Chapter 2 : Antonov Mansion
1269 Words
I woke up in darkness.
A heavy, humid darkness that clung to my skin like sweat. The air smelled of tequila and vodka – thick, sour, like the morning after a reckless party. My eyes were open, staring blankly at a ceiling I didn’t recognize. For a moment, I couldn’t feel my body. I lay still, numb, empty… as if I had been pulled out of a deep coma.
Then something warm slid down my cheek.
A tear.
Another followed on the other side, and my vision blurred. It wasn’t until the third tear dropped that reality hit me like a slap. I gasped sharply, and then I broke – sobbing, choking on the weight of memories I couldn’t fully grasp.
Before I could gather myself, fast footsteps echoed near the door – heels, sharp and impatient.
The door swung open and a cold gust of air rushed in. A woman stepped inside, her silhouette cutting through the darkness. She crossed the room, yanked the curtains apart, and the sunlight stabbed at my eyes like a burning blade.
“Time to get up,” she said. “Sleep time’s over.”
I sat up fast, breath unsteady.
“Wh–where am I? Who are you?”
The woman looked like she was in her mid-forties – tall, brown-skinned, elegant, the kind of person who carried authority in her posture. Her hair was tied into a neat Korean bun, her clothes were formal and pressed.
Without answering, she pulled open a drawer, took out a set of folded clothes, and tossed them onto the bed.
“Put those on. Meet me in the kitchen downstairs. To the left.”
“I’m sorry, what?” My voice cracked.
“The bathroom’s over there. It has everything you’ll need.” She gave me a stiff smile – the fake kind, stretched and hollow. “Hurry up.”
“Wait – what’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?”
“Meet me downstairs and find out,” she said, then slammed the door behind her.
I stared at the clothes. A caregiver’s uniform.
A dry laugh escaped my lips.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The room was massive – beige walls, delicate molding, a master-sized bed… nothing like the life I knew. When I pushed the window open, the view hit me like a punch. Tall trees. A long driveway. A city skyline far different from the one I grew up in.
“Escape?” I whispered. “From this height? I'd break every bone.”
A loud bang rattled the door.
“You coming out or what?” a man barked.
My heart jumped. I ducked into the bathroom instead, brushed my teeth, and sank into a hot bath. I held my head under the water, wishing it could drown out the memory that finally clawed its way back into my mind–
My dad.
The gun.
His blood.
His last breath.
And those men…
I burst out of the water, gasping.
“Dad…”
I pressed my palms over my face and breathed deeply. It didn’t help. The images kept returning, sharp and merciless.
When I dressed in the uniform, I stared at myself in the mirror – the trembling girl looking back at me, the girl fate had tossed into a stranger’s mansion.
“So this is it?” I whispered bitterly. Tears rolled down my cheeks before I could wipe them. “Is this my new life?”
Then something inside me snapped.
“No.”
I clenched my fists.
“No one gets to decide who I become. I will find the men who killed my dad. I will make them pay.”
My voice shook, but my resolve didn’t.
“Caregiver?” I scoffed. “They’ll see the kind of care I give.”
I squared my shoulders and walked out of the room.
*********
The living room was enormous – high ceilings, dark marble floors, cold and echoing like a place where warmth didn’t survive. A massive portrait caught my eye: an old man with icy grey hair holding a staff, two attractive men standing beside him, a strict-looking woman, a younger lady, and a little boy on his lap.
None of them smiled. Only the boy had a spark of life.
“So much for a happy family,” I muttered.
“In here,” a voice called sharply.
It was the woman from earlier – stern, arms folded, eyes unimpressed.
“What took you so long?”
“Got lost,” I said.
She clicked her tongue. “My name is Ms. Roberta. I oversee everything in this house.” Her accent was Russian, clipped and firm. “Your duty is to assist and care for Mr. Vinco Antonov. Breakfast at 6:30 a.m. Coffee – no sugar. Only milk. Lunch – he’s never home. Dinner – prepare it and reheat when he returns.”
“I don’t understand–”
“Menu changes weekly. You’ll get the list shortly,” she cut in. “His clothes must always be washed, ironed, folded, arranged. Same for his bedding.”
I frowned. “Ms… Robe– Roberr–?”
“It’s Roberta, baby girl,” she said, clearly irritated.
“Roberta… I don’t know what any of this is. I woke up in a strange place. I don’t know this man. I don’t know why I’m here. None of this makes sense.”
Roberta sighed. “Miss Chioma – yes, I heard you shout your name earlier.”
She raised a brow.
“I don’t know your story, and honestly, it’s not my business. Mr. Vinco gave orders. If you have questions, ask him.”
She started to leave, then threw one last warning over her shoulder.
“And whatever you do – try not to sleep with him. His room is opposite yours.”
I blinked.
“What?! why would you even, - I don’t even know what he looks like!”
Roberta was gone.
*******
Later, an elderly maid brought me a thick menu book.
“Prep well. Mr. Vinco hates bland food,” she said.
I flipped through it and felt my soul leave my body. Half the dishes looked like spells from Harry Potter.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned.
As I tried pronouncing a dish that looked like “Châteaubriand-whatever,” heavy footsteps echoed down the hall – fast, strong, many of them.
I froze.
Then quietly opened my door and peeked out.
Five men in tuxedos marched down the hall like soldiers.
I followed silently until I saw a door slightly ajar. Voices spilled out.
Inside, five muscular bodyguards stood in front of a large desk. A man sat behind it – handsome, sharply built, wearing a white shirt and suit pants. His jaw clenched, his tie already flung across the room.
“What’s the next plan, sir?” one guard asked.
“We see Paolo tomorrow,” the man snapped, slamming his fist on the desk. He stood and ripped off his shirt, muscles tense with anger.
I scoffed quietly.
“Let me guess… Mr. Asshole.”
The room fell silent.
Then a voice – deep, cold, dangerous – boomed:
“Who’s there?”
My heart stopped.
“Oh s**t” I gasped, turned to run–
A heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder.
“And you are?”
The voice vibrated through my bones.
My breath caught.
My pulse spiked.
Like a thief caught red-handed.
I was face-to-face with the man who owned the mansion.
Vinco Antonov.
- Writer
