Chapter 15 Bella
BELLA
The windows are tinted so dark they might as well be painted black.
I can barely make out shapes outside, streetlights smearing into soft, pale streaks as we move.
Every time I try to turn my head to look, a hand presses lightly but firmly between my shoulder blades, guiding me forward like I’m luggage.
Lily is in my lap, still hiccupping from crying. Her cheeks are sticky. Her small fingers clutch my shirt so hard it hurts.
“It’s okay,” I whisper into her hair, even though I don’t believe it. “It’s okay. Mama’s here.”
The older woman sits in the front passenger seat like she belongs there, posture straight, hands folded. The man who broke the door is in the driver’s seat. Another man is beside me in the back, not touching me now, but close enough that I can feel his heat.
Nobody speaks.
The silence is deliberate. It makes my thoughts louder.
I try my phone. No signal.
I look at Lily, then at the woman’s profile. Gray hair pulled back. Calm face. No wasted movement. She doesn’t look like someone who panics. She looks like someone who decides.
My throat tightens. “Where are you taking us?”
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.
A hand presses into my shoulder and pushes.
I stumble forward, across the threshold, into warm air that smells like polished wood and expensive flowers. My skin prickles. The interior is just as massive as the outside. High ceilings. A staircase that curves up like a stage set. A chandelier overhead, too bright, too perfect.
I clutch Lily, heart hammering.
“Stop pushing me,” I hiss, anger rising because fear has nowhere else to go.
The older woman turns fully now. She looks at Lily’s sleeping face for half a second, something unreadable passing through her eyes, then back to me.
“You keep asking why,” she says. “You will get your answer. Just not all at once.”
I swallow hard. “Who are you?”
She holds my gaze. Her voice is calm, almost polite. “My name is Irina.”
I wait for the last name. It doesn’t come.
The way she says it makes it sound like that should be enough, like the rest is a privilege you earn. Her eyes hold mine, cold and steady, then she turns as if the conversation is finished.
“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “No, you don’t get to just—why are we here? What do you want?”
Irina doesn’t even look back. She lifts her hand slightly and one of the men moves in closer behind me. “Take her,” she says, calm as if she’s ordering a cup of tea. “Room is ready.”
My stomach drops.
“Wait,” I plead, hugging Lily tighter. “She’s asleep. Please, don’t—”
“Now,” the man says, low and impatient.
I twist away, panic rising like bile. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand clamps around my upper arm. Strong enough to hurt, not enough to bruise. Measured. Controlled. Like they’ve done this before.
I fight anyway.
“Stop!” I snap, and Lily stirs, whimpering. “You’re scaring her!”
Irina pauses just long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Then don’t scream,” she says, and keeps walking.
They steer me down a long hallway, past closed doors and quiet corners, past framed paintings that look older than the country I grew up in. The house is too silent. No televisions. No music. No voices. Just the soft sound of our footsteps on polished floors.
At the end of the hallway, there’s a door already open.
A bedroom. Large, too clean, too staged. The bed is made perfectly. Thick curtains cover the windows. There’s a small sitting area with a couch and a coffee table, like this is meant to look comforting.
It doesn’t.
I step in and immediately turn, ready to bolt back out.
The man blocks the doorway.
“Please,” I say, my throat tight. “Let me call my friend. Let me tell her Lily is safe. She’ll call the police—”
Irina appears in the doorway, standing just outside the room, not coming in. Like she doesn’t need to.
“She won’t,” Irina says.
My hands go cold. “How do you know that?”
Irina’s mouth curves faintly. “Because she will be told what to do. And she will listen. People tend to listen when they are afraid.”
I clutch Lily tighter until she makes a small sound in her sleep.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
Irina studies me. “Because you are a loose end.”
Then she nods once to the man. “Lock it.”
The door closes.
The lock clicks.
I lunge for it anyway, jiggling the handle, pulling, pushing. It doesn’t budge.
I step back, chest heaving, Lily still asleep in my arms like the world hasn’t just turned into a nightmare.
The room is quiet except for my breathing.
I search for a phone. None. I search for an intercom. Nothing. I check the windows. The curtains are heavy, but when I pull them aside, my stomach drops again.
No balcony. No fire escape. Just a wide pane of glass looking out over dark lawns and trees and a fence line far away. And the glass…it doesn’t look like normal glass.
It looks thick.
My knees go weak.
I sit on the edge of the bed because if I don’t, I’ll fall. Lily shifts and curls into me, thumb finding her mouth. I press my lips to her forehead and fight the urge to cry.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time feels wrong in here.
I hear the lock turn.
My muscles tense. I get up, ready to fight or plead, I don’t even know which.
But it isn’t Irina.
A woman walks in, somewhere between my age and Aleksander’s. She’s got olive skin, black hair twisted into a quick bun, and eyes that track every detail the moment she steps inside. She closes the door quietly behind her. There’s a cautious, almost tired kindness to her face.
She looks at Lily, then at me. “She’s sleeping?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
She steps further in and offers a small, careful smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m supposed to check if you need anything—food, a change of clothes, whatever for the little one.”
I stay where I am, arms folded tight. “I don’t need anything.”
She shrugs, dropping the bag on the table. “Suit yourself. I’m Selene, by the way. Not your jailer, if that’s what you’re wondering. Think of me as your—very temporary—neighbor in hell.”
“Are you locked in too?” I ask, dry.
She laughs—a real one, throaty and rich. “Not yet. But who knows, it’s early. Irina’s rules change hourly.”
At the mention of Irina, my face must go stiff, because Selene’s expression softens—just a little. “Yeah, she’s terrifying,” she says. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know her last name. If she even has one. I just know she likes to be in charge and everyone here lets her.”
She plops down on the edge of the chair, legs crossed, studying me with a sharp, assessing glance. “You look like you could use a friend, or at least a translator. These people”—she makes a vague circle in the air—“have all the warmth of a Siberian prison.”
I fold my arms, still wary. “Why are you here?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was at the wrong party at the wrong time?” Selene smirks, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her eyes. “Long story. Basically, I don’t take orders well. Which makes me the least favorite person on this estate, except maybe you right now.”
I can’t help it—my lips twitch, just a little.
Selene nods at Lily. “She okay?”
“She’s exhausted,” I say, softer.