Chapter 13 – Iris
I can’t keep this up.
The more I tried to stay away from Ilya, the more I found myself always thinking about him. I thought that I could live in the same house with him and still pretend he didn’t exist. But clearly, I couldn’t.
Whenever he was away, a part of me would be relieved because I wouldn’t have to deal with his presence. However, at the same time, the other part of me would miss being around him.
If he stayed out late for reasons I told myself I wouldn’t ask about, I’d stay up all night waiting for his return. Only when I confirmed he was home safe and sound could I manage to get some sleep.
What started out as a hidden admiration was now turning into a full-blown obsession. I wanted to be with him all the time: to smell his cologne, to touch his skin at every opportunity that presented itself.
No.
At this point, it was becoming embarrassing because it felt as though I no longer had control over my actions when he was around.
The other night in the kitchen, after he scared the guard away, I wasn’t supposed to have softened so easily. But I did; I let anger dissipate into thin air, replaced by something I’d refused to label.
Why had I noticed his foul mood? I had no business noticing it. Why had I reached out to hold his hand while examining the wound on his knuckles? What prompted me to ask how he was injured?
I should’ve just minded my business or walked away instead of letting myself feel the strong pull between us. The way he’d softened at my touch that evening still lingered in my mind.
He’d looked back into my eyes after I held his gaze, brushing my thumb against his cut. Although all we did was stare at each other, the silence between us somehow felt peaceful.
One thing was certain now: I’d started attaching myself to the man who kidnapped me. I hated admitting it, even in my own head, so I gave it a name instead.
Stockholm syndrome.
Easier to call it a condition than sit with what it actually felt like.
One night, while in bed, I thought deeply about how my life was such a mess. This wasn’t what I’d planned for myself—this wasn’t the future I’d envisioned.
Ilya said he was keeping me here to protect me, but I realized this was a conversation we needed to have that we hadn’t had. If the goal was to make sure I wasn’t killed by his people, what was the plan for me?
What would happen to me?
Was I supposed to remain, trapped in this estate for the rest of my life?
I had no access to my family and friends, who, by the way, must be worried sick about me. I had no access to the internet or the outside world. This man made sure that I had no one else but him.
He not only kidnapped me; he also kept me isolated and hidden.
What if my life had never been in danger? What if he only decided to keep me here because he was a maniac who enjoyed my company? If he was protecting me from the Bratva, then who was going to protect me from him?
The more I thought about it, the more doubts crept into my head, fueling my desire to escape. I wasn’t going to find the answers to questions within these walls.
He said I wouldn’t survive a day outside his estate, and now that was starting to sound like a lie, one crafted to instill fear in me. What if he only said that to keep me glued to him?
What exactly would happen if I tried to escape?
When I first arrived, I thought it was impossible to sneak out of a vast estate like this.
But now that I was already familiar with all the nooks and crannies of the building, I realized it was very much possible.
So, that night, I made up my mind to finally leave this mansion before I lost myself completely in a world I knew nothing about.
I spent the next few days watching the guards and learning their rotation. There were cameras everywhere, and whenever I wandered the halls, I took mental notes of their positions and angles.
In no time, I knew where the blind spots were in the mansion. Outside was a different ball game altogether. Six cameras covered the front gate and the main drive, but the side entrance near the kitchen had only one, mounted high on the wall and angled down toward the door itself.
It missed the stretch of hedges just past it entirely. I’d noticed that the first week, watching the red light blink from my window, tracing the angle until I found where it stopped seeing anything.
Five guards patrolled the front. Three more covered the tree line along the east wall, moving in slow loops that kept them out of sight of the house for almost ten minutes at a time.
Nobody watched the garden gate directly. It wasn’t an exit anyone used, old and half-rusted, more decorative than functional.
Shift change happened near the main gate every evening, a few minutes where the men converged there at once, radios crackling, headcounts passing between them.
That left the side of the property quiet, no one covering the kitchen door. No one near the hedges.
Three exits in total, as far as I could tell. The front gate, heavily guarded, with cameras everywhere. A service entrance near the garages, always manned. And the garden gate, forgotten, barely used, sitting just outside the one blind spot in the perimeter.
That was where I’d go.
On the night of my escape, rain gave me the rest of the cover.
It came down hard that night, hard enough that the guards pulled their jackets tight and hurried toward the gatehouse instead of walking their usual loop.
Dressed in a black outfit with my hoodie on, I grabbed a box from the kitchen storage, punched holes in the side, and got the Whiskers settled inside.
I slipped out the side door near the kitchen, not the main drive, but the old garden gate. I’d already mapped out my exit plan, which halls to take, where to turn, and when to turn.
I counted the seconds as I moved through the mansion like a ghost, my heart hammering in my chest. Whiskers was silent the whole time, as if he knew this mission required absolute stealth.
By the time I reached the hedges, I was already drenched in the rain. I ran like hell toward the garden gate, the box pressed to my chest.
Lightning streaked the sky, accompanied by rolls of thunder. I kept running as fast as I could until I reached the gate.
It was locked.
But I didn’t panic.
I picked up a hard rock and hammered the rusted padlock a few times, and it gave way. It opened with a low creak, revealing the path that led away from the estate.
Without hesitation, I made a run for it.
There was no time to celebrate my freedom; I still had a long way to go.
I was barely ten minutes away from the estate boundaries when a car’s headlights cut across the trees behind me.
My heart skipped a beat, and my breath hitched in my throat. I quickened my pace as though I could outrun a car.
Instead of running on a straight path, I veered off the road and into the woods. I heard the vehicle’s tires screech to a halt behind me.
“Iris!” Ilya barked, his voice louder than I’d ever heard.
I ran like my life depended on it, my breath ragged.
The ground had turned to mud. My shoes slipped with every step. Rain came down hard enough that I could barely see past my own hands. Thunder rolled somewhere close. I kept running anyway.
Leaves whipped against my face as I sprinted through the woods, jumping over fallen branches. Every now and then, I’d steal nervous glances over my shoulder, the box still pressed to my chest.
“Iris, stop!” he shouted behind me.
I refused. I continued running.
His footsteps grew louder behind me, faster than mine, gaining ground with every second.
My foot caught on something taut across the path. A wire. My leg jerked out from under me, drawing an abrupt breath from my lungs.
A branch swung out of nowhere, its sharp spikes lashing along its length, cutting through the air. In a split second, my whole life flashed before me as I caught a glimpse of it swinging toward me.
Everything else happened so fast after Ilya slammed into me from the side.
The spikes whooshed past us as we hit the ground, tumbling down a gentle slope. We rolled together through mud and wet leaves, our momentum carrying us down until the ground finally leveled out.
I landed flat on my back with a jolt, and a deep grunt escaped my lips. In a heartbeat, he flipped me over, and then I was on top of him, palms braced against his chest.
At the base of the slope, he lay beneath me, his arms wrapped tightly around me. Confused, I stared down at him as rain poured over both of us.
Then I looked up, chest heaving, and saw it.
The branch, its spikes buried deep in the trunk of a tree above us. Right where I would have been standing.
If he hadn’t reached me in time, I would have been pinned to that tree.
That’s when it made sense to me why he’d been yelling at me to stop. He’d saved me.
I jumped off him the second I remembered Whiskers. The box had flown out of my hands during the fall, and now I was worried that I had lost my little companion.
“Whiskers!” I called out, scanning the woods.
He meowed in response, drawing my attention to where he was standing on his feet, unharmed. He’d landed safely.
“You’re all right. Thank God.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“What is wrong with you?” His voice came from behind me.
I closed my eyes for a second before turning around to face him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he snapped at me for the first time.
“I wanted to get away from you,” I said, my voice breaking.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, Iris!”
I flinched at his harsh tone, tears stinging my eyes. “Don’t you yell at me; this is all your fault!” I shot back with the same intensity. “If you hadn’t kidnapped me and kept me locked away from my friends and family, none of this would’ve happened!”
“I was trying to protect you!” he barked.
Lightning flashed overhead. It lit his face for a second before the dark swallowed it again.
“You’re the one who got yourself into this mess in the first place. I’m just trying to clean it up while making sure you keep your life!”
“So this is my fault now?” I growled.
“That’s not what I said.” His tone was calmer.
“You think I wanted this?” I stepped forward, my tears mixing with the rain. “You think I didn’t have my whole life figured out before you showed up at my doorstep at 8:30 at night and ruined everything?” The words spilled out in a frantic rush, my voice cracking.
Silence.
Lightning streaked the sky above.
“Living with you in that house is torture, Ilya!” I wept, gesturing with my hands as I spoke. “I sit around doing nothing productive all day, every day for weeks now, while the rest of the world thinks I’m dead!”
“Iris…” He reached out to take my hand.
I pulled back. “Don’t touch me!” My lips trembled as my heart shattered into pieces. “I’m tired, Ilya. And you know what? Maybe I’m better off dead. I’d rather die at the hands of your Bratva brothers than live with you and risk forgetting who I am.”
Something flashed across his face. It wasn’t anger. It was pain. Hurt. And I almost felt sorry for being so harsh.
Overwhelmed with all the emotions coursing through me at once, I dropped to my knees on the wet ground.
My breath came uneven. Rain trickled down my face, mixing with my tears as I cried, as I let my pain finally find expression.
He crouched in front of me, completely drenched, dark strands flat against his forehead.
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Only the rain, the occasional thunder, and the sound of my own ragged breathing filled the space between us.
Then he reached forward and lifted my chin. Firm. Careful, despite everything that had just happened. He made me look at him.
“There’s a way to fix this once and for all,” he said softly.
I hesitated, a hint of curiosity swelling in me. “How?”
A beat.
Ilya looked me straight in the eye and said two little words that left me stunned.
“Marry me.”
My heart dropped so violently I could barely breathe.