Chapter four
1193 Words
The cold air hit her like a slap, far gentler than the one Konstantin had given her hours ago.
Anya stepped into the corridor, barefoot and silent, each step measured like a heartbeat. The silence of the mansion was deceptive—it was the kind of stillness that waited to devour you if you slipped.
She kept to the shadows, her tattered dress brushing her ankles, one hand clenched tightly around the small silver key. The air carried the faint scent of tobacco, sweat, and danger—remnants of the men who had gathered hours earlier. They were all gone now. Or drunk. Or asleep. She hoped.
The exit was through the back—the maintenance hall that led toward the kitchen, then past the underground cellar where shipments were received. Most of the cameras in that area were dummies. She’d studied them for months.
She reached the first set of stairs.
Every creak beneath her bare feet made her heart skip.
Don’t look back.
Don’t think about what he did.
You’re almost there.
Another hallway. Another door.
She was steps from freedom when—
“Hey!”
The voice froze her mid-step.
A figure rounded the corner.
One of the guards. Heavy. Bearded. Sleepy-eyed, but not enough to miss her silhouette in the dark.
“What the hell!!” he bellowed, reaching for the radio on his belt.
“No, no, please....” Anya started, backing away.
He lifted the device to his mouth.
Thud.
A low grunt, followed by the sound of something solid hitting bone.
The guard swayed… then collapsed.
Anya’s breath stopped.
Behind him stood a figure in a long night robe, hair tousled, eyes wide with urgency.
Mila. The same Mila who was loyal to Konstantin to a fault,why did she come here?
She was holding a fireplace poker in her trembling hand, still half-lifted, as if in disbelief at what she’d just done.
For a long moment, the two women just stared at each other, caught between fear, adrenaline, and the surreal weight of silence.
Mila was the first to speak.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me drag him into the pantry.”
Together, they pulled the guard’s unconscious body into the side closet. It took both of them—Mila was stronger than she looked, and Anya, though still aching, had the weight of desperation on her side.
The moment the door shut behind them, Anya turned.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, voice still hoarse from earlier.
Mila looked at her, chest heaving. “Saving your life.”
“Why?” Anya whispered.
Mila blinked, then turned away, locking the pantry door. “Because I should have done it a long time ago.”
Anya’s mind spun. “You’ve always been loyal to him. You tattled. You watched me. You smiled when he locked me in.”
“I was protecting my family,” Mila snapped, her voice sharp with guilt. “He has my brother. My baby brother. He made me choose, Anya. Him or you.”
Anya stared at her.
“I chose wrong,” Mila whispered.
Silence again, deeper now, layered with pain neither of them had words for.
“You shouldn’t have helped me,” Anya said finally. “If they catch you—”
“I’m already dead,” Mila said. “At least now I won’t die a coward.”
Anya looked down at her torn gown. Her bruised wrists. The key still clenched in her hand.
“You know the way out?”
Mila nodded. “There’s a laundry chute past the basement. You’ll have to crawl through a service duct. It’ll take you to the southern wall—there’s a hatch. Leads outside. It’s old. The sensor’s broken.”
“How do you know?”
“I used to sneak cigarettes out there.” A hint of a smile. “Before I stopped dreaming.”
Anya reached out, touched Mila’s hand. It was the first human contact she’d had in months that didn’t make her flinch.
“Why now?” she asked.
Mila looked at her for a long time. “Because after tonight, I saw your face. I saw what he did to you. And I realized—he won’t stop. Not until there’s nothing left of you.”
Anya’s voice broke. “There’s already nothing left.”
Mila shook her head, fierce. “Then you build from the ashes. Like fire does.”
"C'mon we have to get going before more guards show up"
They moved quickly, with Mila guiding her down narrow staircases, through old corridors that hadn’t been used in years. Dust coated the air. Pipes groaned. Anya’s limbs ached with every movement, but her soul pulsed with something she hadn’t felt in so long it felt foreign.
Hope.
When they reached the chute, Mila pulled open the rusty latch.
“You’ll have to slide,” she said. “It’s about a five-foot drop. Then crawl. Don’t stop.”
Anya stared into the dark.
“Mila,” she said quietly. “Come with me.”
Mila’s smile faltered. “I can’t. My brother’s still in their grip. If I disappear, he’ll die.”
Anya gripped her hand tighter. “I’ll come back for you.”
“No, you won’t.” Mila laughed softly, eyes glassy.Mila shook her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not like you, Anya. You’re a Mikhailova. You were born to their world, even if you hate it. I’m nobody. If I run, they won’t chase me—they’ll bury me.” She paused, her voice softening. “But you… you might make it. You have something they want.”
Anya frowned, her mind snagging on Mila’s words. “What do you mean?”
Mila hesitated, glancing toward the alley’s mouth. “Your father,” she said finally. “They still talk about him. The men, when they think no one’s listening. He wasn’t just another player. He had something—information, maybe, or power. Konstantin married you for a reason, and it wasn’t love.”
Anya’s heart stuttered. Her father’s death—sudden, shrouded in lies—flashed through her mind. The official story was a car accident, but the questions had never stopped. Why had Konstantin’s family pushed the marriage so soon after? Why did his taunts always circle back to Papa?
“What do you know?” Anya demanded, stepping closer. “Tell me.”
Mila shook her head. “I don’t know details. Just whispers. But you’re not safe, Anya. Not with him, not in Moscow. If you stay, he’ll destroy you to keep whatever it is your father left behind.” “You’re not that girl anymore. You’re going to live.”
A pause.
“Wherever you’re going… stay gone.”
Anya swallowed back tears.
Then she climbed into the chute, heart pounding.
Before she let go, she looked back one last time.
Mila stood there in the dark hallway, pale and still, the maid’s robe fluttering like a ghost’s shroud.
“Go,” Mila whispered. “Run until he can’t find you.”
And Anya let go.
- Writer
