15. Rose
Rose
As soon as the bedroom door closes, I notice extra locks have been installed—a keycode, by the looks of it, along with a slide lock that I can hear scraping on the wood.
He must have had his men install them the moment he realized that I had broken out.
I guess that the bars of my cage are tightening with every passing second, and the chances of me getting out of here are even slimmer than they were before.
I slump down on the bed, staring off into space as I try to wrap my head around it.
My apartment, taken right out from underneath me.
I can hardly believe it. It feels like it must be happening to someone else, because I know for damn sure that I couldn't have gotten myself involved in something like this. Pregnant, by a man practically twice my age. The uncle of my ex-boyfriend, or so he claims. And living under his roof, whether I like it or not, trapped here under the weight of everything that’s happened, the walls closing in on me with every passing moment.
Ilya made the drive back to the mansion in silence, having nothing to say to me about the way it all went down.
I wish I had the nerve to speak up, but his cold, calculated nature has made itself even more apparent to me, and I don't want to risk pissing him off further.
I have gotten away with one escape attempt, but any more, I doubt that he will be as forgiving.
I run my hand over the covers, remembering the way he fucked me here just a few hours ago.
God, I would have done anything to go back to that moment, to the way he felt inside me—no, more than that, the way I felt, the knowledge that giving myself over to him sexually felt so fucking good.
Submitting to him feels like the most natural thing in the world when he has me like that, hands bound, pinned to the bed, sliding himself deep inside me while he reminds me just who is calling the shots.
Now, if I could just extend that enjoyment to submitting to him the rest of the time, we might actually get somewhere.
I sigh. I just don't have it in me. I'm too independent to feel that way.
Or, for that matter, to feel that this is the kind of life I want for my child, either.
I mean, what the hell am I meant to do? I can't get out, but I can't stay here, and by the sounds of what Sergei was saying to Ilya the other day in his office, there are plenty of people around here who don’t like that I’m still in his home, people who doubt whether this baby is even his.
Everything is swirling around me, leaving me standing in the eye of the storm.
A strange quiet settles over me and this room.
My eyes begin to droop as I lay back on the bed, and I tuck my knees up to my chest and pull the pillow down so I can get some sleep. But as I move it, I hear a strange crumpling sound, and I lift my head to see a letter sitting on the immaculate white sheets below me.
"What the fuck?" I mutter as I grab the paper. It’s folded, but there’s no name on it to indicate who it’s for. But there is no way that it could belong to anyone else, right? I mean, I am the only one who uses this room.
My hands shake as I open it, not sure what I’m going to find waiting for me on the other side. The scrawl is unfamiliar, but the words are clear.
You have this baby, and you die.
My vision swims for a moment, heart thudding with such insistent panic inside my chest that I almost don't know what to do. I feel like I’m going to throw up, or scream, or both, and I have no idea how to handle this.
I turn the note over a few times, trying to figure out if there’s more to this message, but if there is, I can't find it.
My breath catches at the back of my throat.
Who the hell left this for me? And how the hell did they get into my room to leave it here?
My head snaps up, as though the culprit might be right there, but there’s nothing. The room is quiet, almost eerily so, the heavy weight of silence pressing down on top of me. I bite my lip so hard, I can almost taste blood, and I crush the note to a pulp in my hand.
I need to tell Ilya about this. I might not want anything to do with him right now, given everything that’s happened today, but I know only one man can keep me safe in this place, and it's the one who believes he is the father of my child.
I bang on the door, trying to catch the attention of whatever guard is on the other side. "Hey! Hey, I need to talk to Ilya!"
Silence greets me. I guess the guards have been told not to entertain my attempts with any kind of response, but this isn't just me trying to get the hell out of here.
Someone has made a threat against my life, and I will do anything in my power to protect myself—and my baby—from whatever they have planned for us.
"I'm serious!" I yell. "I need to get out of here! If you don't take me to Ilya in the next five minutes, I'm going to—"
The door flies open, and a guard is standing there on the other side, looking pissed.
"Keep your voice down," he snaps. "Ilya said you should be resting."
"And you need to tell him that I have to see him. Now," I demand, brandishing the note in his face. "Someone left a note for me. I need to tell him about it."
It seems I’ve managed to get through to him. His eyes narrow on the paper, calculating whether or not he should believe me.
"I'm not going to try and run," I tell him. "I'm not going to escape. I just need to speak to Ilya. You can walk me there, walk me back, whatever it takes. I need to get out of here. Please, think of the baby."
I implore him as best I can, hoping that I can engender some sympathy if I tug on his heartstrings a little. He eyes me for another moment and then jerks his head along the corridor, perhaps finally accepting that there’s no way he’s going to get any peace unless he gives me what I want.
"I'll tell him you're coming," he mutters, pulling a phone from his pocket and firing off a text.
I breathe a sigh of relief and fall into place behind him, keeping my head down and trying not to catch anyone's attention. It might just be my imagination, but there’s a note of tension in the air.
Caused by my attempted escape, or something else?
I wish I could ask, but I doubt that there will be any answers forthcoming anytime soon.
The contents of the note swirl in my head.
What does it mean that someone close enough to sneak into my room left such a vile threat?
What do they expect me to do, book an appointment at an abortion clinic and forget that I ever wanted this child in the first place?
The thought is enough to make me feel sick.
I might not have expected to have a child so soon, or intended to fall pregnant by a member of this family, but the facts are the facts and there is no point denying them.
I have grown fiercely protective of this little life that’s growing inside me.
There’s no chance in hell that I’m going to throw my hands up and let someone else make the call on this child’s life.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I gather myself as we reach Ilya’s office. The guard pushes open the door, and there he is, waiting for me on the other side, his jaw tight.
"What do you want?" he demands.
I hold up the letter again as the guard pulls the door shut behind me. "To talk to you. About this."
I plant the note down on his desk and push it towards him.
He unfolds it, eyes skimming over the comments inside.
I see his gaze darken slightly, the only sign that he’s acknowledging anything is wrong at all.
With how reserved he is, I know that's a sure sign that he’s ready to flip his shit, and I draw back slightly into the chair, fearful that I might have lit a fuse. I don’t want to see it blow.
“Who the fuck left this for you?” he asks me, voice low, tone barely controlled.
I shake my head. "I have no idea," I reply. "I found it under my pillow when I was back in my room. Do you recognize the handwriting?"
He doesn't reply, inspecting the note, holding it up for a moment so he can get a better look. I shift in my seat, not sure whether I should be scared or relieved that he’s taking this so seriously.
What if he thinks I faked this, pulled this out of my ass to earn a little more freedom?
I'd hope by now that he knows I would never do something like that, but it's not the kind of thing I can just brush off. He must see the possibility of it, and I loathe the thought of having shattered his trust so completely that he’ll leave me to deal with something like this alone.
"I'll deal with it," he tells me, pulling open a drawer and stuffing the note inside.
I stare at him for a moment. "That's it?" I blurt out. "You're not going to...?"
"I told you, I'll deal with it," he replies firmly, and his eyes flash with warning, telling me that I need to keep my mouth shut.
I press my lips together, trying to contain myself. He stares back at me, clasping his fingers on the table before me.
"I'm calling a meeting," he tells me. "Tomorrow, at five. Come to my office."
"Why do I need to be a part of it?" I ask, confused. "I mean, it's not like you want me to have any power here."
"Tomorrow, at five," he repeats firmly. He rises to his feet, nodding to the door. "Now, get some rest. You've had a busy day."
I stare at him for another second in complete confusion, but he says no more.
Whatever he’s decided, it’s clear that he’s not letting me change his mind about it.
Maybe I would be better off just going along with him for a change instead of digging my heels in and making more trouble.
He doesn't seem to think I’m in any immediate danger, so perhaps I need to accept that he's right.