Chapter 4 - Avgust
She didn’t run.
That was the first thing that surprised me.
Most people would’ve tried to slip past the guards before dawn, or maybe bribe one with promises or tears. But not her. She didn’t try to do anything of that sort.
When I checked the surveillance feed that morning, she wasn’t near any doors or windows.
She was standing in front of the wall of paintings in the west hall, still wearing one of the shirts I’d sent to her room.
It was plain white cotton, too big on her, with sleeves that she had rolled up to reach her elbows.
She walked barefoot on the cold marble, which was both surprising and amusing at the same time.
Coffee steamed in my hand as I watched her through the glass panel. She tilted her head at a canvas, as if studying it for clues.
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.
When I walked inside, she turned, but didn’t move away.
“You have too many of these,” she said, pointing at the wall.
“Too many what?”
“Paintings.” She frowned, as if the answer was rather obvious. “And none of them make sense together. That one’s abstract expressionism, this one’s impressionist, and that one looks like it belongs in a dentist’s office.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You critique art now?”
“I studied art.” She crossed her arms, the action forcing her breasts together, making her appear curvier in the oversized shirt. I tried to look away, but it was almost impossible. “Or tried to.”
Her voice was calm, lighter than it should’ve been after everything. Either she was a master at pretending or she really was in shock. I couldn’t decipher.
“Then you should know,” I said, “they’re not meant to make sense together.”
“Or maybe,” she countered, “you just bought expensive things without caring what they meant.”
That earned her the faintest tug at my mouth. “You think I care about meaning? What exactly gave you that impression?”
“No,” she said simply. “I think you care about control. And this—” she gestured to the wall “—is what control looks like when it gets bored.”
I stared at her for a long second. She didn’t look away.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, brushing over her face, lighting up her hair in faint hues of red and gold.
Her eyes were greener in daylight, sharp and curious, not broken like the night I had found her.
It had already been three days since then, and after the two initial days spent locked up in her room, she seemed perfectly fine now.
“How old are you?” I asked finally.
“Twenty-two.”
“You sound older.”
She shrugged. “You sound like you expect everyone to be scared of you.”
“They usually are.”
“Maybe they just don’t know better,” she shrugged. “How old are you?”
I paused, trying to remember the last time someone had asked me that question.
“Thirty-five.”
“You don’t look thirty-five. Much younger, I must say.”
There it was again, that familiar spark.
This girl that I had bought from an auction and forced to marry me was bantering with me like it was our everyday routine.
It wasn’t defiance just for the sake of it, but something much deeper.
She wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t submissive either.
That made her dangerous in my eyes. I had handled a lot of women, but Ilana Walters was different.
“Eat something,” I said, nodding towards the dining table. “You haven’t eaten since last night.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You are now.”
I turned and walked away, expecting her to follow. She did, muttering something under her breath that sounded like dictator.
The dining room was quiet except for the clinking of plates as one of the maids set the table, which was now brimming with pancakes, eggs, and fruit. I caught the quick glance she gave Ilana and the way her eyes darted away again. Everyone in this house knew better than to ask questions.
Ilana sat down carefully, still watching me. “Do you ever say please?”
“I just did,”
“That wasn’t a please.”
“It was implied.”
She rolled her eyes but picked up a fork.
I sat opposite her, watching as she ate. She didn’t seem afraid now, just cautious, like a cat in a new room.
After a while, she asked, “So, do you actually like any of those paintings?”
“No.”
“Then why have them?”
“They remind me that I can afford them.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s depressing.
“It’s reality.”
She looked down, tracing the edge of her fork against the plate. “Money isn’t the same as taste.”
I leaned back in the chair. “You have a habit of talking too much for someone who doesn’t know where she is.”
“You want to tell me?”
I studied the smug confidence on her face for a moment, deciding whether she was worth trusting already. “No.”
I reached for my coffee, sipping it slowly, keeping my eyes on her over the rim.
She looked away first, cheeks flushing slightly.
Her pale skin turned pink even at the slightest blush.
There it was, that pull again. It wasn’t an attraction exactly.
Not yet. But something magnetic, something irritatingly human.
I stood, nodding to the maid hovering near the doorway. “Take her plate when she’s done.”
Ilana looked up. “I’m not done.”
“You will be.”
The maid vanished quickly, not wanting to be in the middle of whatever this was. When I turned back, Ilana was staring at me again, her expression softer this time. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
“Talking wastes time.”
“Maybe you should try it. You might like it.”
“Doubtful.”
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “You really don’t like happy people, do you?”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Because?”
“They don’t last long in my world.”
Her smile faltered a little, but not completely. “Maybe they last longer than you think.”
The strange thing was, I wanted to believe her.
She stood up from her chair and walked towards the art wall again. Without turning to look at me, she shifted one of the paintings. She didn’t take it down, just moved it slightly to the left. A pointless act of rebellion. She turned to look at me, but I wasn’t annoyed. Instead, I smirked.
At least she was starting to leave fingerprints.
***
For two days, she stayed.
She explored the house as if tracing the outline of a cage, testing it for weaknesses.
She asked questions from the staff, wandered through the halls, sometimes humming under her breath.
She filled quiet spaces with sound, and I let her.
She had only been in my safe house for one week, and my mansion had changed.
She was curious. A little too much.
The kind of curiosity that gets people killed in my world.
But instead of locking her door, I found myself watching her through the security feed in my office. Watching her stand in front of the piano and run her fingers along the keys without pressing them. Watching her linger by the balcony, head tilted back, breathing like she was memorizing freedom.
The strangest thing was, I didn’t mind it.
On the third day, I told myself I was just being practical when I ordered new artwork to be delivered. The gallery owner sounded confused when I asked for something ‘bright’. I ended the call before he could question it. It wasn’t for me. It was for her.
I still had not decided what I was going to do with her.
I had married her on a whim, and now she was my wife, and no one in the family knew about it.
I could only imagine how Iosif would react when he found out I had bought a girl at an auction and married her.
Lukyan, Timofey, and Zhenya would be amused but hopefully supportive.
The more I delayed telling them, the harder everything seemed.
Zhenya had been calling me because I hadn’t been home for one week now. I had told her I was away for work
But I needed to do something about it. And I needed to do it fast.
I caught myself imagining how she’d light up when she saw the new paintings, how she’d start talking too fast, forgetting to be scared. I was beginning to think about her more than I wanted to admit, and it was irritating me.
By the sixth morning, she had stopped flinching when I entered a room. That was progress, I thought. But dangerous progress. She was sitting in the library, barefoot again, a mug of tea balanced between her palms. Sunlight cut across her face through the tall windows.
I leaned against the doorframe. “You drink too much tea.”
She looked up, smiling faintly. “You watch me too much.”
“You’re under my roof.”
“So that makes me your business?”
“It makes you my responsibility.”
Her gaze softened for a second before she looked back at the shelves. “You should put something happier in here. These books all look like they want to die.”
I almost smiled. “They’re classics.”
“Exactly.”
I crossed the room, stopping behind her chair. “You don’t like classics?”
“I like endings that make sense,” she said. “Not the ones that ruin you.”
She didn’t mean it as anything more, but the words stuck somewhere deep.
“Get dressed,” I said after a pause.
She blinked quietly. “For what?”
“We’re going out.”
Her head whipped towards me. “Out? As in outside?”
“That’s what the word means.”
Her smile was small, hopeful. “You’re… taking me on a date?”
“Don’t push it.”
She laughed, the sound warm and careless. “Then why are we going?”
“Because you’ve been staring at these walls for one week now,” I replied. “You’ll suffocate if you stay in here any longer.”
“And you care?”
“Not particularly. But you’ll drive my staff insane if you don’t stop talking to the paintings.”
Her laugh turned into a grin. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything you pick.”
I smirked. “That depends on what you choose instead.”
“Can I ask you something before we leave, Avgust?”
She had never taken my name before. It felt strange, but I sat down on the chair opposite her anyway.
“Yes.”
“What are you planning to do with me?”
The question hit home.
“What do you mean?” I kept my expression neutral.
“You bought me from an auction and married me to keep me safe. You have been keeping me inside this house for a week now, and you haven’t tried to touch me.
You are clearly not like any of the other men that were present in that ballroom on the night of the auction, but you haven’t tried to return me to my family either.
You haven’t introduced me to your family either.
So what is this supposed to be? A secret for a lifetime? I will be your prisoner forever?”
“How do you know I have family?”
“The staff talks,” she replied simply.
I will have to make sure they stop.
“Do you want to contact your family, Ilana?” I asked her, and she nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they must be worried sick for me.”
“I made it a point to check every police precinct in Miami, and nothing has been filed as a missing report for Ilana Walters. Or any Ilana, for that matter. Why do you want to return to a family that isn’t looking for you?”
I watched her expression grow confused, then fill with something akin to disbelief.
“Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
She remained silent.
“I don’t know what I am planning to do with you, Ilana, but I know that you are my wife now, and I intend to keep you safe.
And right now, letting you go out there will be anything but safe.
The men who kidnapped you might come for you again, or anyone from the auction who remembers your face.
I have already forced you into my world, but I need time to introduce you to it. ”
“So this is it? I will be your prisoner forever.” It was more of a statement than a question this time.
“No, Ilana. You will be my wife.”
I stood up and left the room, not knowing what else to say to her. I could let her hate me as much as she wanted to, but I could not let her go. Not right now. Not like this. She was mine to protect, even if she didn’t understand that she needed my protection.
***
An hour later, I was in my office finalizing a call when something in the air shifted.
Everything felt silent.
The house was never truly silent. There was always some movement, of footsteps, murmured voices, and the faint hum of security. But now, there was nothing.
I ended the call and quickly looked through the footage of the house. There were no cameras installed in her bedroom for privacy, and she was nowhere else in the house. I called the kitchen downstairs, and a maid answered.
“Where is she?”
No answer.
“Where is Ilana? Is she in her bedroom?”
“The last I saw her, she was, Mr. Chernykh. She asked me to bring her a glass of water, and she was picking out clothes from her wardrobe.”
I put the phone down and sped out of my study, straight towards her room upstairs.
The door to Ilana’s room was open, the bed untouched.
I walked inside and noticed the window, which was too narrow to fit through anyway, was still locked.
But the closet stood half open, the faint scent of perfume lingering in the air.
A few of the clothes I had sent for her were gone.
So she had run. At last, it almost felt as if I had been waiting for it to happen.
The anger came first. Hot, sharp, and instinctive. Then it cooled into calculation.
I wasn’t angry that she had disobeyed me. I was angry that she had done it stupidly. Because if she was out there, she wasn’t running away from me; she was walking straight into the kind of world that had already sold her once.
I pressed the intercom button on the wall and quickly called my right-hand man in the security room. “Mikhail.”
A voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes, sir.”
“Look at the perimeter. Check the feed. Ilana has run.”
“Run?” Mikhail looked confused. “I have been checking the cameras consistently for the past hour, sir, and I did not see her anywhere.”
“She must have learned the blind spots and taken advantage of that.”
“I am looking into it, sir.”
I walked out of her room, the mark of her scent on my skin, and made my way towards the security room. The screens flickered, rows of cameras capturing every inch of the property. I watched them cycle through, one by one, jaw clenched.
There.
Camera seven. The side gate, where deliveries came in. The lock appeared loosely closed. I exhaled slowly, forcing my pulse to settle. She was clever enough to find the one gate with the faulty latch I hadn’t fixed yet.
“Car,” I called out. “Now.”
Within minutes, Mikhail had alerted everyone, and the black SUV was idling at the front steps. I climbed in, slamming the door behind me.
“She’s on foot,” Mikhail said from the passenger seat, scanning a tablet. “I see movement on the north road along the access road. No vehicle spotted.”
“How long ago?”
“Ten minutes.”
That wasn’t long.
I nodded once. “Drive.”
I had to find her. And I had to find her before anyone else had the chance to get to her.