“Mr. Volkov should go fuck himself.”
“Understood. But you’re still not leaving.”
I try to push past him. He doesn’t budge.
Marie appears behind me. “Come back inside, dear. Your eggs are getting cold.”
I want to scream.
The second attempt is that afternoon. Antoine comes by to prep dinner, and when he leaves, I follow him to the elevator.
Pedro is already there, waiting. “Nice try,” he says.
The third attempt is that evening. I wait until everyone’s gone except the overnight security. Sneak out of the bedroom at 2:00 AM and head for the front door.
It’s locked. Some kind of electronic system that requires a code I don’t have.
I’m standing there, jiggling the handle like an idiot, when Ledger’s voice comes from behind me. “Going somewhere?”
I spin around. He’s in the doorway to his office, arms crossed, looking more tired than angry.
“I can’t stay here,” I say. “You can’t keep me locked up like a prisoner.”
“I can and I will. Until you understand the danger you’re in.”
“I understand plenty. You killed a man, and now his family wants revenge. But locking me up isn’t the answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.” He moves closer. “Dmitri Kozlov is patient. He’s been waiting five years for the perfect moment to strike. And now that you’re pregnant with my child, that moment has arrived.”
“So what? I’m just supposed to stay here forever?”
“Until the threat is eliminated, yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s reality.” He cups my face, and despite everything, I don’t pull away. “I know you’re angry. I know this feels like a prison. But I would rather have you alive and furious with me than dead because I gave you freedom you couldn’t protect.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate you for doing this.”
“I know that too.” He kisses my forehead. “But you’re still staying.”
By the third day, I’ve stopped trying to escape. Not because I’ve accepted this. But because every attempt ends the same way: Pedro blocking me, Marie gently guiding me back, Ledger looking at me with that infuriating mixture of patience and determination.
I spend most of my time on the balcony. It’s the only place that doesn’t feel like a cage. The only place where I can breathe.
I’m out there on the third evening, watching the sun set, crying for the hundredth time, when I hear the balcony door slide open.
“Mind if I join you?”
I turn and see Alexi. He’s in jeans and a hoodie, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain.
“Your father sent you to talk sense into me?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Alexi sits in the chair next to mine. “I just thought you could use some company.”
