Page 115 of Porcelain Lies

As the door clicks shut behind him, I glance at the discarded biomarker tracker on the bed. His reaction to my scientific knowledge has shown me something — he respects expertise. Maybe that’s my way forward.

I pick up the tracker, then, after a pause, I put it back on. It’s a useful gadget to have if I’m going to take my health seriously.

But as for the rest? He’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to sit here all day, doing nothing.

I wait until Aleksei’s footsteps fade before slipping out of my room. The rational part of my brain screams that this is aterrible idea, but I can’t stay locked up without understanding more about the man who now controls my life.

My bare feet move silently across the polished floors as I follow the echo of his voice. The manor’s layout is confusing — all twisting corridors and closed doors — but I manage to track him through the Right Wing.

He disappears around a corner, speaking rapid Russian into his phone. I press myself against the wall, holding my breath as I strain to catch fragments of conversation. The language feels familiar yet foreign; we never spoke it after we moved to America.

A door opens and closes. I count to ten before creeping forward.

Aleksei’s voice drifts through a doorway — not completely closed. I edge closer, careful to stay in the shadows.

I press against the wall, watching through the crack as Aleksei moves with purpose toward a sleek medical refrigerator. My scientific background kicks in as I catalog its contents — rows of labeled medication vials, sealed packages, and… syringes?

He removes several of them, checking labels before placing them in a metal case. The clinical precision of his movements suggests this is routine. But why would he have a whole fridge full of medical supplies?

A flash of movement draws my attention to the far wall, where a panel slides open. My breath catches — a hidden door?

What the hell?

More questions pile up in my mind, competing with the growing realization that I know nothing about this man who now controls my life.

“Probably hiding another pregnant woman somewhere in the house.”My imaginary sister chimes in.

I ignore her. My focus is on Aleksei as he vanishes behind the hidden panel, which slides shut with barely a whisper. When it seems safe to move, I edge closer to the doorway, eyeing the medical supplies he left on the counter. I recognize some of the chemical compounds; these aren’t typical medications — they’re specialized treatments, cutting-edge pharmaceuticals.

The hidden panel beckons. No visible handle or keypad, just smooth wood paneling that somehow opens to… where? Another wing? A secret lab?

My fingers trace the edge where I saw it separate. What could be important enough to hide behind a secret entrance? Important enough to need specialized medications?

The urge to investigate further grows stronger with each passing second. My pregnancy hormones might be making me reckless, but I need to know what other secrets this house holds.

What’s behind that door?

Chapter Thirty-Three

Aleksei

The screen flickers as Vasya demonstrates the new monitoring system.

Three distinct camera angles show Stella’s suite, each view crisp and detailed. The biomarker data streams alongside, tracking her vitals in real-time.

“Khorosho.” I lean back in my leather chair. “The blind spots?”

“None.” Vasya’s rough-hewn features shift on the monitor as he manipulates the controls remotely. “Thermal imaging covers the bathroom. Motion sensors on all entry points. The AI flags any deviation from approved patterns.”

The satisfaction of complete control settles over me. Every breath, every movement, every fluctuation in her body — all of it feeds into my systems. The thought of her carrying my child, safe within my walls, eases something deep in my chest.

My phone vibrates. Sasha’s update about the weapons shipment demands immediate attention. The familiar rhythm of business pulls me back to more pressing matters.

“Keep monitoring the integration.” I dismiss Vasya with a nod. “I want hourly reports in case anything changes.”

The monitor flits to a new image as I shut down our conversation and I pull up Sasha’s message. Three crates missing from the latest shipment. The timing couldn’t be worse, with the wedding disaster drawing all eyes to my business.

I tap my fingers against the desk, mind already calculating possible weak points in our supply chain.

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