Page 119 of Porcelain Lies

The guard’s voice grows clearer — he’s moving this way. I step out of the electronics shop, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace despite every instinct screaming at me to run.

I clutch my shopping bags closer, trying to steady my breathing as I merge back into the mall crowd. The burner phone feels like it’s burning a hole through the maternity clothes I’ve buried it under. One wrong move and everything falls apart.

Footsteps approach rapidly from behind — the guard must have finished his call. I duck into the nearest store, pretending to examine a display of baby clothes.

“Miss Stella.” His voice is tight. “You were not to leave my sight.”

I turn, feigning innocence as I hold up a tiny onesie. “I’m sorry, I just got excited when I saw these. Aren’t they adorable?”

He scans me with suspicious eyes, likely noting my flushed cheeks and slightly elevated breathing. I force myself to maintain eye contact, channeling all my acting abilities into appearing genuinely distracted by baby clothes.

“Mr. Tarasov gave strict instructions,” he adds.

“Of course.” I nod contritely. “I wasn’t thinking. Pregnancy brain, you know?” I pat my belly for emphasis. “Everything’s just so overwhelming — all these choices for the baby.”

His stern expression softens slightly. I press my advantage, holding up the onesie. “What do you think? Too early to start shopping?”

“We should go back.” He checks his watch. “You’ve bought enough.”

“You’re right,” I agree quickly, before he can think too hard about where I’ve been. “I’m getting tired anyway.”

The guard maintains a careful three steps behind me as we head toward the parking lot, the Mercedes gleaming in the afternoon sun as we approach. I slide into the backseat, arranging my bags carefully beside me. The hidden phone feels like it’s broadcasting its presence, though I know that’s just paranoia.

Traffic crawls along the highway, each red light stretching my nerves thinner.

I lean against window, letting my eyes drop shut. Each mile closer to Blackwood Manor increases the risk of discovery. Will they search my bags? Pat me down?

“Stop panicking. Just act natural.”Boyana is the voice of reason.

Shit, I don’t even know who I’m planning to call. Obviously not Nick. And I don’t know if Hannah’s back from her last training trip. Maybe someone from work? Not that I have a job after ditching for the last couple of days without calling in. I was skating on thin ice as it was.

I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.

“What about the cops?”says Boyana.

I shake my head at the thought. And tell them what? That my baby’s father has kidnapped me and is forcing me to live in the lap of luxury with professionally prepared meals, a private trainer, and an American Express “Black Card”?

They’ll laugh in my face. And they’d be right. I don’t have what it takes to go through a police investigation right now. And do I even want to? As much as I hate being told what to do, I can’t deny that most of his crazy rules are in my best interests.

The gates appear ahead, and I curl my fingers into my palms to stop them from shaking. Just need to get through security. Just need to keep calm for a few more minutes.

The guard rolls down his window to exchange words with security in rapid Russian. I keep my expression neutral, though my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure they must hear it.

But nothing happens. The guard at the gate nods to me and waves us through. The Benz glides up to the front stairs to the Left Wing, and my bodyguard opens the door for me. When he reaches for my bags, I snatch them back from him, and he gives me an odd look. But aside from that, there’s no sign that he suspects anything.

Still, I have to force myself to relax when I get back to my room and stow my illicit purchase beneath the mattress.

“Calm down, you idiot!”Boyana warns.“Captain Control Freak will see your blood pressure spike and come to see what’s going on.”

“Fine,” I huff, unrolling my yoga mat and sinking onto it. I sit cross-legged, going through a series of breathing exercises until I feel my heart rate settle.

Finally, darkness falls.

The grounds illuminate with subtle security lighting, but the guards switch to their night rotation — guys in black patrolling with dogs. It’s like living in a prison camp.

I pick at the dinner Imelda brings, pushing salmon around my plate while watching a reality show on Netflix about babies. Time drags by like a treacle. Gradually, the house sinks into silence as activity within it stops.

“It’s now or never,”whispers Boyana.

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