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I question if Connor was trying to set my brother up for something. Was this what Jacob was referring to? “Listen, I have to look into some shady shite that the Flanagans may be up to. In the meantime, I need you to promise me that you will stay away from them—all of them. Fucking promise me, Callum.”
“Geez, I promise.”
“Call me if any of them reaches out to you again.”
“I will.”
I pull up to his campus apartment. “I will have someone retrieve your car and get you a new set of keys. Stay on campus and out of trouble. I need to know that you’re safe.”
He gets out of my car but turns to me before closing the door. “Aye aye, captain.” He laughs, making a play on my new role as clan captain in relation to fucking SpongeBob. He slams my door and walks toward his place. I watch until he disappears inside the building. Now that my babysitter duties are complete, I need to fucking get to the hospital for the formality of answering these questions that I have no plans to be truthful about and get my cut stitched up. Lennon gets back with his bride tomorrow afternoon, but I plan to be gone before then. I definitely have lots to share as soon as he touches down, though.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vasilisa
I’m sitting in this room that’s supposed to be mine, feeling frustrated and trapped. I have been locked in here for what feels like an eternity, with no way to escape. My ruthless captor has traded one prison for another. The only time anyone comes in is to bring me food, and even then, she quickly leaves without saying a word. It’s the same young woman every time— a pretty redhead who looks to be about my age. I know I’m not allowed to leave this room, but I can't help but feel angry and resentful toward Kai for taking me away from my home only to imprison me here. I get that he is angry too. He probably has every right to be. The part I’m struggling with is why did he agree to marry me then? If he hates me so much and has so much more character than I do, why lower his standards for me?
As I sit on the edge of my bed, I hear footsteps approaching the door. My heart begins to race, wondering if this will be the day I’m finally released from my confinement. But as the door opens, I see it is only one of the maids bringing me my meal, a different woman this time—older. The anger inside me begins to boil as I watch her place the tray on the table next to my bed and exit the room without a word. Were they given instructions not to speak to me?
I stare at the food in front of me, feeling no desire to eat. The woman leaves without a single word. Kai may provide for me physically, but I’m starving emotionally. I pick up the fork and poke at the scrambled eggs on my plate, feeling a sense of hopelessness wash over me. How long will I be forced to stay in this room? How long will I have to endure the loneliness and isolation?
My thoughts drift to the man who has put me here. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other before our wedding in three months, but all I feel is anger and resentment toward him. How could he do this to me? If he can’t get past my attempt on Persie’s life, why not just let me go, or was this his plan all along? Was his investment speech a facade for his real motive to make me suffer and then kill me?
I walk over to the window and look out, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to distract me from my thoughts. But all I see is the same view I’ve been staring at for days—a manicured garden of solitude. I turn away from the window, feeling defeated. I know I’m powerless to change my situation, and that thought only makes me more angry. I want to fight back, to resist the man who has taken away my freedom, but I know there is nothing I can do. I’m trapped here and at his mercy.
As days have passed, I’ve found myself sinking deeper into despair. The isolation and confinement are taking their toll on me physically and mentally. My once fighting spirit is fading. I’m struggling to hold out hope. How can we get to know each other or turn things around if I never see him? I’ve already gotten over his attempt to strangle me to death, so why can’t he put my actions behind him? I may be angry, but I refuse to let him break me.
With a newfound determination, I begin to plot ways to get his attention. I’m mid thought when I hear the locks disengaging on the other side. It’s the maid I’m more familiar with—the redhead. She has a stack of towels and toiletries in hand. Looks like I will finally get a chance to shower after more days than I care to think about.
“Excuse me,” I call out, my voice carrying a note of desperation as she sets the towels and toiletries on the counter in the en suite bathroom. I’ve rinsed off in the shower once, but having to put the same clothes back on kind of defeated the point. “Could you spare a moment? I'd like to talk.”
The redhead stops in her tracks, surprise flickering across her face. She turns toward me, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assesses whether she should respond to me. I can only imagine what she must be thinking. Who am I, and why am I locked away in this room? Why am I seeking conversation now?
“Um... sure,” she responds hesitantly, her tone betraying a mix of curiosity and caution. “What would you like to talk about?”
Relief floods through me as I realize she's willing to engage. I quickly search my mind for a topic, anything to break the suffocating silence.
“Tell me about your day,” I say, attempting to sound casual despite the desperation lingering in my tone. I refrain from any questions that may cause her to stop talking to me.
The maid pauses for a moment, as if considering whether to share details of her day with the prisoner. Does she even know that I’m supposed to be the fiancée? I don’t even have a ring yet, but at this point, I’m not sure there will even be a wedding. Finally, she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, it's mostly the usual routine—cleaning, cooking, taking care of the household. It can get repetitive, but it makes the day pass quickly.”
I nod empathetically, my mind grasping onto the mundane details she's offered. “I can understand how that might feel monotonous at times. But I imagine the other house staff you work with makes these tasks a bit easier to work through.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Oh, definitely! We divide the chores, and then once dinner is prepared, we get some downtime to hang out and enjoy each other’s company. We have our own quarters in the east wing of the estate, and they’re actually quite luxurious,” she says, looking at the bareness of my room. I have a single bed and an empty dresser.
Her words spark a glimmer of hope within me. It has been nice to engage in conversation to distract from the realities of my isolation.
“My name is Vasilisa, by the way,” I say, introducing myself. “I hope this won’t be the last of our talks.”
The maid's eyes soften as she takes in my words. The boundaries between us seem to blur, if only for a moment, as we share a common desire for human connection. “Nice to meet you, Vasilisa. My name is Andrea, but you can call me Andie. The other house staff does, and it sounds much cooler. I can imagine it's tough being locked away like this,” she says gently. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”
I pause, contemplating her offer. I don’t want to cheapen our interaction by trying to get intel out of her, so I keep the conversation at surface level. “Actually, yes. Just having someone to talk to, even for a few minutes, makes a world of difference. What do you like to do for fun outside of this place?”
Her expression brightens, and she laughs. “Well, those of us here are from Kai’s other estate. We’re not from California. This home is new, and we’re still getting acquainted with all that is needed to be done here, so there’s no chance of leaving the grounds anytime soon. Back at the other home, we had days off to do stuff in our free time. I had friends, and we’d head over to the college and pretend we belonged there. Want to know what we enjoyed most?”
I nod eagerly, my curiosity piqued. As she begins to recount the memories, her voice is laced with excitement, but she’s careful not to give too much away—careful not to mention which state she is speaking of or the college. Her stories about the frat parties and eating lunch on the lawn, pretending to have a different life other than being a maid, draw me into a world far beyond the confines of my room. The words flow effortlessly from her lips, carrying with them a sense of her being wild and free. At that moment, as Andie shares a tiny piece of her life, I realize that we all yearn for a regular life. The power of connection, of shared experiences and stories, transcends the physical barriers that hold me hostage here. And though my freedom may be restricted, my mind and spirit can still roam freely, carried by the tales of others. I’m tempted to ask for paper and a pen. I want to journal and get my bottled-up thoughts on paper, but I’m not sure it’s allowed, so I don’t bother.
As Andie finishes her story, we sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our shared humanity hanging in the air. The brief conversation has breathed life into the stagnant atmosphere of my room. Maybe next time she comes by, I’ll share a story of my own—from happier times.
