Chapter 3 Olivia
OLIVIA
I don’t know how long I sit there. Long enough that the sun sets and gloom takes over the living room. Eventually, feeling gross in ways I can’t quite explain, I go searching for the room Natalia mentioned.
I find a small, nice bedroom at the end of the hall. Soft gray walls, white furniture, a four-poster bed with gauzy curtains. The closet door stands open, revealing rows of clothes. I walk over and check the tags. All my size.
An inexplicable shudder runs through me.
I turn away and go shower in the bathroom.
I ought to be thinking through things, but my brain is comfortably numb, like she shot me up with Novocain for the soul.
It’s nice, in a strange sort of way, not to think.
To just stand under the warm spray like a mindless house plant and exist. For as long as that blissful numbness lasts, I can pretend my life isn’t a complete and utter dumpster fire.
But, like all good things, showers eventually come to an end. I kill the spray, dry off, and step out.
I feel her before I see her when I return to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my middle and another around my hair.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” Natalia hovers in the doorway. “I tried to think of everything you might need.”
I turn to face her. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Not as long as you might think. When I learned about you and Stefan, I had to move quickly.” She steps into the room, running her hand along the dresser like she’s petting it. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. Life shorted me on that front.”
The wistfulness in her voice is odd. For a second, she’s not Stefan’s supposedly dead mother or my kidnapper. She’s just a woman with regrets. Same as she was the first time we met in my office.
But my instincts scream at me to be careful. She’s too convincing, too smooth. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anyone ever again. Certainly not anyone with “Safonov” in their last name.
“I should let you rest,” she says when she sees my face. “You must be exhausted.”
My stomach chooses that moment to revolt. The nausea hits hard and fast. I press my hand to my mouth, trying to swallow it down.
“Are you alright?” Natalia moves closer.
“Fine. Just... stress.” I breathe through my nose, willing the feeling to pass. “Being kidnapped will do that to a girl.”
“Rescued,” she corrects gently. “But I understand the confusion.”
The nausea intensifies. I sit on the edge of the bed, focusing all my willpower on not throwing up.
“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”
“I’m fine. Really. I just need a minute.”
She watches me for a moment longer, then nods. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Dinner is at seven if you’re feeling up to it.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click. I wait until her footsteps fade, then spring into action.
My purse is gone, which means my phone is gone. I check the nightstand drawers, under the bed, in the closet. Nothing. The bathroom has toiletries but no way to communicate with the outside world.
I move to the window. It’s locked, of course. I examine the mechanism—not complicated, but I’d need something to pry it open. I’m testing the frame when the door opens again.
“Why don’t you take a break from planning your escape and sit down a moment, my dear?” Natalia stands there with a tray—saltine crackers, lemonade, and pickles. “You can continue after a couple of crackers. They really helped me when I was pregnant.”
The window clicks back into place. “You know?”
“Of course I know. I’ve been pregnant before. You learn to notice the signs, even the early ones.” She sets the tray on the nightstand. “I’ll try not to take it personally; of course you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. But I plan to earn your trust with time.”
“Really? Are those magic saltines then? Because you can’t exactly earn someone’s trust when you take away their phone and lock them up.”
“Touché... but believe it or not, this is for your own safety. Your phone has a bug on it that my son planted so that he could always keep tabs on you. My team is in the process of removing it. Then you’ll get your phone back.
” She pushes the tray closer. “And as for the saltines: No, they’re not magic, but they will help the nausea.
I was obsessed with them both times I was pregnant. ”
I stop in my tracks, unsure if I heard correctly. “Did you say both times you were pregnant?”
Natalia nods sadly. “I got pregnant again, a little over a year after Stefan.”
“So he has a sibling?”
She just shakes her head.
Horror grows in the pit of my belly. “What happened?”
“Stefan’s father happened.” She sits in the chair by the window, her posture perfect even in grief. “Because of him, I lost my baby.”
I don’t want to ask, but the words come anyway. “How?”
“The usual way with Matvey. Violence.” She looks out the window. “I was five months along. Starting to show. He didn’t like that I was happy about it.”
My hand goes to my own stomach instinctively.
“He pushed me down the stairs.” Her voice is flat, emotionless. “Said it was an accident. Everyone believed him, of course. Why wouldn’t they? Pregnant women fall all the time.”
“Jesus.”
“The doctors couldn’t save her. Yes, it was a girl. I’d already picked out a name—Katya.”
I sit on the bed, a saltine cracker in my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it very often anymore.
” But her eyes say otherwise when she turns them on me.
“I tell you this not for sympathy, but so you understand. I know what it’s like to carry a child in a dangerous situation.
To wonder if you can protect them. To fear what their father might do. ”
“Stefan isn’t like that.”
“If you say so, darling. If you say so.” She stands. “Eat something. Rest. We’ll talk more later.”
She heads for the door.
“Wait!” I set down the cracker. “If you’re not keeping me prisoner, if this is really about my safety, then let me call someone. My assistant, Camille. Just to let her know I’m okay.”
Natalia pauses at the door. “Soon. Once we’ve secured all the communication channels. Stefan has eyes and ears everywhere. One wrong word and he’ll find you before we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“For him to hear the truth.” She opens the door. “The crackers really will help with the nausea. And the pickles... well, those are just because pregnant women love pickles.”
She leaves, and this time, I hear the lock engage. “Guest,” my ass. I’m as much a prisoner here as I was at Stefan’s estate. The difference is, here I’m a prisoner of someone I don’t know.
But she’s right about one thing: The crackers do help. I nibble on them slowly and sip the lemonade between bites. The pickle sits untouched—I’m not there yet in this pregnancy.
I think about what Natalia said. Did Stefan really plant bugs on my phone? Did his father push her down the stairs? How many lives has this family’s madness claimed? How many more is it still hungry for?
If it’s true, it explains so much about Stefan. Growing up in that house, with that violence, watching his mother’s pain… No wonder he learned to control everything. I wouldn’t be able to trust anyone, either.
But if it’s not true, if this is all manipulation, then I’m sitting here eating crackers with a psychopath who faked her own death and has God knows what planned for her son.
There’s no in-between to be found in this war. There’s black and white, but I don’t know which is which and there’s no way of getting close enough to either one to find out. Not without losing my head, my heart, my baby, or all of the above.
Which means one thing: The only way is to refuse to play the game entirely. I want away from all of them, all of this, all of here.
I finish the crackers and lie back on the bed. The nausea has faded, replaced by exhaustion. This pregnancy, this situation, Stefan—it’s all too much.
I close my eyes and try to imagine what Stefan is doing right now. Is he looking for me? Is he worried? Or is he just angry that his investment got away?
No. That’s Natalia talking, getting in my head. I know Stefan, don’t I? I’ve seen him vulnerable, seen him care. The way he looked at me when he found out about the baby was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. That wasn’t fake. You can’t fake that.
… Can you?
I curl onto my side, hand on my stomach. “What do you think, little one? Is your daddy a monster or a man?”
Again, no answer. It’s just a cluster of cells right now, barely there at all. But already, it’s changed everything.
I must drift off, because when I open my eyes, it’s fully dark outside.
I sit up, disoriented. The tray is gone, the crumbs swept away. And someone has pulled a blanket over me, tucking me in on all sides.
Like a mother loving the daughter she never got to have.