“I didn’t see you during yesterday’s morning briefing,” she continues before I can answer. “Or today’s either.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force a casual smile. “I didn’t see you either. Must have been the crowd.”
She seems to accept this, but her expression shifts to concern. “Are you feeling alright? You look pale.”
The opening I’ve been waiting for. “Actually, no.” I let my voice waver slightly. “I’m really not feeling well. I think I need to get home.”
“Oh, honey.” Her entire demeanor changes, maternal instincts kicking in. “Have you seen the house doctor?”
“The doctors here…” I trail off meaningfully, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks.
She nods knowingly. “Rich folks’ doctors don’t understand regular people’s problems. I understand completely.” She glances around, then leans closer. “Where do you live?”
“About thirty minutes from here. It’s not far, but I need a ride there.”
“The supply truck just finished its delivery,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper. “If you’re quiet about it, you might be able to slip out when they leave.”
My pulse jumps. “Really?”
“Come on.” She gestures for me to follow. “I’ll show you where they park. But you didn’t hear this from me.”
I can’t believe my luck. After five days of maximum security, I’m being led to freedom by a sympathetic housekeeper who thinks she’s helping a sick colleague.
She guides me through a maze of service corridors I’ve never seen before, past kitchens and storage rooms that smell like industrial cleaner and fresh bread. Finally, we reach a loading dock where a large delivery truck idles near an open bay door.
“Hide back there,” she whispers, pointing to the truck’s cargo area. “They’ll be leaving soon, and once you’re past the gates, you can slip out.”
“Thank you so much.” I grab her hand, squeezing it. “You’re saving my life.”
“Just feel better, honey.”
I climb into the back of the truck, wedging myself behind boxes of cleaning supplies and canned goods. The space is cramped and dark, but I don’t have the luxury of comfort.
The truck lurches into motion, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I actually did it. After everything—the restraints, the guards, the cameras—I’m free.
For twenty-three minutes, I allow myself to believe it.
The truck slows, then stops. I hear the driver’s door open and close, footsteps on gravel. Then the back doors swing wide.
But instead of sunlight and an empty road, I see the same woman who helped me escape. Only now she’s holding a knife,and her kind expression has been replaced by something cold and predatory.
“Hello, Kasimira,” she says, her voice completely different. Deadly. “Time to get out.”
I look toward the driver’s seat and see the driver slumped forward, blood trickling from his temple onto the steering wheel.
“You’re not?—”
“A housekeeper?” She laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass. “God, no. I’m Anya Petrov, and you, little girl, just made my family very rich.”
Three men emerge from a black van parked twenty feet away. My stomach drops into my shoes as they approach, faces hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the overcast sky.
“Surprised?” Anya tilts her head, studying my expression like it amuses her. “You thought you were so clever, manipulating the poor, naive servant. Playing on my kindness.”
They grab my arms and drag me toward their van. I don’t even struggle—the shock of my own stupidity has paralyzed every defense I might have had.
“Don’t feel bad,” Anya says as they shove me into the back seat. “Everyone underestimates the help. It’s what makes us so effective.”
They’ve brought me to a warehouse that reeks of rust, motor oil, and dust.
