“Then come with me.” I lean against the counter, trying to look more confident than I feel. “We’ll take one of the cars. I just want to surprise him at his office. Thirty minutes, that’s all.”
Elena’s expression softens with understanding. She knows how isolated I’ve been, how much I’ve been struggling. “He’s trying to protect you.”
“I know. But I’m going crazy in here, Elena. I need to see him. Need to talk to him somewhere that isn’t this house where every conversation is interrupted by phone calls and emergencies.” I place my hand over my stomach. “Please. Help me do this.”
She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “The guards change shifts at two o’clock. There’s a five-minute window when the south gate is less monitored. If we’re going to do this, that’s when.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If Mr. Artyomov finds out I helped you, he’ll have my head.”
We spend the next hour planning. Elena will drive, using one of the less conspicuous vehicles in the garage. We’ll take the back roads to avoid the main security checkpoints.
At exactly two o’clock, we slip out through the south gate.
My heart pounds as we pass through, half expecting alarms to sound or guards to chase us down.
But the gate closes behind us without incident, and suddenly we’re free.
The city feels overwhelming after weeks of isolation.
So many people, so much noise and movement.
I press my hand to the window, drinking in the sight of normal life happening all around us.
People walking dogs, couples holding hands, children playing in a park.
The world has continued spinning while I’ve been locked away.
Mikhail’s office is in a sleek high-rise downtown, the kind of building that screams legitimate business success.
His construction company occupies the entire fifteenth floor, a front that’s actually quite profitable.
He’s been working hard to build something clean, something our child can be proud of.
If only he’d let me be part of that process instead of keeping me locked away like a secret.
Elena parks in the underground garage, and she waits in the car while I take the elevator up to his floor.
My stomach flutters with nerves that have nothing to do with the baby.
But I’m tired of his rules.
Tired of being managed and protected and kept at arm’s length.
The elevator doors open onto a reception area decorated in modern minimalist style.
The receptionist looks up with a professional smile that falters slightly when she sees me.
She knows who I am.
Everyone in Mikhail’s organization knows who I am.
“Mrs. Artyomov. We weren’t expecting you.”
“I’m surprising my husband.” I keep my voice light, confident. “Is he in his office?”
“Yes, but he’s on an important call. Perhaps if you wait?—”
