9. Maggie
MAGGIE
I wake before the alarm with the uncomfortable feeling that I never really fell asleep in the first place.
The room is still dark beneath the heavy curtains, the stillness of the mansion wrapping around everything, but my mind is already moving.
The shelter. The break-in. The attempted kidnapping.
Irina. The growing list of things that seem to follow me no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else.
And sitting right in the middle of all of it is the possibility I've spent days trying not to think about.
The nausea arrives before I even make it out of bed.
I press a hand against my stomach and close my eyes. Maybe it’s just stress. Lord knows I've got enough of that to spare. Anyone would feel sick after the last few weeks, and trying to pretend life hasn't completely changed. The problem is that I no longer fully believe that explanation.
By the time I reach the bathroom, my stomach is rolling hard enough that I have to hold the edge of the sink while I brush my teeth. The mint toothpaste only makes it worse. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the pale face, and the dark circles beneath my eyes.
“Well, honey,” I mutter to my reflection, “you look like ten miles of bad road.”
The woman in the mirror doesn't disagree.
I finish getting dressed and reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up with several unread messages from Alexei.
Did you sleep?
Eat breakfast.
Let me know when you leave.
I smile anyway.
I type back before I can overthink it.
I'm awake.
A few seconds later, I add:
And yes, I'll eat breakfast.
His reply appears so quickly, I roll my eyes.
Good.
I stare at the single word and shake my head. The man runs a billion-dollar company, commands an army of security personnel, and still finds time to monitor my breakfast habits.
Downstairs, the mansion is already awake.
The morning sunlight paints golden rectangles across the marble floors while Agatha directs breakfast preparations.
Winston is sprawled out beneath the kitchen island, and Daisy occupies a sun puddle near the back doors.
Neither dog bothers lifting their head when I enter.
Rude.
Agatha glances up from the counter and smiles. “Mornin’, dear.”
“Mornin’.”
Her smile fades almost instantly as she examines my face. “You need rest.”
I laugh softly. “Sleep and I haven't exactly been on speakin’ terms lately.”
She gives me the same look Mama has perfected over the years. The one that says she knows I'm leaving out half the story. Thankfully, she doesn't push.
Ivy is already seated at the island with a bowl of cereal in front of her. She sneaks Winston tiny pieces of banana when she thinks Agatha isn't looking.
“I saw that,” Agatha says without turning around.
Ivy gasps. “You have eyes in the back of your head.”
“I most certainly do.”
I can't help laughing as I slide onto the stool beside her.
“Are you going to the shelter today?” Ivy asks.
“I am.” I reach over and smooth a strand of hair away from her face. “But I promise I'll be back just as soon as I can.”
She nods solemnly. “Okay. I'm talking to a doctor today.”
I quickly look her over for signs she's feeling sick. “Are you feelin’ alright, sugar?”
“I'm fine.” Ivy takes another bite of cereal. “Papa said she's a feelings doctor. He said she's really nice and just wants to talk to me for a little while.”
Then it clicks.
A therapist.
Honestly, it's a good idea. After everything Ivy has survived, no six-year-old should have to carry all of that alone. Those are burdens too heavy for anyone, especially a child.
I silently thank Alexei for recognizing that.
I manage a few bites of toast before my stomach starts protesting again. Not enough to send me running for the nearest bathroom, but enough that every bite feels like work.
Agatha notices. “You alright?”
“Just tuckered out.”
The answer sounds weak even to me.
She watches me for another moment before nodding. “Take care of yourself today.”
“I will.”
The promise feels hollow.
Before I can make my escape, Ivy hops down from her stool.
“You're really coming back later?” she asks.
I crouch in front of her and take both of her small hands in mine. “I promise, baby. I'll be back before you know it.”
She searches my face before wrapping her arms around my neck. “Okay.”
I hug her back, holding on a little longer than usual. “Be brave with your feelings doctor, alright?”
Ivy nods. “Papa said I can bring Daisy if I want.”
“Then I'd say you've got this.”
That earns me a small smile.
By the time I head for the door, Daisy has abandoned her sun puddle entirely, choosing Ivy instead.
Outside, Luka is already waiting beside the SUV. At this point, arguing about security feels about as productive as arguing with a hurricane.
“Mornin’, Luka.”
“Morning, Maggie.”
I slide into the backseat and fasten my seatbelt. “Any chance we can make a quick stop at Mama's diner before we head to the shelter?”
Luka nods once. “Already planned for it.”
I stare at him. “That's either thoughtful or mildly unsettlin’.”
He gives me a small smile. “Occupational hazard.”
I mutter under my breath, “Definitely unsettlin’.”
The drive into Savannah passes beneath bright blue skies. Tourists wander along the sidewalks carrying coffee cups and pastries. Delivery trucks move through downtown. Shop owners unlock their doors and sweep their sidewalks.
Life keeps moving. The city doesn't care that my world is upside down.
The diner appears ahead, tucked into its corner like it’s been my entire life. Just seeing it lifts some of the tension riding my shoulders.
Mama is working the register when I walk inside. As soon as she spots me, her face changes.
“Oh, honey.”
I stop walking. That's never a good sign.
Several regular customers look up from their breakfasts while Mama comes around the counter. She doesn't say another word. She simply takes my face between both hands and studies me.
Her forehead wrinkles. “You look exhausted.”
“Good mornin’ to you too.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know, Mama. I'm doin’ the best I can.”
The concern in her voice nearly undoes me. I've spent so much time pretending I'm fine lately that hearing somebody acknowledge I'm not almost hurts.
Mama brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you sleepin’ at all?”
“Some.”
“Maggie.”
I sigh. “Not much.”
“That's what I thought.”
She steers me toward an empty booth near the window.
“Mama, I don't have time to sit.” I dig my heels in, but she keeps walking like she hasn't heard a word.
“You do today.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I really don't.”
“You absolutely do.”
I narrow my eyes.
She raises an eyebrow.
I sit.
Honestly, I never had much chance of winning this argument.
Mama disappears into the kitchen before returning with enough food to feed a family reunion.
I stare at the plates. Then at her. Then back at the plates.
“Mama.” I wave a hand toward the plates. “I'm one person."
“You look like you've forgotten that.”
I can't even argue.
While she refills coffee cups and checks on customers, I peer through the front window.
The black SUV remains parked across the street.
The reminder that I can't go anywhere without security sends a fresh wave of frustration through me.
At first, the protection felt reassuring.
Then it became inconvenient. Now it feels impossible to escape.
They're outside the mansion. Outside the shelter.
Outside the diner. Everywhere I go, somebody is watching.
I understand why. That doesn't mean I enjoy it.
Mama follows my gaze toward the window before sliding into the booth across from me.
“Still botherin’ you?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
I pick at a piece of toast. “Maybe more than a little.”
Her expression grows thoughtful. “You know why they're there.”
“I do.”
“You'd rather they weren't?”
I look back toward the SUV. “Sometimes I just want five minutes where nobody's watchin’ me.”
“He’s keepin’ you safe.” Mama reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You'll get through this.”
I wish I believed that as much as she does. I gather the mountain of food she insists on sending with me, hug her goodbye, and head toward the shelter.
The building looks different the moment I arrive. New locks gleam on the doors, security cameras monitor every angle, and additional lighting brightens areas that once sat in shadow. The shelter survived, but the attack left scars behind.
Volunteers move through the lobby carrying supplies and paperwork. A few smile when they see me. Others still look shaken. No one has completely recovered from what happened.
Luka follows me inside while two additional security men remain near the entrance. More reminders that my life has become completely abnormal.
Jules appears from the hallway carrying a clipboard and a cup of iced coffee.
“Well look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.”
I point toward him. “I own this place.”
“Technical detail.”
I huff out a laugh. The sound feels good.
Jules pulls me into a quick hug before stepping back. His eyes search my face. “Honey, you look terrible.”
“Seems like everybody’s singin’ the same tune today.”
“Good. At least they’re bein’ honest.” He takes a sip from his straw.
The morning disappears beneath work. The world stubbornly refuses to stop simply because we're overwhelmed. Part of me appreciates that. Another part wishes everything would slow down long enough for me to catch my breath.
By late morning, I'm helping reorganize supply shelves when another wave of nausea rolls through me.
This one hits harder than the others. I grab the edge of the metal shelving unit and close my eyes.
The room doesn't spin, but my stomach definitely seems tempted to try.
I take several slow breaths, counting to ten and then twenty while I wait for the feeling to pass.
When I finally open my eyes, Jules is standing nearby watching me with his arms folded across his chest.
Well, that can't be good.
He immediately narrows his eyes. “You're sick.”
“Nope.”