Page 181 of Porcelain Lies

Goddammit!

The stupid fucking device is betraying my emotional response to the man who destroyed my family. I want to rip off again and fling it across the bathroom. I want to smash it.

I want to smashsomething. Anything.

Another message arrives: “Stella? Answer me.”

My hands shake as I type: “I’m fine. Just feeling a bit nauseous. Morning sickness.”

The lie tastes bitter. But what else can I do? I’m carrying his child. His blood runs through my veins now, mixing with the very blood he spilled. My family’s blood.

I lean back against the wall and press my hands over my eyes. Every time I close them, I see my father’s mangled car. My mother’s vacant stare. Aleksei’s hands on my body, touching me while my parents’ blood stains his soul.

I have to get out of here.

Now.

Moving on autopilot, I stumble from the bathroom and pull on clothing. Sneakers. Jeans. An oversized sweatshirt. It’s hardly haute couture, but it’s all I can manage. Then I gather essentials — cash, ID, my burner phone. The Louis Vuitton bag he bought me mocks my trembling fingers as I stuff items inside. Everything in this fucking place was bought with blood money.

My father’s blood.

I’m still shaking with shock when I reach for the iPhone again. My fingers move automatically as I type the message to Aleksei. “I need some feminine products. I need to go to town.”

His answer is almost immediate. “Tell me what you need. I’ll send someone to pick it up.”

Fuck!

Of course he would say that. I can’t believe that even now, I’m having to explain myself. Explain myself to the man who took my father away from me. But I’m not backing down.

“I don’t want one of your thugs picking up the wrong size and brand of tampons. Send someone with me if you don’t trust me.” My text feels like manipulation, but I’m beyond caring. All I care about is getting out of here, away from this gilded prison.

“Fine. The driver will meet you downstairs,” comes the answer.

Yes!

I pull in a series of calming breaths as I make my way through the hallways of the manor to the towering doors that lead out of this hell. The burly driver is already hovering beside the entrance like a dark shadow.

“Shopping,” I tell him as I shove past him. He opens the door for me and nods, unsuspecting. Why would he suspect anything? I’ve been the perfect prisoner, always following rules, staying in my lane.

Not today.

The city bustles around us as we drive, life continuing as though my world hasn’t just imploded. We pass shops filled withthings I once cared about, before my world turned upside down. Now nothing will ever be the same again.

Finally, we cruise up into a shopping district. Boutique stores line the road, shoppers milling about.

“Stop here,” I command, my voice foreign even to my own ears. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“I’ll be right behind you” he says, but I silence him with a haughty look.

“I am perfectly capable of taking a walk down the street. The exercise is good for the baby.” I reach for the door handle and he quickly brings the car to a halt near the sidewalk, probably afraid I’ll get out before he stops. In my current mood, I just might.

“Stay in sight,” he says.

“Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” I lie, already looking for an opportunity to make a run for it. There’s no way I’m going to buy anything. This could be my only chance to get away from the mess my life has become.

I pretend to stroll alongside my unwelcome companion, staring into storefronts, but all the while, I’m waiting for that right moment.

And then the Universe sends me a gift. A crowd catches my eye — protesters filling the street, their signs bobbing like angry waves. Messages about saving the planet. They seem agitated but harmless.

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