The first day passed, the second followed suit, and then the third, yet I remained trapped in this house with no hope of escape whatsoever. The security here was tight, and the guards were always vigilant, ensuring that I stayed within the confines of the compound.
I was allowed to wander the building but never to set foot outside the foyer. Anything beyond that was forbidden by the almighty Nik Tarasov—the one who’d made it crystal clear that he had my life in the palm of his hand.
He ordered his maids to always bring me food three times a day—quality, mouthwatering meals that often made my stomach growl in anticipation. At first, I was a bit skeptical about the food and how I’d actually eat and enjoy the meals, knowing the kind of situation that I was trapped in.
But what other choice did I have? I could either ignore the delicacies and starve to death, or eat and gather enough strength for my escape plan. There was no way in hell that I was going to accept this as my reality. Never. Nik had taken me by force and was keeping me in his house against my will. I wasn’t going to grant him the satisfaction of seeing me defeated.
I had to find a way out of this place.
The first idea was to speak with the maids and get them to tell me what they knew about the mansion. Sadly, the two women in charge of catering to my every need were tight-lipped and wouldn’t say anything to me. They reeked of loyalty to their master—Nik Tarasov—and as annoying as that was, it was a fucking dead end.
I was on my own in this house, and if I were going to figure a way out of here, then I’d have to start thinking for myself. Since I was allowed to move around the house every now and then, I decided to use that to my advantage. First things first, it was important that I paid attention to details and was more mindful of my surroundings.
Every system, including this household’s security system, worked in patterns. All I had to do was figure it out—find a single loose thread and tug at it until something unraveled. It sounded really easy in theory, but in real life, I had to first study and analyze before even thinking about executing my plan.
That being said, I spent the past few days meticulously observing the guards’ movements, studying their routine while mapping out the layout of the mansion. I paid rapt attention to detail, carefully noting every creak of the floor, every groan of the wooden beams, and most importantly, every move of the guards.
During my analysis, I discovered that the guards, hefty men who looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger from The Terminator, often changed shifts every four hours. There was also usually a brief overlap of about 15 minutes. During this period, two guards would meet at the end of the corridor downstairs. They would then exchange a few words before one would leave, while the other took over.
That was a window worth considering.
The guards’ routine was somewhat complex, and I was still trying to figure it out. But so far, I noticed that they would always walk down the hallway at different intervals; the timing was almost unpredictable. They’d then check the doors and windows in the house before returning to their post.
One of them often lingered a bit longer by the staircase, smoking and glancing out the window as if checking for something or someone.
These men were everywhere in the building, patrolling the place like a swarm of bees. The mansion was a fortress, one that I doubted would be so easily invaded at that time of day. With all of these men available all day and all night, what hope was there for me to escape?
I mapped out the building’s layout, noting the doors, windows, and hidden compartments. The main entrance, as expected, was heavily guarded, with a few men stationed at the front door while two others patrolled the surrounding area.
The back door was slightly less guarded, but it was not a viable option for me, considering the guards there weren’t Nik’s men but his hounds: four huge beasts with scary canines that looked like they could tear any human limb from limb without even trying too hard.
So, no. The back door was off-limits.
However, I was still determined to escape this place one way or another. I had to leave, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity. It was dark already, and the loopholes—the vulnerabilities I’d discovered in the security system—had finally aligned. This rare convergence created a fleeting opportunity, a narrow window of chance, and I was ready to use it.
I threw my hands in my hair, piling it up into a ponytail as I glided across the room, my heart drumming in my chest. I halted by the window, my eyes studying the reinforced metal, fingers tracing along the window frame. I noticed what looked like a potential weakness in the hinges; they seemed loose enough to allow me to lift them.
My eyes narrowed as I traced the reinforced metal and the hinges with my fingers. My brain was thinking about a million and one things at once, a spark of hope igniting within me. In a heartbeat, my gaze darted toward the door, ears straining to detect even the faintest sound. But it was radio silent outside. For the past five to seven minutes, no footsteps echoed down the hallway, not even the usual murmurs of conversation.
The silence was an indication that this was my window. It was now or never.
“You got this,” I whispered to myself, my heart thundering in my chest, a primal drumbeat that seemed to shake my very foundations. “You got this.”
I’d studied the height of the window several times while exploring the house. It was a jump that I could make—maybe. Maybe not. A fall from that height could sprain my ankle, but with a well-calculated landing, I should be fine. I hoped so.
With a deep breath, I grasped the metal edge of a loose hinge, my fingers closing around it like a vise. Straining, I twisted and pulled, the metal creaking in protest. For a second there, it appeared as though the hinge wouldn’t budge, like all my effort would be futile in the end. But I wasn’t going to relent. No. I kept on pulling. And then, with a sudden jolt, it gave away the sound like a tiny explosion in the silence.
My eyes widened, a spark of triumph igniting within me, a fleeting moment of victory that illuminated the dark recesses of my soul. Then, I felt it—the surge of adrenaline, a rush of power that coursed through my veins like liquid fire. At last, I was getting out of here.
But then I messed up. I pulled a little too hard, and a sharp creak of the window, loud and obvious, sent a jolt of panic through me.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, my whole body steeling for a moment.
My eyes reflexively darted back toward the front door, and that was when my heart sank into my stomach.
How the hell did he get here so fast? I wondered, staring at the entrance where he stood, leaning against the door frame. He had on his signature unreadable expression, his eyes locked on me with both arms across his chest. I hadn’t heard the door open, nor had I heard him come in. But there he was, watching me in silence.
It was impossible to tell if he was mad, amused, or even a mix of both. However, as the air shifted to something more intense, something even colder slipped between us, causing my palms to sweat. I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as I held his gaze, frozen in place. I felt like a nine-year-old caught stealing from the fridge in the dead of night.
And just like that, the small taste of freedom vanished in an instant, leaving me hopeless and afraid. My breath hitched in my throat, my skin prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. I hated him. I hated the way he put the fear of God in me, even without having to say a word.
As he stared at me in silence, something dark and consuming, something sinister, flickered in his eyes. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but I knew it was evil. Panic set in, and I could feel my knees quaking, too weak to carry my weight.
The uncertainty of what he was going to do to me, what this act of rebellion was going to cost me, stole my breath. I just stood there, transfixed on the spot and unable to move, the same way I was unable to think.
