Page 38 of Beautiful Cruelty

What about what I want? What about what I need to do?

I know that whatever the answer is, it's not by staying here to play a part in someone else's game. I have people who depend on me. Dad needs me. Megan needs me. Even Freddy needs me more than Vadim Stravinsky ever will.

A wave of determination washes over me, clearing away the fog of confusion and fear.

I'm not some chess piece to be moved around at his convenience. I'm not some damsel in distress who needs his protection. I won't be an accomplice to whatever other insanity he's cooking up.

And I definitely will not be another trophy in his collection.

I need to get out of here.

I scan the room, searching for anything I can use.

The king-sized bed dominates the space. Intricate patterns are carved into the ornate headboard. Everything is done in shades of blue—from the silk sheets to the heavy drapes framing the beautiful large windows.

Freedom lies just beyond that glass.

I need something heavy enough to break that glass. The bedside lamps are delicate crystal affairs, more likely to shatter themselves. The mahogany furniture is too heavy for me to lift. And the decorative vases look like they weigh more than I do.

Everything in here is either too fragile or too massive to be useful.

My gaze lands on the walk-in closet. Maybe there's an iron in there.

I yank open the closet doors and flip on the light and gasp.

Rows of designer dresses greet me, each piece bearing the distinctive Svoboda label. The craftsmanship is exquisite—French seams, hand-rolled hems, the finest materials money can buy.

I can't help myself as I pull out a midnight blue cocktail dress, the fabric flowing like water through my fingers. Holding it against myself, I study my reflection in the full-length mirror. It's not quite right for my frame, but God, the color is perfect. If I took in the waist slightly, adjusted the shoulder line, maybe added some subtle beading to draw attention to?—

Not now!I throw the dress onto the bed and resume looking.You're planning alterations when you should be planning your escape.

Apart from these different beautiful dresses, there’s nothing else in here.

I move to the attached bathroom, and find nothing but luxury soaps and toiletries. Again. Nothing that can help me break the glass.

Walking back to the window, I study my reflection in the glass. The crystal chandelier above me casts a soft glow that makes everything look ethereal, like something out of a fairy tale. Even my own image seems transformed—ghostly and delicate against the backdrop of luxury.

The craftsmanship of everything in this room is undeniable. From the hand-carved moldings to the silk drapes, each detail speaks of wealth and refinement that I've only dreamed about. The kind of beauty I sketched in my notebooks late at night, imagining designs that would never see the light of day.

Stop it, Lacey. This isn't the time to feel sorry for yourself.

Then, as if to hype myself, I give the window a light tap.

And notice it jiggle.

My heart leaps at the unexpected movement and I grip the window frame in trembling fingers. But just then, doubt creeps in.

What if there are guards outside? What if they catch me? The consequences of attempting escape from a mafia boss's mansion probably aren't pleasant.

But will they be any less pleasant than what I might face if I were to stay? Am I really so naïve as to believe that he'll just let me go when it's all said and done?

I'd still be married to a mafia boss. Still trapped in this gilded cage, surrounded by men with scarred knuckles and hard eyes.

And just like that, the choice becomes crystal clear.

My fingers tremble as I give the window a push upward, and it opens soundlessly. The humid morning breeze billows in, beckoning me with the tantalizing taste of freedom amidst the soft falling rain.

I take one deep breath, swing my legs over the ledge, and drop, hearing the sound of my pants ripping when a thread snags against the rough stone surface of the masonry.

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