I stir my tea around, avoiding her eyes for a moment. When a long beat passes over us, I force myself to set the spoon down on the saucer and look up again. “Do you happen to know what Mr. Sorokin does for work?”
She resumes moving, grabbing the teapot, and pours the steaming liquid into Yulia’s glass. “Yes. He works in the technology industry.”
“Right. That’s what I heard too. But I was wondering what exactly he does? What’s his title? Like… is he the CEO of something? Does he run a company?”
This time, when she does stop moving, she doesn’t look at me. Her hands rest lightly on the teapot as she settles it down onto the tray in front of her, fingers curling just slightly around the side of it.
When she finally answers, her voice is calm, almost kind. “It is not for you to worry about, Miss Bennett.”
That’s it, no elaboration. Just a gentle dismissal, padded with the polite manners all the Sorokin staff seem to have inherited.
She picks up the tray and turns to leave, sparing me only a brief glance. “Best not to waste your days on such matters.”
Then she’s gone. I sit there, blinking at the spot where she’d stood, my fingers curling around the teacup.
What the hell doesthatmean?
It’s such a vague answer that it might as well be code fordon’t ask again or else.
Yulia is taken for an early morning piano lesson soon after breakfast, which leaves me with nothing better to do other than twiddle my thumbs until she’s done. Back in my room, I pace like a caged animal, around and around the thick, plush carpet until I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin.
Would it be weird of me to call Miss Dori and explain the situation to her? I’m terrified I won’t be believed and on top of that, by asking to be pulled from this family, I’ll be forfeiting my pay for not finishing out this contract.
God, fuck my life.
I grab my phone and call Alia instead. I need to talk to someone who isn’t involved in this situation. Someone capable of talking me off the ledge before I do something stupid and completely ruin this contract and throw away the thousands of dollars promised to me at the end.
Alia picks up after two rings, her voice bright with that half-drunken buzz she always gets when she’s just getting back from a night out. “Ivy! Oh my God, what time is it there?”
“Right around breakfast,” I say, glancing at the clock next to my bed. “Why, what time is it for you?”
“Nearly two a.m.!” she says, followed by the distant sound of keys jingling and a door closing. “You’re lucky I’m just getting back from the bar or else I’d be passed out in my bed right now, missing your call.”
A small snort escapes me before I can stop it. “Appreciate your answering. Speaking of which… you got a minute?”
“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”
I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the floor for a long second, debating just how much to tell her. But then it all just starts spilling out of me. Three weeks of pent-up tension. The weird heaviness of this house. The fact that I don’t know what Sergei Sorokin actuallydoesfor a living, or why no one will tell me.
I tell her about Yulia’s comment about Maksim and his men. About the guns she’s seen them carry. How it feels like I’m the only one actually taking care of this little girl outside of basic necessities despite the mansion being full of people.
I don’t embellish anything because honestly, I don’t need to. The raw, unfiltered truth is bizarre enough. When I finally run out of breath, there’s a long pause on her end of the line.
“That… Ivy, this doesn’t sound normal at all,” she finally says.
“Iknow,” I breathe out, raking a hand through my hair. “I keep trying to rationalize it, but every time I get close to thinking I understand what’s happening here, something else throws me off. It’s like… this whole house has one giant secret that I’m notsupposed to know. No one talks about anything. I feel like I’m surrounded by robots. It’s so weird.”
“Can you try Googling him?” she suggests. “There’s got to be something out there. Rich guys love publicity. I mean, if he’s as well-connected as your program director said, there’s got to be something out there about him. Articles, interviews, company bios.”
I blink. “Oh. I haven’t even thought about trying that.”
“Well, lucky you,” she says. I can hear her dropping onto her couch with a groan. “You’re talking to a digital-age bitch now. Let’s go full creep mode.”
Together,we spend the next three hours digging through every corner of the internet we can find. She Facetimes me once she gets her laptop up and running, still in her bar outfit with smudged eyeliner under her eyes and her hair falling in messy curls around her face.
I try combinations.Sergei Sorokin + Russia + technology,Sorokin tech company Moscow,Sorokin CEO,Russian entrepreneur Sergei Sorokin.
But there’s literally nothing.
