambling. What’s that got to do with me?

“It’s because of her. I have to deliver her home… quietly,” she said, then slid effortlessly into that sharp-edged foreign tongue again—closer now, more familiar. Russian. The syllables wrapped around her lips like barbed wire, too smooth to be friendly.

I turned to the window, pretending to be anywhere else. A bakery. A bookstore. The bottom of the ocean, anywhere except here.

And then, cutting clean through the static of my thoughts: “Piece of garbage.”

In English.

That, I heard.  She was definitely talking about me. gossiping like I didn’t exist, right here in the passenger seat. 

The call ended. I pointed toward a right turn coming up, trying to focus on the finish line.

“It’s right, ” I muttered under my breath.

“I know, smartass,” she snapped, and once again, her phone was in her hand, eyes off the road.

She started swiping through her phone, her long, ridiculous nails tapping rapidly, and I swear I felt my blood pressure spike.

My chest actually hurt.

Then—whack.

She tossed her phone at me.

It hit my thigh hard enough to sting.

The screen lit up.

At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at. Then the bikini body hit me.

Her.

The woman from Adrian’s penthouse—the one with the goddess curves and waist like an hourglass made for sin.

In the video, she was straddling him. Grinding on him. Shameless, slow, deliberate.

And Adrian?

His hands were on her ass like she was made for him.

Message received.

I stared for a second longer than I should’ve. Not because I cared. Not really. But because something inside me twisted at the sight—jealousy? Humiliation? both. We’d known each other, what, three days? I didn’t have a claim. But still.

I looked away the second his mouth went to her neck. That's botherline pornography.

That’s what this was.  I should back off.

I placed the phone back in the center console with a calm that didn’t match the heat crawling under my skin.

“That’s the boss’s girlfriend,” she said, like it was some sacred title. Then more Russian rolled off her tongue—low, warning, and sharp as a dagger.

I stayed silent.

She didn’t.

Her muttering continued, one long string of encrypted insults. And I—I reached the end of my patience. There’s a version of me that tries to be chill, rational, and mature.

This wasn’t her moment.

She turned to say something else, and I snapped.

I reached into the dark archives of every Korean drama I’ve ever binged and unleashed the full dictionary of fury, powered by caffeine, PMS, and three days of emotional trauma from watching.

“Shibal Gaesekki! (시발 개새끼)” I barked. “Michyeosseo?! (미쳤어?!) Dora chinja! Jugeullae? (죽을래?) Dakchyeo! (닥쳐!) Baboya! (바보야!)”

It was… everything I had. Every cuss word I’d learned in subtitles.

My voice shook. My lungs burned. My heart jackhammered against my ribs like it was trying to make a break for it.

Natasha turned to me slowly.

Her expression was unreadable—eyebrows slightly raised, mouth slightly open. Like I had shape-shifted into a wild, mythical beast. 

She didn’t say a word.

And then—screech.

The car stopped.

I blinked. Glanced outside.

My house.

No parting words. Glad I left her with that mystery.

one last glare before she tossed a bag at me like it had a bomb in it. I caught it out of reflex.

She sped off down the road like she couldn’t stand another second breathing the same air as me.

I stood there, panting.

Alive. Free. Shaking.

I didn’t look back.

I walked straight to my door like the pavement was a runway, unlocked it, stepped inside, and only then did I peek into the bag she left behind.

A fat wad of cash.

And… a brand-new iPhone. Latest model. Still in the box.

My mouth dropped open.

They would definitely track me with this.