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As he storms off, I quietly follow him. I watch him disappear down the hallway that has always been closed off and step through that forbidden door. Curiosity pulls at me. I want to know what’s behind it, and I want to finish the conversation he walked away from.

Before I can reach the door, Sofía appears in front of me. “I think it would be best if you head back, Mrs. Sokolov,” she says carefully.

“Why?” I ask. “Roman just went in there. I need to talk to him.”

Sofía looks genuinely apologetic. “I mean no disrespect. You are the lady of this house and free to go where you wish. But I have instructions from Roman not to let you go in there.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “What is in there that I’m not allowed to see? What secret is he keeping? Why won’t he let me in?”

Sofía’s expression remains polite. “You’ll need to take that up with him. This is a conversation the two of you need to have.”

She’s right. Arguing with her won’t get me answers. The only person who can explain this is Roman himself. I turn around and walk back to our bedroom. I change out of my clothes, wash my face, and climb into bed, still hoping he’ll come join me the way a husband should, and I can ask him about it.

But just like every other night since we arrived in Chicago, he never comes. The next day, I don't see or hear from him either. Then the second day passes exactly the same way. No sign of him.

Two weeks later, my patience is wearing thin. Sofía and the staff keep assuring me Roman is somewhere on the estate, yet I never see him. The house feels too quiet, and I've never felt this alone. Back in Rome, I had Audrey. Here, Roman is the only person I know, and he's doing everything he can to avoid me.

I should be at peace with it. He’s given me money, a black card to spend as I please, and he hasn’t restricted my movements. I can leave the estate if I want. In many ways, he’s left me alone. I should be grateful for the space.

But something inside me refuses to settle. There’s a restless pull that keeps wanting to seek him out, to see him, to know that he’s all right. I pause and force myself to examine the feeling. This can’t be love. There’s no way I’ve fallen for him. I’m supposed to hate him for everything he’s done. Yet I can’t shake the need to talk to him, to understand why he keeps disappearing into that closed-off hallway.

While we're having dinner, I can't help bringing up Roman again. At this point, I probably sound like a broken record.

“Don’t worry about him,” Sofía says gently. “The Pakhan prefers a quiet, secluded life. He doesn’t like constant interaction with people. He often keeps to himself.”

“But he’s my husband. I need to see him.”

Sofía studies me for a moment. “You’re not new to this world, Mrs. Sokolov. Surely you understand how men like him live. Leaders in this world often keep distance. He’s a busy man. He won’t always be at your side the way you might want.”

“I understand that he’s busy,” I reply. “But this feels different. You and the staff get to see him. I don’t. It feels like he’s avoiding me specifically.”

Sofía doesn’t argue further. She only offers a polite, careful smile. After dinner, I decide I’m going to find out what’s behind that door, whether anyone likes it or not.

Later that night, after the staff has all gone to their quarters and the estate is quiet, I make my way to the closed-off hallway.

My heart beats faster with every step. I shouldn’t be doing this. Sofía made it very clear that this part of the house was off-limits. But curiosity has been eating away at me for days, and tonight it finally wins.

When I reach the door, I find it locked, just as I expected. I remember how Audrey and I used to sneak into forbidden rooms when we were younger.

We learned how to pick simple locks from one of the estate’s old maintenance men, much to Father’s horror when he eventually found out. The old tricks come back easily.

I pull a pin from my hair, straighten it between my fingers, and kneel in front of the door. The lock is more complicated than the ones Audrey and I used to pick back home, so it takes me a little longer to work it open.

“Still got it,” I whisper when it finally opens.

When I step inside, what I find stops me cold.

This isn’t a storage room or a simple office. It’s an entire private world. A fully equipped gym stretches out in front of me, heavy weights, several punching bags hanging from the ceiling. The walls show clear signs of violence.

The walls show clear signs of violence: cracked plaster, fist-sized dents, places where someone has punched the concrete hard enough to leave lasting marks.

My gaze drifts farther to find a full-sized boxing ring that occupies one side of the space. Beside it sits an enormous ice bath, and nearby is a cedar sauna.

My eyes travel to a metal trash bin. Inside are bloodstained hand wraps. They look new. How hard does he train?

Beyond the gym is another door. I make my way toward it and press down on the handle. To my surprise, it isn’t locked. The door swings open with barely a sound.

A king-sized bed sits against one wall, neatly made. Beside it is a simple nightstand with a reading lamp and several books stacked neatly underneath.