Page 99 of Porcelain Lies

“Bathroom through there.” Imelda points to a door of frosted glass. “Kitchen down hall. I bring schedule for meals later.”

A schedule. Of course there’s a schedule. My hand drifts to my stomach unconsciously. How long am I supposed to be here? Until the baby arrives?

No. That’s unthinkable. As soon as he comes back, we’re going to settle this.

“Thank you,” I manage to whisper.

Imelda bobs her head and backs away, leaving me alone in this stunning prison. The door clicks shut with quiet finality.

I sink onto a navy-blue velvet chaise lounge, the fabric cool against my burning skin. Part of me wants to laugh, but I’m afraid if I start, it’ll turn into screaming.

“Cut it out, girl. You’re being pathetic.”

“Thanks, Boyana… for nothing,” I mutter. Standing again, I approach the French doors. Beyond the glass, an infinity pool stretches toward manicured gardens, its surface mirror-smooth in the afternoon light. The water reflects clouds drifting overhead, creating an illusion of endless sky.

My fingers trace the cool glass. Pristine hedges frame the pool area, their geometric shapes too perfect to feel natural. Beyond them, towering oak trees form a living wall. The branches sway slightly in the breeze, but the movement only emphasizes how still everything else is. No gardeners. No guests. No signs of life at all.

The isolation is overwhelming. I press my forehead against the glass to steady myself. A sob builds in my throat, but I swallow it back. Then another comes, stronger this time. The glass fogs with my ragged breathing.

“Boyana,” I whisper, needing my sister more than ever. “What am I going to do?”

The tears come then, burning my eyelids. My shoulders shake as everything crashes over me at once. The last few months have been a nightmare; how much more could go wrong?

The perfect view blurs through my tears. Even the endless sky feels like it’s closing in.

I pull my phone from my pocket, desperate to contact Hannah, to hear a friendly voice. The “No Service” message mocks me. I try walking around the room, holding the phone higher, even pressing it against the window — nothing.

My fingers move automatically through the settings, checking carrier options and network configurations. The analytical part of my brain takes comfort in the systematic approach, even knowing it’s futile. Of course he’s thought of this. Of course there’s some kind of signal blocker in place.

Sinking onto the window seat, I spot a bookshelf tucked into an alcove. The titles catch my attention — medical journals, neuroscience textbooks, quantum physics publications. My fingers trail along their spines, recognizing titles.

“Introduction to Neural Networks,” I murmur, pulling out a familiar volume. “No way.” I shake my head. These aren’t my books; none of my things have been unpacked yet. What are the odds of finding a little treasure trove of science books in this place?

But this, at least, makes sense. Neurons firing in predictable patterns, chemical reactions following established rules. Unlike my life, which seems to have abandoned all logic.

Turning from the window, I head to the ridiculously big bed and curl up with the book, letting myself get lost in the complex theories. For a moment, I can pretend I’m back home. Before everything went wrong. Before I lost everyone.

The scientific terminology grounds me, gives my racing thoughts something concrete to focus on. It’s almost like having a conversation with Dad again, discussing medicine over dinner. He would have loved these books.

As the stress of the day takes its toll, the words begin to blur into one another. The textbook slides from my fingers as exhaustion creeps in. And so doeshe.Even the familiar comfort of science can’t keep my thoughts from drifting to Aleksei.

My skin burns, remembering his touch, the possessive way he claimed me that night at the party. The same night that created this baby.

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memories. He’s dangerous. A Bratva boss who deals in violence and fear. The kind of man I should be running from.

But my treacherous body remembers how safe I felt in his arms. How his presence filled every space, making the rest of the world disappear. The way his dark eyes saw straight through my defenses.

“Stop it,” I mutter, rolling onto my side. The silk sheets whisper against my skin, and I imagine his hands instead. My heart races, caught between desire and terror.

This man dragged me here without asking. Took control of my life like it belonged to him. I should be furious.

Iamfurious.

Yet part of me craves his strength, wants to surrender to that overwhelming force. The same part that melted at his touch, that still burns for him.

My eyes grow heavy as conflicting emotions wage war in my chest. The bed cradles me like a cloud, and despite everything, sleep pulls at me with irresistible force.

The silk sheets caress my skin as I drift deeper into a restless slumber.

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