Bound by Choice

I blinked myself awake, kicked off the blankets, and hollered toward the ceiling, “This is f*****g bullshit!” Having completed my daily complaint about being broke as hell and perpetually exhausted, I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and gave my body a long stretch. Drowsiness clung stubbornly to me, and I struggled to shake off the hazy, dream-soaked world I was still far too comfortable lingering in. It wasn’t as though my nighttime fantasies offered a nicer existence than the one I actually lived. Quite frequently, they were far more awful. Still, there was something appealing about never knowing what awaited me once I drifted off. I might become somebody entirely different or find myself in some unfamiliar place. Awake, however, I was stuck in Miami, confined to my shabby little studio in a seriously shitty neighborhood. I slipped past the divider that served as a makeshift wall between my so-called sleeping area and the remainder of my cramped apartment, then took the short walk over to the little cooking nook. A mini kitchen? Sounds f*****g adorable, doesn’t it? Yeah, right. That’s the kind of bullshit wording they use in rental listings to make a crappy little flat sound charming. Whenever you see “compact and charming,” run the other way. It’s code for cramped, rundown, and probably a complete f*****g dump. Moving on, I snatched a piece of white toast from the loaf and popped it into the toaster in my cramped little cooking corner. With my morning meal sorted, I poured myself some chilled coffee and shoved the mug into the microwave to warm it up. The moment I hit the start switch, the lights overhead faded, then flickered as they struggled to return to normal. The whole thing was pretty damn ironic considering my apartment complex went by the name Heaven Estates. The electrical system was a f*****g disaster, just like nearly everything else about the place. Nothing about that rundown shithole deserved either “Heaven” or “Estates” in its name. I rested one hip against the counter and pressed my fingers to my forehead while waiting for the microwave to finish heating my coffee and the toaster to spit out my bread. A headache was already threatening to settle in. Was it anxiety? Tension? My body begging for caffeine? Probably a lovely combination of all three. As my mother always used to say, trouble never comes alone. I forced myself to abandon those thoughts before they could settle in and drag me down. Dwelling on yesterday wouldn’t change a damn thing; I needed to focus on what lay ahead. Right now, my most immediate obligation was showing up for my shift, which started in just sixty minutes. Balancing my toast and coffee, I made my way to what I jokingly called my workspace, a corner that doubled as the lounge and entrance to my apartment. I lowered myself into a chair that swallowed up nearly a third of the room’s precious space, then pulled my laptop closer and pressed the power button. Since the battered machine was three years old, with gray duct tape keeping its casing from falling apart, I knew I’d be waiting a damn while before it became usable. To fill the time, I switched on the television and let the morning headlines play in the background. For most folks, television reports were merely something playing in the background, keeping an otherwise quiet room from feeling so empty. For me, though, they served a far more important purpose: a guide to survival. They helped me figure out which neighborhoods were best avoided, which areas deserved extra caution, and which remained relatively safe—at least temporarily. The presenter continued droning away, rambling endlessly about the president and the nation’s latest troubles. When the broadcast finally shifted to happenings closer to home, I leaned toward the screen, paying closer attention while slowing my chewing. A repeat s*x offender remained at large, while break-ins were becoming increasingly common, particularly across the city’s southeastern districts. Residents were urged to inspect every entrance and window before turning in for the night and make certain their security systems were switched on. Message received. All three windows in my place remained securely shut, and so far, the deadbolt had kept my apartment safe whenever I was out. The broadcast moved on to a shooting involving rival gangs the previous night. One person had been killed, while another had been rushed to the hospital in critical but stable condition. Anyone with useful information was asked to contact 1-800-KILL-STOP. That hotline had to be new. I’d never come across that number before, and something like that wasn’t exactly easy to forget. Violence linked to local gangs was beginning to creep into the city’s richer neighborhoods, but that wasn’t something I needed to lose sleep over. I was nowhere near wealthy enough to be on their radar. Maybe that explained why the authorities had introduced a fresh toll-free hotline in the first place. However, the press was misinterpreting the situation entirely. My instincts were screaming it at me. Having spent plenty of time around gang s**t, I recognized that this showed far too much coordination. Your average corner crew lacked that level of strategic planning. Achieving that kind of finesse demands decades—a timeline most of those guys never reached because they died before moving past the foolish "look at my cash and my weapon" stage. This operation possessed a significantly higher degree of discipline, resembling syndicate tactics instead. Ultimately, though, it was happening at a sufficient distance that it wasn't my problem to stress over. Maybe I ought to try my hand at reporting, crossed my mind as I killed the television and pivoted to my laptop, which had at last dragged itself out of sleep mode. I could definitely teach these supposed experts a lesson or two. The majority of those talking heads on the screen didn’t have a damn clue what was actually happening in my part of town. You’re looking for a tale? Hell, I’ve got plenty to spare. I could fill entire libraries with them, beginning with the sorry excuse for a human being my mother had the nerve to call her man. "You've completely lost your damn mind," I muttered under my breath, instantly shutting down that train of thought. You need some fancy-ass diploma just to walk through the doors of those major news corporations. I hadn't even set foot on a university campus, let alone earned a degree from one. Just another dream put on hold, or DOA before it could even begin. Pulling myself back to the present, I launched my work inbox. Dozens of unread messages crowded the screen, drawing a heavy sigh from my chest. I hadn't even stepped foot in the office yet, and already I was staring down what easily amounted to forty-eight straight hours of catch-up work. Time to get off my ass and hustle so I can cover my expenses. I tossed the used plates into the basin and headed off to throw on some clothes. I opted for a bright yellow outfit, harboring a tiny hope that its cheerful tone might brighten my mood somewhere down the line today. Packing up all my work essentials, I stepped out into the world or more precisely, slipped into the back alleyway. The cramped, winding corridors of the neighborhood squirmed back and forth, hemmed in by sagging structures packed tightly together to squeeze profit out of every square foot. Above, a dull, bleached-out gray canopy hung heavy, thick with smog from endless burnings and blowing grit. Microscopic patches of front lawn appeared sporadically outside the doorways, though the pretense of nature vanished upon closer inspection, revealing itself as nothing more than stubborn weeds forcing their way through busted pavement fractures. You couldn't afford to take your eyes off the ground while on foot, lest you plant your shoe right into jagged shards from shattered windows or crushed liquor bottles. Shockingly, that wasn't even the grimmest feature of Heaven Estate. The absolute lowest points I'd witnessed involved destitute people seeking cover in recessed doorways and beneath front steps. They'd lung out unexpectedly to beg for spare change, scaring the absolute s**t out of you whether you were bracing for it or not. Danger escalated once you approached the residential structures, right along the boundary separating our neighborhood from the core district. The reasoning behind it was painfully clear to me. Folks fiercely guarded whatever turf they felt belonged to them. Even renting a home felt far more secure than residing in a complex crammed with equally frightened, destitute strangers. Those were the exact individuals who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in you for an improper glance. Navigating the area meant constantly checking your ground, watching your rear, and staying hyper-aware, all while maintaining an exterior that projected you didn't give a s**t. Just commuting from your front door to the transit bench could spike your anxiety tenfold. That's the hidden toll of economic hardship that outside reporters trying to cover our environment fail to grasp you can only recognize its existence by suffering through it firsthand. They piled into their fleet vehicles alongside high-priced production crews and oversized gear, peppered a local with a script of pre-packaged queries, and immediately loaded back up to return to their sleek, multi-million-dollar broadcast facilities to edit the piece together. A broadcast that didn't inform you of a damn thing! You couldn't truly understand what it meant to struggle financially unless you'd experienced it firsthand. Living through those hardships taught you which questions mattered most and which answers people actually needed to hear. I tossed my head, trying to dispel the frustration beginning to rise inside me. That was yet another shitty aspect of having no money: it left you bitter, sometimes without any obvious reason, particularly when you knew that immense riches existed only a short drive away. Following a brief transit trip, I disembarked onto the pavement within the commercial hub. The contrast was absolute—spotless, radiant, and welcoming. Broad avenues were bordered by lush vegetation. It carried a different volume as well, filled with commuters hollering, drivers slamming steering wheel horns, and stereos cranked up with zero concern over drawing law enforcement interest. This was the place that had captured my heart when I first moved here eight years earlier. Surrounded by the bustling streets, the countless sights, the familiar fragrances, and the constant hum of activity, I felt a renewed sense of optimism rising within me. I kept reminding myself that as long as I got up every day and put in the effort, eventually my circumstances would improve. Holding on to that belief was the only way I could find the strength to face another morning. As I made my way along the street from the bus station toward the shiny corporate building where I earned my living, a strikingly attractive, tall man caught my attention. His thick, dark Hair framed his face, while his Green, feline eyes met mine as he gave a casual greeting. I returned the gesture, wearing a rather silly grin. Something about him seemed strangely recognizable, almost as though we'd crossed paths before. Unfortunately, my barely caffeinated brain wasn't functioning well enough to figure out where I'd seen him. I turned around for another look, only to discover he'd vanished. Typical. Just my f*****g luck. Well, at least that gorgeous stranger had acknowledged my existence with a smile. I barely had time to dwell on the encounter before arriving at my place of employment: Orlov Tech Security. Maxsim. My employer. That was it! The mysterious man bore an uncanny resemblance to him. They could practically pass for identical twins. They say everyone has a double somewhere in the world. Could Maxsim have one too? Had I ever spotted this Green-eyed lookalike wandering around the office? I quickly brushed the possibility aside. There was no way someone like that could have slipped my notice. Maksim had Blue eyes, after all. A second version of him sporting those unusual green eyes would certainly have stuck in my memory. Another grin crept across my face as I gave the revolving glass entrance a push and stepped inside Orlov Tech, as everyone commonly called the company. From the street, the structure appeared to be just another ordinary corporate tower, all glass panels and metal framing, with nothing particularly remarkable about it. Few people would ever guess that some of the industry's most cutting-edge digital protection technologies were created and marketed within its walls. Of course, anyone unfamiliar with the business might remain clueless. Such people were relatively rare in the technology sector, largely thanks to the man running the entire operation: Maksim Orlov. Maksim had become one of Bal Harbor’s most celebrated young entrepreneurs. His business was attracting enormous attention and generating staggering profits, all before he had even reached thirty-five. His appeal extended beyond his impressive achievements, too. With the kind of face that belonged on a movie screen and a physique worthy of a professional athlete, he was hardly someone people overlooked. Whispers circulated that female journalists covering the technology industry invented some absolutely ridiculous story angles just to secure private interviews with him. He never turned any of them down. Still, one glance into those striking Blue eyes made it obvious he understood their real intentions perfectly. And he certainly wasn't above enjoying every bit of the attention. All the media frenzy eventually attracted attention from Wall Street, with investors repeatedly approaching him in hopes of persuading him to list Orlov Tech on the stock market. Maksim, however, remained firm in his refusal, determined to keep the business privately owned and deliberately modest in size. Speculation about his reasons was everywhere, including whispers of the sort no business executive would ever want associated with their brand. Yet Maksim , nicknamed “Debonair Maksim” by the journalists who followed him, seemed completely untouchable. Scandal after scandal rolled off him without leaving a mark. The only things that ever seemed to linger were the women currently occupying his attention. I passed through the sliding entrance and entered the building's reception area. A refreshing blast of air-conditioning greeted me, making the yellow cotton-blend dress I wore flutter gently around me. A handful of businessmen standing nearby abruptly lost track of their conversation as their attention shifted toward me, their gazes shamelessly travelling over my appearance. My anger flared instantly. What the hell was wrong with men? I lowered my eyes and made a beeline for the lifts. After reaching the twenty-seventh level of the thirty-floor tower, I made sure to keep my attention away from the enormous glass windows lining the space. I hurried toward my workstation, tucked away at the far end of the office. The little enclosure was barely bigger than the storage closet in my apartment. Although I couldn't stand how cramped it was, I appreciated being positioned so far from the windows. Unlike practically every other employee, having a panoramic view was the last thing I wanted. I slipped my handbag onto one of the pair of hooks fixed to my cubicle wall, then silently counted to four. I had figured out exactly how many seconds it took Mr. Kenny, my supervisor, to rise from his chair, swing open the connecting door between his office and my workspace, and begin issuing his usual demands. “There you are, Ms. Bennet. Took you long enough.”I flicked my eyes toward the wall clock. I was actually five minutes ahead of schedule. There was little point correcting him, though. “I received your messages, sir. I was just about to—” “I've sent several more since then,” he interrupted impatiently. “I expect you to deal with every one I've flagged as urgent before the end of the day.” You f*****g greasy, slimy piece of s**t. A miserable, slave-driving bastard. “Of course, Mr. Kenny,” I replied aloud, opening the latest messages. A quick glance revealed that every single one carried the urgent label. My entire posture sank in defeat. Remembering that the first of the month had arrived, along with rent and a mountain of other expenses, I swallowed my frustration and got down to business. “If the workload proves too much for you, don't hesitate to tell me. That way, I can replace you with somebody capable of handling it,” he remarked before pivoting and retreating into his office. “I have no problem managing it,” I called after him. What I really wanted to remind him was that I'd been keeping everything under control ever since joining the company. “See that you do,” he shot back, never bothering to look my way. Naturally, he couldn't resist having the final say. Oddly enough, rather than getting under my skin, the whole exchange almost made me laugh. I suspected it was the only place where he could exercise any authority, because judging by his personality, I doubted anyone beyond these office walls would willingly tolerate his miserable ass for five minutes. Certain individuals have no business dealing with other people, let alone being placed in positions where they can control their lives. My privately assigned nickname for him, Grumpy Kenny, suited him perfectly. It was as though someone had ripped out every trace of compassion and humanity he possessed, assuming he'd ever had any to begin with. Throughout my entire employment under him, I couldn't recall hearing him utter one remotely pleasant remark. Not even a passing compliment about the weather, despite Miami having plenty of beautiful days. Something was seriously wrong with that man. He was an absolute f*****g anomaly. I couldn't help rolling my eyes at the thought of how miserable his existence must be for him to get such satisfaction from making my life difficult, as though I were some helpless little victim. His half-hearted warnings no longer intimidated me. I knew better than to take them seriously. He never stayed late to check whether I'd completed everything he demanded. When closing time arrived, he was usually out the door right on schedule, sometimes even earlier. I was the one who ended up putting in extra hours practically every night, trying to clear the mountain of unfinished tasks. This evening followed the same miserable pattern. Time slipped by, my lunch hour disappeared without me noticing, and I continued tackling one assignment after another as fresh demands kept landing on my desk. It hadn't taken me long to understand why I'd become his fourth secretary within seventeen months. “Burning the midnight oil, Ms. Bennet?” I kept my attention on the documents I was typing, my fingers flying across the keyboard without pause. “Just trying not to fall behind,” I answered flatly. “Remember to switch off the lights before you leave,” he instructed, completely ignoring my rather obvious complaint about the unreasonable amount of work he'd dumped on me. “Certainly, Mr. Kenny.” With that, he disappeared. I checked the clock and released a weary sigh. For a moment, frustration washed over me. This is simply how things have to be for now, I reminded myself, trying to summon enough encouragement to carry on. I ran the numbers in my head, working out how much my upcoming paycheck would leave me with after covering all my expenses. It would be just enough to settle everything, with practically nothing to spare. However, the following payday, when I wouldn't have to hand over most of my earnings for rent, might finally give me an opportunity to start the savings fund I'd been dreaming about. I could even deposit twenty-five dollars. It might have seemed insignificant to someone else, but to me, it was a monumental achievement. I'd never owned a savings account before. What would have been the point when I never had any spare money to put aside? Having one would mean I'd finally managed to climb another tiny step toward financial stability. I'd be leaving the stage of simply scraping by and entering the ranks of those who were technically employed but still struggling to make ends meet. The advancement was painfully slow, but at least I was finally getting somewhere. As the evening dragged on, I pushed myself away from the desk and leaned backward, trying to loosen the tension building in my sore shoulders and stiff back. Glancing toward the windows, I realized the brilliant daylight had faded into the fiery hues of dusk, which were gradually giving way to the murky, light-polluted violet of nighttime. One after another, the staff streamed out as their working hours came to an end, the sound of their departing footsteps growing louder before gradually disappearing near the elevator doors. Once everyone had cleared out, an almost eerie stillness settled over the entire building. It felt as though I were the only person left on the planet. Well, apart from the security officer who had made a single round through the floor earlier and hadn't shown up again since. Once the guard disappeared, I turned my attention back to the mountain of paperwork, trying to ignore the discomfort creeping over me as I sat alone in the deserted office. Being an unaccompanied woman in an empty building made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Still, bills didn't pay themselves, and having a place to live wasn't optional. I couldn't afford to walk away from this position. With nothing beyond a secondary school certificate to my name, finding employment with such decent wages had been a stroke of luck, particularly in a city overflowing with university graduates and people with influential connections. Granted, my earnings barely stretched far enough to handle housing costs and basic expenses, but a salary increase was coming my way. I wasn't going to allow a little anxiety to jeopardize that opportunity. Besides, fear had been my constant companion for years, and even so, my circumstances were far better than they had been nine years earlier, back when I'd fled home as a frightened teenager. Hang in there, Eva. You've got this. Things won't remain this way forever. I silently repeated those familiar words to myself. They had become my personal formula for getting through difficult times. A sudden, heavy bang reverberated across the office. I startled violently, my pulse racing against my chest like a frantic drumbeat. I remained still, listening for another sound. Eventually, I got to my feet and surveyed my surroundings. Row upon row of vacant workstations stretched before me. Beyond them, the windows were completely dark. Calm down, Eva. Your imagination is getting the better of you, I scolded myself. Pull yourself together, woman. The nervous flutter inside me finally settled. I let out a relieved laugh, then returned to my tasks. Just eight more emails, and I’d be free to leave this place. I reclined in my chair. Then came another knock, this time much more forceful. My eyes immediately dropped toward the floor, desperately wishing that one of my bulky binders had slipped off and landed on the concrete. Maybe it was the paperweight. Or the stapler. Better yet, perhaps gravity had finally claimed one of those pricey-looking ornaments hanging on the wall. But everything remained exactly where it belonged. The only thing visible beneath me was the faint, misty blue shade of the decorative concrete flooring. An unusual choice for an office, where bland commercial carpeting was usually the norm. Who gives a damn about the floor, Eva?! Focus on the noise. Find out what’s making that pounding sound! I scanned my surroundings. I wanted to dismiss it as my imagination playing tricks on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that—not now. Nothing made itself more noticeable than the stillness of an office building deserted after dark. Maybe something had dropped inside one of the locked rooms. I couldn’t see what was happening in there, could I? It was a possibility, I told myself, trying to believe it. But you’ve heard it twice, my mind argued. I pushed the thought aside at once. I decided to stick with the explanation that something had fallen somewhere outside my view. It felt less frightening. At least a little. I pressed a hand against my chest. “Maybe it was just a security officer. Surely he would—” Another bang echoed through the space, much stronger than the first, cutting off my attempt to make sense of things. I could practically feel the impact trembling beneath my feet. What the f**k? This was actually happening. There was no way I could convince myself otherwise. A wave of dreadful fear twisted inside my stomach. I snatched my keys out of my handbag, wedged them between my fingers as though they were weapons, and cautiously stepped out into the corridor. “Hello?” I shouted. “Is someone out there?” My words came out shaky. I was f*****g terrified! Terrifying possibilities flooded my thoughts: someone being strangled; another person getting stabbed before collapsing onto the ground; someone else knocking the lone security officer out cold and hauling him into a storage cupboard. That final possibility sent my imagination spiraling. The tiny, rat-sized office cubicles formed a confusing maze. What if whoever was responsible had lost their way and was wandering around, searching for another person to attack? Me. “Hello?” I shouted once more, uncertain whether calling out was a wise decision. I froze and listened carefully, barely daring to breathe. Then came another noise, this time from my right. I spun around, my thoughts speeding through every terrifying possibility. More offices. A storage room. The staircase. Oh, God! I bolted along the corridor, struggling to keep my balance in my platform heels, while terror made it difficult to draw a proper breath. I finally reached the staircase door and seized the handle, but a conversation coming from the office nearest to it made me stop dead. “We have no use for that sort of thing, Konstantin. You've crossed the line.” My blood ran cold. I recognized that voice instantly. It belonged to Maksim Orlov, the CEO of Orlov Tech. “No, what you're failing to understand is that we haven't pushed things far enough,” the second man snapped. “We’re the ones who built this company. Not you. We did!” “And you're going to bring the whole thing crashing down. We're this close to finally getting that damn dirt from beneath our fingernails. Why the hell would you want to ruin everything now?” Maksim shot back furiously. “You're completely fixated on maintaining a spotless image. Is your dream to have the Wall Street crowd sucking up to you like a cheap f*****g w***e? Would that finally make you feel respectable? Is that really what this whole thing is about?” “This is about becoming the people we were always meant to be and seeing our original vision through to the end.” “That's exactly where you've gone wrong. You've lost sight of how we began and what we had to do to get here,” the other man responded, his words strained with barely contained anger. “I could never erase those memories, but back then, we had no other option. Things are different now, and I swear to God, I won't stand by and watch you ruin everything we've worked for,” Maksim declared firmly. “Why the f**k are you so determined to walk away from the very thing that brought us this far? Those Wall Street assholes you're so desperate to win over aren't any better. They're playing the exact same game we are; they've simply got a different rulebook. There's no real difference between them and us, Maksim . Have you seriously forgotten that?”“Don't you understand? Following their principles would allow us to reach our goals without having to sacrifice anything, Konstantin. Just stop and think for once. Use your f*****g brain!” “I've already achieved everything I ever wanted. Now I'm prepared to push even further, and I won't let you—or anyone else—get in my way.” “You've clearly lost sight of what we set out to accomplish and the reason we came together in the first place. We never intended to live this way forever,” Maksim said, his voice carrying an almost desperate plea. “All we ever wanted was wealth, influence, and survival. We never intended to bow down to anybody or beg for anything in return. And we got exactly what we wanted. Just look around you. Everything here speaks for itself,” Konstantin argued. “Now it's time to go beyond what we've already achieved.” “Everything we need is already in place. We're ready to move forward with the next stage of our plan, and that's exactly what's going to happen,” Maksim declared, his tone firm and unwavering. “f**k you and your damn mission! I’m taking control now.” A moment later, the sickening sound of bone striking bone rang out. The office door burst open, and two men came tumbling through, locked in a fierce struggle. This time, a piece of artwork crashed onto the concrete floor. I let out a scream. Both men glanced up. I went completely still. The strikingly handsome man with the black hair I’d seen that morning! “You,” I managed to squeak, my voice almost accusing. Tiger Eyes. His green eyes narrowed—the same captivating eyes that had caught my attention earlier. But the flirtatious expression he’d worn ten hours ago was gone. Now, his gaze was fixed on me with the cold, focused intensity of a tiger tracking its prey. Everything around me appeared to move in slow motion.