Chapter 8: Wren

A couple of weeks had gone by, and still no word on my father's whereabouts. He'd managed to stay hidden from Afanasy's men and his wrath. Sadly, I couldn't say the same for myself.

I was still trapped in this mansion, this prison—forced to put up with my jailer's sneers and intimidation. His wit and sass was as charming as it was annoying.

Afanasy seemed to be loving my circumstances, like he found comfort or peace in watching me suffer both emotionally and psychologically. And to make things worse, he'd never pass on the chance to make a comment that would leave me either vexed or hurt.

He obviously delighted in my pain and agony. But then again, that was the definition of being a prisoner.

Yeah, I was allowed to move freely around the mansion, and I could eat and drink whatever I wanted. I had an opulent space for a bedroom with a comfy mattress and a cozy duvet to keep me warm.

Physically, it didn't seem like I was a prisoner, but I was, and lately, Afanasy would always remind me of that with every opportunity he got. He'd look at me with a pesky little grin etched on his enticing lips.

Most times, I'd frown at his mocking smirk, but there were occasions where I would lose myself in a heartbeat, noting the faintest details on his face. And I despised myself for that.

I hated how I easily noticed the way his captivating green eyes would crinkle at the corners when he spoke, how his lips would curve each time he flashed me his signature smirk.

The feeling that my mind had betrayed me, prioritizing physical attraction over my present predicament, was so frustrating.

Every time Afanasy was in my space or anywhere around me, his commanding presence always stirred up conflicting emotions within me. Whenever I set my eyes on him, fear and resentment would always wrestle with an unwelcome fascination that often left me unsettled.

Over the past few weeks, I'd tried to curtail the way I reacted to seeing him, to conceal the effect he had on me. But it was as though the more I tried, the more I woefully failed.

The man could see right through me like I was a house made of glass.

I’d yet to figure him out; his perfect blend of fire and ice made him almost unreadable. One minute, he'd be all chatty, his words weighing less, and the next minute, he'd turn cold like a freezer.

Every time I thought I had a grasp of his behavior, he'd switch tactics, and just like that, I'd return right back to square one. Level zero.

Lying in bed, my back against the soft, comfy mattress, I stared at the wall clock across from me.

It was almost 2 A.M.

I pulled the sheets up to my chest, my eyes never leaving the clock. My feet tapped an inpatient rhythm against the bed frame. My mind was racing with anticipation as 2:30 seemed to crawl closer.

I'd spent the past few weeks planning my escape.

My patience had worn out—I couldn't keep waiting for my father to show up with the money he owed the Bratva. I had to do something to help and also get myself out of this hellhole.

I couldn't bear the suffocating atmosphere anymore, and Afanasy's delight in my predicament only fueled my desperation to escape. I was done giving him the satisfaction of seeing me suffer.

He didn't just enjoy keeping me prisoner; he was starting to act like he owned me—like I was one of his prized possessions.

God! I hated that. I hated the strings on me—the feeling of being watched, of being controlled.

I'd lost my freedom to a man I barely knew, and I wanted it back. I wanted my life back, but that wouldn't happen if I remained trapped in this house, feeling useless.

I'd learned the hard way not to count on my dad for anything, and I wouldn't do that now. We both needed help getting out of this situation, and I had a feeling I'd only be disappointed again if I continued to wait for him.

The only way out of this was to get help from outside. And to do that, I had to get outside of this mansion—my prison.

It didn't matter whether my dad would show up with the money tomorrow morning; Afanasy might not let me go even if that happened. He just seemed like that type of man.

If he chose to keep me as his little plaything, who'd stop him? Absolutely no one. He was that powerful and influential. There'd be no saving me then.

2:30 was my only shot at escaping this place tonight.

Considering I was allowed to roam around the mansion, I used that as an opportunity to study the patterns and movements of the guards.

I’d observed their patrol routes and schedule—their rotations, patterns, and timing. I meticulously noted all the lapses in their surveillance, which revealed a potential weakness in their security.

Between the early hours of 2:30 and 3:00 in the morning, the guards' vigilance waned significantly. I noticed that during that period, the East Wing guard would usually leave his post, stepping outside for a smoke break.

The West Wing guard would take about five to ten minutes to grab a snack from the kitchen. During this hour, the security camera on the north side of the house would always experience a momentary routine system check, causing a five-minute blind spot—my window.

The patrol intervals increased from 15 minutes to 30 minutes during this hour, giving me more than enough time to make my move.

As soon as it clocked 2:30 on the dot, I hopped off the bed, ready to sneak out. Ideally, using the window would be better, but the guards outside were more vigilant. They’d spot me in a heartbeat. Not to mention, my room—my cell—was way too high. Climbing down would be suicide.

I had a better plan—the secret door behind the tapestry in a mini library. I stumbled across it a few days ago while wandering the house. Amongst the books and documents in the mini library was a blueprint of the mansion.

I would spend hours there, studying the map and the complex layout. From what I learned, the hidden door led to a narrow stairwell through which I would navigate until I made it outside the building.

Then, the next phase would be getting past Afanasy's hounds, and that would be tricky, considering how much I feared pit bulls. Once I got through them, I'd sprint to the section of the garden walls with loose stones, which would provide me with a possible climbing point.

And then…freedom.

But first, I needed the courage to leave the room. The operation seemed easy in my head, but since when did easy mean simple?

“You got this, Wren. You got this,” I whispered, shutting my eyes as I took slow breaths.

I bolted toward the door and grabbed the handle, quietly pushing it open. My body stiffened at its faint creaks.

Once out of the room, I was literally blinded instantly—I couldn't see a damn thing in this absolute darkness. However, I was already familiar with this hallway by now. I could feel my way to the staircase.

And I did, fingers tracing the fine walls as I walked through the corridor, my footsteps soundless against the floor.

Soon, I felt the sharp edge of the wall beneath my palm, a signal that I'd made it to the staircase. I groped for a while before my fingers touched the cold handrail, its chills seeping through my skin.

I gripped the handrail for support, cautiously striding toward the head of the steps. It was a lot harder to move in the dark than I'd thought—having no idea what was around me was both frustrating and terrifying. But I was willing to see it through.

Going down the stairs should be a piece of cake. I ascended and descended those steps every day, and I knew the exact number of steps there were: thirteen.

All I had to do was count.

I put a foot down.

One.

Then the next.

Two.

And another.

Three.

My arms were spread out, one sliding over the rail and the other resting on the wall by my side.

I counted twelve steps, and on the thirteenth, I was at the base of the stairs. From there, I just needed to locate the library door. I needed to move quickly and with more stealth.

One of the guards should already be in the kitchen by now, and the other should be out smoking. In this mission of escape, every second mattered, and I wasn't going to waste it.

However, before I could take another step forward, my heart sank into my belly, my breath ceasing for a moment at the sound of his voice. “Going somewhere?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit…!

The word rang repeatedly in my head as I stood there, frozen in shock.

I couldn't see the speaker, but that was the unmistakable voice of my captor. Of course, I'd recognize the tone that had haunted me every day for the past few weeks.

This was a disaster.

Yep. I was as good as dead.

A table lamp sprang to life in a cozy corner ahead of me, its warm, gentle glow illuminating Afanasy's features. He was seated on a sofa, legs crossed, as he glared at me.

As my eyes met his piercing gaze, my heart stopped for a moment, my body tensing like a trapped animal.

Fear vibrated through my core, my skin crawling with goosebumps. As he rose to his feet, I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, like all the air was being squeezed out of me.

The closer he drew, the more his imposing frame and stern expression stole what little breath I had left. My chest was rising and falling—a testament to the fear that gripped me.

He halted in front of me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. My hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

His jaw clenched, his gaze unyielding as he inched closer, prompting me to pull away with cautious steps until my back hit the wall behind me.

I felt crippled by his presence, my mind racing with panicked thoughts as my scared eyes darted toward the library door. In a split second, I gauged the distance, wondering if I could make a run for it.

“Don't bother; you're never gonna make it on time,” he said, his voice terrifyingly low and husky. “You're not faster than me.”

It was almost like he’d read my mind, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Shit. I could hear the sound of my own heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.

The air around me was filled with the rich scent of his cologne, and I could feel his warm breath against my face. “Did you really think that I wouldn't know about your little escape plan?” he whispered in my ear.

I shuddered at the sickening sound of his voice, my legs trembling beneath me as though they'd lost the strength to carry my weight.

“Isn't it funny how you think you found the blueprint of the house by chance?” His lips curled into an evil smirk as his gaze lingered.

Oh, my God! That was you? You orchestrated all of this?

My eyes widened in wonder and disappointment.

A sudden yelp escaped my mouth as he seized me by the jaw, his fingers pressing into my skin. It hurt, and instantly, my eyes misted, my tear glands charging up.

He lowered his head inches from my face, his eyes boring into mine. “You broke the rules, Wren, and a punishment is attached to that.”

His eerie whisper left a mark on my soul, inflicting me with terror.

“Please,” I began, my voice barely audible as he loosened his grip on my jaw. “I'm sorry. It just feels so suffocating in here, and I hate feeling useless. Please, just let me go. I'm begging you.” My palms clasped together in desperation, and my lips quivered.

He took a step back, his eyes darting across my body. “It's useless to beg me now, Wren. Your father has made his choice.”

His words piqued my curiosity, my brows narrowing. “Wh…what do you mean?” I stuttered.

There it was again. That pesky little smirk twitching on the corners of his mouth.

“Your dad was contacted and filled in on your current situation.” He paused, as if savoring his next words. “Guess what he did?” His gaze lingered.

The suspense was killing me. I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat as my chest heaved rapidly. My heart was racing in anticipation, and a myriad of thoughts tugged at my mind.

Afanasy edged closer, that pesky smirk spreading across his face. “He left the country.”

I shook my head, blinking back the tears that welled my eyes. It was possible that Dad fled the country without me, but a part of me still wanted to deny it. “No…no. He couldn't have,” I muttered, feeling the treacherous cracks in my fragile heart.

“Oh, but he did, Wren. Your dear old dad ran away. He saved his own skin, leaving you here, alone…with me.” His voice dripped with malice, and his eyes glinted with cruel intent.

His words sliced like a knife, stealing my breath as tears streamed down my cheeks.

“He left you, Wren. He abandoned you,” Afanasy added, his tone hinting at his pleasure in watching me break down.

My lips quivered, and my legs turned to jelly as I felt my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. I was numbed by the pain of his abandonment, left speechless.

It was alarmingly silent in my head, only one thought echoing.

How could he?