Chapter 2

1458 Words
Maria Ivankova, my mother, rested on the hospital bed's clean white linens, her once brilliant auburn hair now a distant memory, replaced by short greying strands. The uncommon form of illness that battled inside her showed no mercy, demanding not just her health but also a huge sum of money for the costly treatments. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes, which were full of knowledge and love even in her pain. "Natasha, my dear," she said softly, "please don't worry so much about me." "Mom," I gasped out, choking back tears, "I can't help myself." You mean everything to me, and I'll go to any length to save you." I'd never felt so desperate before. The weight of our situation descended on me like a heavy fog as I looked around the chilly, sterile room. Every day, the stack of medical bills on my bedside table grew bigger, their numbers staring at me like cruel reminders of how quickly time was running out. "Mom, you'll survive," I muttered, clutching her words as if they were a lifeline. She smiled back. My heart ached when I realized that, despite her lively attitude, her condition was deteriorating. Her delicate health was suffering as a result of the treatments, and the financial load was becoming too much. I was thinking of every potential remedy as I sat with her. I didn't know where I was going to get the big money to save her life. Maria begged me, "Promise me you won't give up," her eyes pinning me with an intensity that belied her frail state. I mumbled, "Of course," with my voice rumbling with emotion. "I promise, Mom," As I considered how far I would go for her, the atmosphere in the room seemed to grow heavier. I was being pushed to the brink by love and despair and was being forced to consider the unspeakable. I had just returned from another fruitless attempt to get financial support for my mother's treatment when I was overcome by the smell of the hospital room. She was lying hopelessly in the hospital bed, her pale, frail form holding my attention. Her once-bright green eyes had grown dull with suffering; they were merely a reflection of mine. The corners of my eyes were burning with hot tears, but I held them back. I had to go. Where are you going? Lydia questioned while leaning against the wall close to the entrance and without bothering to look up from her phone. Her casual attitude irritated me; it was in contrast to the internal agony I was experiencing. When the fate of our mother was at stake, how could she remain so unconcerned? I answered in a voice that was almost above a whisper, "None." I've been rejected by every bank and charity I've contacted. I have a bad credit score, and my mother's illness is unusual, so they claim. Being unconcerned, Lydia shrugged. Perhaps you ought to try a different person, I suppose. Like whom? Angry and snapping, I expressed my outrage. How familiar are you with Roman IV Petrov? She asked, eventually looking up from her phone, "The billionaire CEO of Petrov Industries?" "They claim he's powerful and well-loaded. I took a moment to examine her advice. It was true that I had practically exhausted every financial option, except for the influential. I felt as though I was being forced to evaluate all possibilities by the claws of desperation. My mother's life might be saved if someone like Roman Petrov steps forward. I sighed heavily and said, "Fine, I'll look into it." Don't, however, believe that this relieves you of your duty to assist Mom. Unbothered, Lydia retorted, "Whatever," before returning to her phone. As I learned about Roman Petrov's economic empire and the rumours about his cold, calculating nature, my heart pounded in my chest. I had to make an effort despite the stories that portrayed him as an aggressive tycoon. I made a silent vow to myself that day as I left the hospital room: I would do whatever it took to save my mother's life. And if contacting someone like Roman Petrov was the only option to accomplish this, so be it. My heart was hammering like a jackhammer as I stood in Petrov Industries' modern foyer with its glass walls. I made fists out of my trembling hands and tried to gather myself, reminding myself that I was there for my mother. My elderly mother, whose life was hanging on a thread in that hospital bed. I mumbled, hardly audible, "Thank you." My thoughts were racing with what I would say and how I might convince this multi-billionaire to assist us as I followed her through the halls. She indicated an imposing wood door with beautiful carvings and remarked, "Right through here." I inhaled deeply and entered. Roman Petrov evaluated me as if I were a commercial deal as he sat behind a massive desk. He added, his voice cold, "Ms Ivankova, I believe you have a proposition for me. I started by saying, "Mr Petrov, thank you for meeting with me," while trying to control my emotions. "My mother is sick, and we have used all available financial resources to pay for her care. Her condition is deteriorating daily, and her medical expenditures are mounting. I need your help, Mr Roman, Please lend me a hand. He steepled his fingers together and leaned back in his chair, thinking, "Interesting." Why should I assist you, you ask? I said, tears threatening to reveal my weakness, "Because you can save a life and I work in this reputable industry." Dear Mr Petrov, please. I'm prepared to go to any lengths. The question "Go any length?" He repeated, his lips twitching in an evil grin. "Very good. Ivankova, I'll assist you, but there's a condition. He immediately said, "Name it," with steadfast conviction. He said, in a calculating, chilly voice, "You must spend one night with me in my mansion. With horror and disgust flowing through me, I paused. Had I been brought down to this? For someone like Roman Petrov, is it a negotiating tactic? With his eyes fixed on my body, he counselled, "Think carefully before you respond, Ms. Ivankova." It can rely on your choice whether your mother lives or dies. I forced myself to look into his cold eyes despite my shaking hands. I immediately understood what I needed to accomplish. There was only one decision between maintaining my dignity and ensuring my mother's existence. I blurted out "Fine," suppressing my arrogance. I'll complete it. As I left Roman's office, the stark realization of what I had just consented to weighed heavy on me. I struggled to maintain my composure as my hands began to tremble under the pressure of my choice. Even if my mother's life came first, the thought of spending the night with a man like Roman Petrov was nonetheless unsettling. *** I was waiting outside the gates of his opulent estate when the day came. I couldn't help but be in awe of the majesty of it all as the iron bars swung open in front of me. Even more beautiful than I had imagined, the expansive estate was lit! The mansion's architecture in and of itself was a masterpiece, with traditional beauty and contemporary refinement in perfect harmony. Hello, Ms. Ivankova. At the door, Roman greeted me; his voice was calm and controlled, displaying no sign of emotion. Despite the fact that I couldn't read his expression, I could feel the force emanating from him. As he brought me inside, I said, "Thank you," trying to control my feelings. I said something behind the sound of my heart thumping in my chest, "Your home is beautiful," barely audible over it. It was challenging to connect the lavish surroundings I was in with the sad circumstance that had brought me here. Roman responded, "Thank you," keeping his gaze fixed on me as he walked me farther inside the estate. "I spent years putting this collection together. These works of art are more than just works of art; they stand for history, my past, the Mafia, my passion, and the unyielding power of human creation. I couldn't help but wonder how a man who valued such beauty could be so brutal and heartless as we strolled through the vast hallways. Who would take advantage of someone else's plight for their gain? But as I turned to glance around, But as I took in the opulent setting, I realised what I had to do. I had no other alternative because my mother's life was in danger. "Mr Petrov," I murmured, preparing myself for what was to come. "I'm ready," I turned calmly facing him.
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