I decide that today it’s time to remind myself who I really am, and I have a plan just for that.
The guard rotation happens in exactly twenty-five minutes, and I have to be out of the main house by then.
I quickly change into a comfortable pair of black jeans and a deep green sweater. I grab my purse, pull out some cash from my drawer, and stuff it inside. There’s no chance I'll use an ATM, as I have a feeling Agafon could use it within seconds to trace me.
When the time comes, I slip into the hallway. Two guards stand at the far end, checking their phones. They look up and nod at me, and I smile like there’s nothing going on. At this hour, they probably assume I’m heading down for breakfast.
I’m also not that nervous, because I know that by this hour, Agafon’s probably left for work, as he does every morning.
Once downstairs, I pass the dining room, and this is when I begin to be careful. I move as silently as I can, checking around corners before I keep going, until I reach the service corridor.
I inch up against the wall and duck my head out to look into the garden. At 11 a.m., the guards begin making their way to the security hut to get their next orders, and that’s the blind spot I’ve been waiting for.
I duck out of the service corridor and enter the garden when just then, a maid comes rolling in with a laundry cart from my right.
She gives me a curious look.
“Mr. Letvin sent me to check on something with the guards,” I lie smoothly.
She nods, unaware of any reason to doubt me. Besides, in the house, my position as mistress outranks Agafon’s, and the house staff has an unspoken rule to stay on my good side. As in every home they’ve worked in, the woman rules the hearth.
I keep my back against the house wall and then see a narrow pathway leading into the gardens, sheltered by a line of trees. I take comfort in knowing the trees would block out the sight of me and duck into the path, running along the shaded path until I hit the boundary wall. There’s a locked gate to my right, around seven feet high. I quickly scale it and jump out on the other end.
I hurry down the street, away from the compound, my heart thumping with the thrill of this freedom. A taxi rounds the corner, and I hail it down.
“Where to, Miss?” he asks when I’m settled into the back.
“Fifth Avenue, please,” I say with a bright smile. “The shopping district.”
He eyes me in the rearview mirror. “Got some plans?”
I laugh with enthusiasm. God, it feels good to be treated and spoken to like any other person. “Yeah, you know. Retail therapy.”
“I disagree with you there,” he says, shaking his head. “Last time my wife went shopping, my credit card needed therapy after.”
I laugh and watch the city pass by. This is what I've missed—normal conversation, unguarded moments, the ability to go where I want when I want.
“Here we are,” the driver announces at last as we reach the street. “Happy shopping, miss.”
I hand him cash and leave a nice tip, stepping out of the right onto Fifth Avenue. I decide to start with the store of all stores—Bergdorf Goodman. Sofia would be proud of my choice.
Inside, the store is pure luxury. The entire place smells divine, like I’m on vacation somewhere.
A sales associate approaches me and takes in my casual outfit with a slight narrowing of her eyes. When I cock an eyebrow at her, her professionalism kicks in.
“Can I help you find something today?” she asks.
“Just browsing, thank you,” I reply, turning away from her judgment with a roll of my eye. This is the one thing I hate about luxury stores: how they judge people based on their appearance.
I wander aimlessly through the store. The truth is, I probably won’t shop. There’s nothing I want, except for freedom. For the first time in weeks, my shoulders relax. No guards. No rules. No Agafon watching my every move.
I'm trying on a jade necklace when I feel something odd. The store has grown quieter, and I hear people whispering, pointing, and staring, which causes a prickle of awareness to crawl up my spine.
The heavy glass doors at the entrance swing open, and I look up. Several men in dark suits enter first, scanning the area before stepping aside to create a path. And then—oh God—he appears.
Agafon walks in with his shoulders thrown back and barely contained fury etched across his face. His eyes dart around for someone, and I know exactly who.
Me.
