Chapter Thirty-Four
Stell a
My stomach growls as I stare at the precisely portioned meal Imelda has left.
Steamed fish, quinoa, and a careful arrangement of vegetables. No sauce, no seasoning beyond a hint of lemon. The same as yesterday.
I pick at the fish with my fork, remembering the comforting warmth of my mother’s borscht, the way food used to mean love and connection rather than calculated nutrition. The biomarker device on my wrist blinks, reminding me it’s tracking every bite, every movement.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to the empty room. “I’m not some prized mare being bred for racing.”
The sound of my own voice startles me. How long has it been since I’ve had a real conversation? Even Imelda’s broken English would be welcome now, but she appears and disappears like a ghost, leaving these sterile meals in her wake.
I push away from the table, my half-eaten dinner forgotten as I pace the room.
The walls seem to close in despite the luxury surrounding me.
The monitored laptop sits untouched — what’s the point when every keystroke is tracked?
The iPhone might as well be a paperweight for all the freedom it offers.
“What would you do, Boyana?” I whisper, imagining my sister’s presence.
“Do you really need to ask that? I’d get out of here.”
Right. Fat chance of that. I saw how quickly the security guys arrived when I found that hidden doorway. I’m lucky I got back to my room before they spotted me. Since then, I’ve stayed under the radar. But my self-proclaimed jailer hasn’t shown his face, and I’m bored to tears.
The biomarker device mocks me with another cheerful blink. I tap the screen, checking my daily stats — heart rate, steps, sleep quality. All meticulously tracked and reported to my captor.
“Screw this!” I startle myself with the sound of my voice.
I press the intercom button that connects to Imelda. “Could you please tell Mr. Tarasov I need to speak with him? It’s… personal.”
Twenty minutes later, Aleksei strides in, filling the doorway with his presence. “What is it?”
I gnaw on my lip, avoiding eye contact. “I need some… feminine supplies. And pregnancy-specific items.” I watch his expression shift from annoyance to discomfort. “Things I’d rather not have your staff purchase.”
He crosses his arms. “Make a list.”
“I need to try things on. Bras that fit properly are essential during pregnancy.” I press my advantage as he shifts his weight. “And there are… intimate items I need to inspect personally.”
God, I hope he doesn’t ask what these would be because I’m making this up.
His jaw tightens. “You’ll have two hours. This afternoon. With security.”
“The mall has cameras everywhere,” I point out. “And where would I go? I’m carrying your heir.”
He studies me for a long moment, likely weighing the risk against his obvious distaste for discussing women’s needs. “Three hours. One guard, at a distance. He’ll drive you.”
I nod, keeping my expression appropriately grateful while my heart races with possibility. Three hours might be enough time to purchase a burner phone without being noticed.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I appreciate your understanding.”
He grunts and turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Don’t make me regret this, zaychik .”
Little rabbit… it’s what he called me the night he came to me. The night that neither of us has ever mentioned again. The endearment sends an unwanted shiver down my spine, but I maintain my innocent expression until he’s gone. Only then do I allow myself a small smile.
Bazinga! I might have a lifeline to the outside world.
Two hours later, the guard’s black suit stands out among the casual shoppers at Queensmere Center. He maintains a careful distance as I browse through maternity sections, but his eyes never leave me. My skin crawls under his constant surveillance.
I clutch my shopping bags closer, the few legitimate purchases providing cover for my real mission. The weight of the credit card Aleksei gave me feels heavy in my pocket — another method of tracking my movements.
A group of teenage girls blocks the guard’s view for a moment as they crowd around a makeup display. My heart rate spikes at the brief opportunity, but he quickly shifts position to maintain visual contact.
“Just act natural,” I whisper to myself, moving toward the lingerie section. The racks of lacy items create a maze of partial privacy.
His phone rings, the sound carrying across the store. I peek through a display of nursing bras to watch him check the screen. His expression changes — something important enough to demand his attention.
He answers in rapid Russian, his tone becoming increasingly agitated. Whatever the call is about, it’s serious enough that his eyes leave me for the first time since we arrived.
The guard moves a few steps away, turning his back as he argues with whoever is on the line. His free hand gestures emphatically.
My pulse pounds in my ears. This might be my only chance.
I slip between the racks, keeping my movements casual. The mobile phone kiosk is just ahead, partially hidden behind a pillar. If I time this right…
The guard’s voice rises, his argument becoming more heated. He paces in a tight circle, completely focused on his call.
I approach the kiosk, maintaining my relaxed browsing posture while scanning the prepaid options. Just need to grab one quickly and…
“Can I help you?” A cheerful sales assistant steps forward.
“Just browsing.” I keep my voice steady while scanning the options. Basic burner phones line the bottom shelf — perfect. Nothing fancy or “smart.” Just a simple model that makes calls and can’t be tracked. Plus, a pay-as-you-go sim card.
My fingers tremble as I grab the cheapest model. The guard’s angry Russian voice still carries from outside, but who knows how long this distraction will last?
“Actually, I’ll take this one.” I fumble with Aleksei’s credit card, then stop. Using his card would leave a trail. “Cash.” I pull out the emergency money I’d tucked into my bra.
The clerk raises an eyebrow at the crumpled bills but starts processing the sale. Each beep of the register feels deafening. I glance over my shoulder — the guard is still engaged in his heated phone conversation, but he’s starting to pace closer.
“Would you like me to activate this for you?”
“No!” I catch myself, lower my voice. “No, thank you. I’ll do it later.”
I stuff the phone and receipt deep into my shopping bag, burying it under the maternity clothes. The plastic rustles too loudly, and sweat trickles down my back. I just hope Aleksei’s not looking at my cortisol levels right now, because I’m sure they’ve just gone through the roof.
The guard’s voice grows clearer — he’s moving this way. I step out of the electronics shop, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace despite every instinct screaming at me to run.
I clutch my shopping bags closer, trying to steady my breathing as I merge back into the mall crowd. The burner phone feels like it’s burning a hole through the maternity clothes I’ve buried it under. One wrong move and everything falls apart.
Footsteps approach rapidly from behind — the guard must have finished his call. I duck into the nearest store, pretending to examine a display of baby clothes.
“Miss Stella.” His voice is tight. “You were not to leave my sight.”
I turn, feigning innocence as I hold up a tiny onesie. “I’m sorry, I just got excited when I saw these. Aren’t they adorable?”
He scans me with suspicious eyes, likely noting my flushed cheeks and slightly elevated breathing. I force myself to maintain eye contact, channeling all my acting abilities into appearing genuinely distracted by baby clothes.
“Mr. Tarasov gave strict instructions,” he adds.
“Of course.” I nod contritely. “I wasn’t thinking. Pregnancy brain, you know?” I pat my belly for emphasis. “Everything’s just so overwhelming — all these choices for the baby.”
His stern expression softens slightly. I press my advantage, holding up the onesie. “What do you think? Too early to start shopping?”
“We should go back.” He checks his watch. “You’ve bought enough.”
“You’re right,” I agree quickly, before he can think too hard about where I’ve been. “I’m getting tired anyway.”
The guard maintains a careful three steps behind me as we head toward the parking lot, the Mercedes gleaming in the afternoon sun as we approach.
I slide into the backseat, arranging my bags carefully beside me.
The hidden phone feels like it’s broadcasting its presence, though I know that’s just paranoia.
Traffic crawls along the highway, each red light stretching my nerves thinner.
I lean against window, letting my eyes drop shut. Each mile closer to Blackwood Manor increases the risk of discovery. Will they search my bags? Pat me down?
“Stop panicking. Just act natural.” Boyana is the voice of reason.
Shit, I don’t even know who I’m planning to call. Obviously not Nick. And I don’t know if Hannah’s back from her last training trip. Maybe someone from work? Not that I have a job after ditching for the last couple of days without calling in. I was skating on thin ice as it was.
I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.
“What about the cops?” says Boyana.
I shake my head at the thought. And tell them what? That my baby’s father has kidnapped me and is forcing me to live in the lap of luxury with professionally prepared meals, a private trainer, and an American Express “Black Card”?
They’ll laugh in my face. And they’d be right. I don’t have what it takes to go through a police investigation right now. And do I even want to? As much as I hate being told what to do, I can’t deny that most of his crazy rules are in my best interests.
The gates appear ahead, and I curl my fingers into my palms to stop them from shaking. Just need to get through security. Just need to keep calm for a few more minutes.
The guard rolls down his window to exchange words with security in rapid Russian. I keep my expression neutral, though my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure they must hear it.
But nothing happens. The guard at the gate nods to me and waves us through.
The Benz glides up to the front stairs to the Left Wing, and my bodyguard opens the door for me.
When he reaches for my bags, I snatch them back from him, and he gives me an odd look.
But aside from that, there’s no sign that he suspects anything.
Still, I have to force myself to relax when I get back to my room and stow my illicit purchase beneath the mattress.
“Calm down, you idiot!” Boyana warns. “Captain Control Freak will see your blood pressure spike and come to see what’s going on.”
“Fine,” I huff, unrolling my yoga mat and sinking onto it. I sit cross-legged, going through a series of breathing exercises until I feel my heart rate settle.
Finally, darkness falls.
The grounds illuminate with subtle security lighting, but the guards switch to their night rotation — guys in black patrolling with dogs. It’s like living in a prison camp.
I pick at the dinner Imelda brings, pushing salmon around my plate while watching a reality show on Netflix about babies. Time drags by like a treacle. Gradually, the house sinks into silence as activity within it stops.
“It’s now or never,” whispers Boyana.
Pressing myself into the darkest corner of the dressing room, I pull the duvet around my shoulders for additional cover. The phone’s screen casts a faint blue glow that seems bright as a spotlight in the darkness. I cup my hand around it, creating a tiny cave of privacy.
Breathlessly, I dial Hannah’s number from memory. Each ring feels eternal, and I almost hang up before her familiar voice answers.
“Hello?”
“Han!” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes at the sound of her voice. “Oh God, it’s so good to hear you.”
“Stella? Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick! Your phone’s been going straight to voicemail, and when I got back from training camp this morning I—”
“Shh, listen.” I cup my hand tighter around the phone, checking the darkness around me. “I don’t have much time. I’m okay, but… things are complicated. I told Aleksei about the baby and now he’s making me stay at his place.”
“What?” Hannah’s voice rises sharply. “What do you mean stay at his place? Has he kidnapped you or something? Stella, you—”
“No, I…” I trail off, because I’m still not quite sure what my circumstances actually are. I’m not strictly a prisoner, but I have no doubt that I can’t just leave.
“Stell, is everything okay? This guy has a rap sheet a mile long. You know this, right?” Hannah’s voice is heavy with concern.
“I’m fine, Han,” I say eventually. “It’s just a bit odd, that’s all.”
“A bit odd?” There’s a pause. “Are you sure you’re okay? Blink twice if you can’t talk freely.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh. There’s no way she could see me blink on this ridiculous phone. “I’m fine, Han. He’s… protective. Very protective. But I need you to know where I am in case—”
A creak in the hallway makes me freeze.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “Don’t try to contact this number. I’ll call when I can.”
I end the call before Hannah can protest, quickly powering down the phone and shoving it back under the mattress. My heart races as footsteps pass my door, then fade away.
But the relief of hearing Hannah’s voice lingers, a tiny spark of connection to my old life.
I’m not completely alone anymore.