Chapter Thirty-Five
Stella
I wake as the sun trickles past the heavy drapes, my hand instinctively reaching for the secret phone tucked between the mattress and headboard. The screen glows with a message from Hannah:
“Call when safe.”
A rhythmic thumping from overhead makes me pause. The house staff are generally really discreet; I’ve hardly heard them. The sound continues for a few minutes before fading away.
I barely have time to return the phone to its hiding spot when Imelda’s sharp knock announces breakfast. She enters with her usual efficiency, setting down a tray with measured portions — egg white omelet, half a grapefruit, and decaf green tea.
“Good morning, Miss Stella.” Her tone carries the same detached politeness as always.
“Thank you, Imelda.” I force a smile, but she’s already turning to leave.
My attention shifts to the pile of delivery boxes stacked neatly by the door.
They weren’t there last night — more of Aleksei’s attempts to dress me according to his standards, no doubt.
The breakfast portions mock me with their inadequacy as I eye the packages.
At least they’ll provide a distraction from this morning’s hunger.
I push aside the breakfast tray, leaving the guava juice untouched; I hate the stuff. Imelda will report my eating habits to Aleksei, but right now, I don’t care. The mystery of what’s in those boxes calls to me more strongly than an unsatisfying meal.
I pull the first box onto the bed, surprised by its weight.
Inside, neatly folded workout clothes in soft, stretchy fabrics — Lululemon tags still attached.
The maternity leggings and sports bras come in various jewel tones, each piece designed to accommodate a growing belly while maintaining support.
My fingers trace over a sapphire blue tank top. The fabric feels buttery against my skin, nothing like the cheap cotton blend clothes I brought with me. Each item fits perfectly, which surprises me.
“Maybe he scoped out your sizes while he was feeling you up, huh?”
“Thanks, Boyana. Great visuals,” I mutter.
The second box holds more practical items — compression socks for swelling, belly bands for support. Everything a pregnant woman could need for staying active.
But it’s the third box that makes my breath catch.
Scientific journals and textbooks on neuroscience fill it to the brim.
Not just any random selection — these are cutting-edge publications I’ve been wanting to read for months.
The top journal features an article about new treatments for spinal injuries.
How did he know? We’ve barely spoken about my interests, yet here’s evidence he’s been paying attention. Or having me investigated. The thought should disturb me more than it does.
A larger package catches my eye, wedged behind the others. The label shows it’s meant for the Right Wing. Someone must have misdelivered it.
My heart rate picks up. This could be my chance to explore, to maybe find answers about that hidden door and the medical supplies.
Slipping into some running gear, I grab the misdelivered package and head toward the Right Wing.
The connecting pathway feels endless as I jog across to the towering structure.
But before I can gather up the nerve to head inside, I hear footsteps as someone strides across the courtyard.
A woman in a blue uniform is heading toward the Left Wing.
Shit!
I leave the package at the entrance, not daring to venture further, then turn on my heel and set off down the path at a steady stride.
“You’re such a coward,” Boyana mocks me.
“Zip it,” I say under my breath. The compression leggings hug my body perfectly as I start my laps around the pool. Each stride helps organize my thoughts.
That uniform looked medical. Is someone sick? The medical room upstairs must connect to wherever that nurse was heading. But who needs that level of care? And why keep it so secret?
The questions spin through my mind as I run, each lap bringing new theories but no answers.
I slow my pace as I approach the Left Wing entrance, dabbing sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. The nurse from earlier stands by the door, her blue uniform crisp despite the morning heat.
“Excuse me,” she calls out. “I saw you with a package earlier?”
“Oh, yes. It was misdelivered to my room.” I gesture toward the Right Wing. “I left it by the entrance over there since it had that wing’s label.”
Her face tightens. “Was it the order from MedTech Solutions?”
“I didn’t check the sender.” MedTech? My mind starts connecting dots. “Was it important?”
“A new sliding mat and sling,” she says, her brow creasing. “I’d better check to see if security picked it up. There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t track it down.”
“Oh heck, I hope it’s not lost. I’m sorry if I caused trouble.” I pinch my lips together.
“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” she says, waving distractedly as she turns away. I watch as she disappears in the direction of the guard house, mulling this over.
A sliding sheet and sling… I remember Dad talking about that sort of stuff when we used to talk about his time at work. You’d use that for someone needing to get out of a wheelchair.
But who around here is in a wheelchair?
“Think, Stella,” I whisper to myself. The medical supplies in the fridge, the hidden door, the woman in the nurse’s uniform, and now wheelchair equipment deliveries.
The pieces start falling into place. Someone in this house needs intensive physical therapy and mobility assistance. Someone Aleksei wants to keep hidden.
Mulling this over silently, I return to my room, stripping off as I move to the shower.
The hot water beats against my shoulders as I try to make sense of it all.
“What do you think, Boyana? Why would Aleksei hide someone who needs that level of care?” I murmur, the shower drowning out the sound of my voice.
“Maybe he’s not as cold as he pretends to be,” my imaginary sister suggests. “Maybe he actually cares about someone.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff as I step out of the shower and dry off using a ridiculously plush towel.
“Although, Diana seems to know what’s going on.
” I pull on fresh clothes from the delivered packages, the soft fabric clinging comfortably.
“She acted like she owned the place when she caught me snooping.”
The thought of another confrontation with Aleksei’s sister makes me shudder. But sitting here alone is starting to drive me crazy. There are only so many laps I can swim, so many approved pregnancy books I can read.
My fingers itch to explore, to solve this puzzle. Dad always said I had a scientist’s mind — never satisfied until I understood how things worked.
I pace the length of my suite, restless energy building. The mysteries of this house taunt me.
What’s behind that hidden door?
Boredom and curiosity are a dangerous combination.
The more I pace, the more my mind fixates on whoever needs that medical equipment.
Someone in this house requires serious care — mobility assistance, physical therapy, probably regular medication.
Are they getting everything they need? Is anyone checking their progress or providing emotional support?
“You know Dad would want you to help,” I whisper to myself, remembering his dedication to his patients.
“It’s not your business,” Boyana warns. “Aleksei clearly wants this person kept private.”
But I can’t shake the feeling that I could make a difference. At minimum, I could provide some human connection beyond just clinical care.
“They must be so lonely,” I murmur, thinking of the isolation in this massive house. Even with nurses and staff, being hidden away like this… it has to be crushing.
I press my hand against my stomach, maternal instincts surging. What if it was my child who needed care? Wouldn’t I want someone to reach out, to offer help and understanding?
“Okay,” I say firmly, squaring my shoulders. “Time to do some exploring.”
“You’re going to get caught,” Boyana protests.
“Hey! You’re the one who called me a coward when I left the package at the entrance,” I mutter under my breath, moving toward my door with renewed purpose. “Sometimes doing the right thing means taking risks.”
I retrace my steps to where I spotted Aleksei disappearing through that hidden panel. I hold my breath as I examine the wall, looking for any sign of the mechanism. The wood paneling appears seamless at first glance.
“Come on, there has to be a way…” I run my fingers along the edges, pressing experimentally.
A slight give under my left hand makes me pause. I press harder and feel a soft click. The panel swings inward silently, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward.
Holy shit!
Cool air drifts down from above, carrying a faint antiseptic smell that reminds me of hospitals. The stairs are carpeted in deep burgundy, muffling any footsteps. Modern LED strips illuminate each step, casting a soft glow that feels almost welcoming.
I grip the polished handrail, its smooth wood warm under my palm. The craftsmanship is impeccable — no creaking treads or loose carpeting to give away someone’s approach.
“You’re going to be in so much shit!” Boyana warns.
“Shut up,” I whisper back, taking my first step upward.
A sound from behind me has the air seizing in my lungs. I spin to face the source, then take a step back as I take in the towering shape looming over me. I look up and up into a face that’s carved from granite, eyes as cold as steel.
“Don’t,” says Aleksei, a muscle flickering over the hard line of his jaw.
Shit, shit, shit!
I take another step back but stop short as I bump up against the wall.
“You are so totally busted,” says Boyana.