AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I ignore the white box for hours before my curiosity finally gets the better of me. Well, that and the fact that I can actually leave the penthouse without supervision. So what if it’s only one floor down? Small freedoms are better than no freedoms.
Except that, when the elevator doors open into my own private penthouse, I realize it’s not freedom at all; it’s just another pretty cage.
And it’s got “Dmitri Egorov” stamped all over it.
Quite literally, actually. He must have done a walkthrough earlier, because I can smell his smoky scent in the air. There’s nothing to distract from it except the view. One floor lower, but otherwise, no different than the one I’d just left.
“God,” I whisper to myself as I slide onto the floor and lie flat with my eyes trained towards the ceiling. “How is this my life?”
It’s not the first time I’ve asked myself that question. The answer hasn’t changed, though. By which I mean, the lack of an answer hasn’t changed.
I keep reaching out to find some explanations for any of it—why is Rose dead? and why did my father leave? and why did William lie? and why is Dmitri doing this to me?
But I keep coming up empty. Grasping at nothing. Shadows passing through my hands like sand at the beach.
I close my eyes and take inventory of what I know, the things that I can hold in my palms and be certain of.
I’m pregnant with a dangerous man’s baby.
If I stay, I’m going to have to live a lie right under his heel.
If I leave, I’ll have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.
It doesn’t feel like much of a choice. But then, I’ve made difficult choices before. I can do it again if I must.
“Wren?” I sit up when Bee walks into the empty living room an hour or so later. “Bingo. I thought I’d find you in here.”
She’s wearing a black dress and an elegant updo, like a stretched-out Audrey Hepburn. “You look nice,” I mumble.
Her smile is half-hearted as she pulls on the folds of her dress. “This ol’ thang? Thanks.”
“Is there a reason you look like a Disney princess on her way back from a funeral?”
Her lips tug up at the corners in a reluctant smile. “Because I’m on my way back from a funeral, actually.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Bee.” My cheeks are red with embarrassment.
Leave it to me to make a flippant joke that hits way too close to home. I’m on fire these days.
She waves away my apology. “It’s all good. It was a Bratva funeral, not a personal one.” She sighs before lying down on the wooden floors next to me. “Still sucks, though.”
“I’m with you on that one.”
Even now, I can’t think of funerals without feeling the ghost of an itch down my torso. I have only one mourning dress and it scratched like hell. I wore it to Mom’s funeral and then, years later, I wore it to Rose and Jared’s. Even after they all left me, the itch from the zip remained.
Such a petty, insignificant reminder of days that hurt so much.
“You okay?”
I stop scratching and force my hand down to the side. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Well,” Bee concludes, “this is uncomfortable.” She sits up with a low groan and stretches. “Why the hell are you lying here on the floor?”
“Because there’s nowhere else to go.”
She shoots me a pitying look. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?” Do I know that, though? I’m not so sure. “I know you’re pissed at him, Wren, and you have every right to be. But he is making an effort?—”
“‘An effort’?” I laugh deliriously, pulling my legs up to my chest. “This? This bullshit? This isn’t ‘effort.’ This is his way of controlling and manipulating me. You heard him the other night—I’m nothing more than a walking, talking incubator to him. Actually, scratch that: preferably not a ‘talking’ one at all.”
