No answer.
The city noise fades. The streets smooth out. There are fewer bumps. Less honking. Less life. We are leaving the chaos behind and heading somewhere quieter, and that somehow feels more terrifying.
I don’t know how long we drive. Time turns strange when you are trapped. My body stays braced for impact, for a turn, for a stop, for something.
But they do not stop.
Lily’s breathing finally slows. She falls asleep against me, limp and warm. I keep one arm around her and one hand ready, like I can shield her from anything if I’m fast enough.
The car takes a long turn, then another, then slows. I press my forehead to the glass, trying to see through the tint.
A gate. Tall. Black iron. Security cameras. A keypad.
The gate opens without anyone getting out.
My stomach drops.
We pass through and the drive stretches on, longer than it should. Trees line the road, thick and manicured. The kind of landscaping that costs more than my annual rent. There are lights set low into the ground, perfect and subtle, guiding us forward like we’re entering a private world.
Then the estate appears.
Stone walls. Wide steps. A front entrance framed by columns. Windows like dark eyes. A circular drive that could fit a dozen cars and still look empty.
My mouth goes dry.
I see a crest mounted near the front doors, carved into stone and repeated in metal on the gate we just passed. A symbol. A shield. Something sharp and old-fashioned.
For one strange second, it feels familiar.
Not from my life. From my nightmares. From the kind of places Aleksander belonged in when I tried to imagine him as a real person instead of a man who walked into my world and ruined it.
Before I can place it, the car stops.
A door opens. Cold air rushes in.
Hands reach for me.
“Wait,” I gasp, tightening my hold on Lily. “She’s asleep. Don’t wake her, please.”
They don’t care.
The man beside me grips my arm and pulls me out, fast and rough. My shoes hit gravel. I stumble, clutching Lily tighter so she doesn’t slip.
The woman is already out, walking toward the entrance like this is her home. Lights come on as we approach, triggered by motion. The whole place responds to her presence.
I try again. “Why are we here?”
She doesn’t slow. “Because this is the safest place for you.”
“I didn’t agree to this,” I snap, voice shaking. “You broke into an apartment. You scared my child. You dragged us out like criminals.”
She finally glances back, not annoyed, just mildly curious, as if she’s deciding whether I’m worth answering.
“You can call it what you want,” she says. “It changes nothing.”
The front doors open before we reach them. Someone is waiting inside.
I take one step back instinctively.
