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Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I walk towards the door, grabbing the key card I set on the desk before inching it open to see out in the hallway.

Seeing it empty, I walk out, leaving the door open behind me in case it locks and I can’t get back in.

Riot intrigued me with the garden. I love flowers. When living in the trailer, I would look out the small window to the lady living next door. She had a huge flower box filled with all kinds of colorful petals and bushes sprouting even more flowers than I can count.

I run my fingers over the key card before I start my search for the elevator. It doesn’t take long, as the hallway opens into a huge living room.

A huge fireplace sits in the middle, a TV above it. In front, the softest-looking white rug lies on the floor with a glass coffee table on it, clear of anything. A huge leather couch sits in the middle of the room. It looks like I’d sink right into it, never to be seen again.

Even more floor-to-ceiling windows take up a whole wall, showing the sight of the Hudson River. Facing east, I see the sun starting to rise. I walk towards the window, looking outside at the rippling water and the twinkling city lights. What I’d give to just walk down the street like a normal person.

Looking around again, the elevator sits on the wall opposite to the fireplace. I walk over to it, pressing the button. I wait for a few seconds before the doors open to a dimly lit cube. Stepping in, I see there are only four buttons.

Trying my luck, I press the lobby button but get disappointed when a small screen pops up requiring a four-digit pin. Sighing, I press the roof button. My feet shift, and I brace to fall when the elevator starts moving, but it’s smooth, and I keep my balance.

It only takes a few seconds before the elevator jolts to a stop and the doors open, revealing New York fucking City. I twirl myself around, taking in every angle the city has to offer. It’s fucking breathtaking.

Walking to the edge of the ledge, I hold on with my hands and lean over it slightly, feeling the surge of adrenaline as the wind whips my face. I look down at the city that never sleeps below me, people moving around as the sun continues to rise and everyone gets up for work.

Deciding to live for once, and for myself, I lift my leg over the ledge. My ass planted firmly on the ledge and my hands gripping the sides, I position myself to sit, my bare feet dangling off the edge. The wind keeps blowing, my long blonde hair free in the wind, like Rapunzel.

I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs for the first time in a long fucking time.

I sit here for what seems like hours. The sun is fully up now, it’s position in the sky says it’s around midday, possibly even later.

I’ve sat here, watching the city under my feet, feeling the summer breeze with the tinges of autumn. My stomach growls, and I realize that food has been waiting downstairs for me for hours.

Climbing slowly and carefully off the ledge, I head back to the elevator. Swiping the card to let me in and press the penthouse button, holding onto the railing as it jolts. The doors open, and a woman stands in the living room.

Her brown eyes meet mine and widen. Her eyes slide down my body, taking in my appearance, only in a shirt still. “Дорогой! Come in, come in,” the woman squeals. She speaks Russian. Is she the Riot’s wife? I walk closer to her and her outstretched arms.

“My name is Linda, I am Dmitri’s mama,” she gushes in English this time, pulling me into a hug. I’m taken aback by the hug and freeze when I smell the cranberries. She smells just like Mom. Tears well in my eyes as I lace my arms around her, breathing her scent in deeply, feeling one bit closer to my Mom.

I look around for any paper, but don’t see any. I plead to her with my eyes before pulling from her grasp and going to the bedroom to get the page I was using before.

I write ‘Who is Dmitri?’ onto the piece of paper, handing it to her as realization sparks in her eyes.

“So sorry, dear. You must know him as Riot.” She smiles, and my eyes widen. This is his mom?

The mother of a monster. She looks so sweet, so innocent. No way she popped out that prickly cactus and is gushing over him like he’s never done wrong in her eyes. Does she know the stuff he’s done? There’s no way me being sold is the worst he’s done.

She has to know. There’s no way she doesn’t.

My thoughts shift, Dmitri. His real name is Dmitri. Dmitri Petrov. My kidnapper. Why does such a beautiful man have to be such an awful person? Just my luck that I would be sold to him.

“Please, please sit! I just cooked, and my Dmitri will be on his way home soon.” She ushers me through the kitchen to the dining room. When we walk into the dining room, I see the dining room table covered in food.

All American foods. A large lasagna sits in the middle, surrounded by baked mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and a pitcher of ice water sitting next to the main dish. My mind goes into a frenzy at all the delicious-looking food.

“Deary, please sit down and get yourself a glass of water. As soon as my Dmitri gets home, your plate will be full to the brim. You are entirely too skinny,” she says from behind me, pinching my side before returning to the kitchen to finish cooking.

I sit down in a chair, picking a green bean out of the dish and popping it into my mouth, moaning at the taste. Pouring a glass of water, I chug the whole thing before setting it down. Linda speaks from the kitchen, “So dear, why are you here? Are you my Dmitri’s girlfriend?” I don’t answer, and she walks to me, an eyebrow raised. I motion for a paper and pen, and her eyes light up, scurrying out to grab some.

She returns with a full notepad and a black pen, handing them to me. I write down on the paper, ‘I don’t talk. I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken since I was seven.’ I hand her the paper and put my head down, feeling embarrassed.

Before I can breathe, she has her arms wrapped around me, her warmth and cranberry scent surrounding me. Flashes of Mom’s face run through my mind, her green eyes crinkling with a smile at me.

Looking back at Linda, she can see the tears forming in my eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. It’s okay. Come to the kitchen with me so we can talk.” She smiles warmly, offering me her hand, which I accept and let her lead me to the kitchen.