Anna
She waited until nightfall.
The lights in the hallway dimmed to a soft glow, casting long shadows beneath the bedroom door. It was the first time the silence felt less like suffocation and more like opportunity.
Anna paced slowly, silently, her bare feet muffled by the thick rug. She'd spent hours studying the room—memorizing every detail, every angle. There were no vents large enough to crawl through, no weak hinges, no misplaced tools. But the woman earlier had made a mistake.
She hadn't fully closed the bathroom window.
It wasn't much. Barely a few inches of opening behind a screen. But Anna had nimble fingers and desperation on her side.
She pulled the chair from the vanity and dragged it quietly into the bathroom. Her breath fogged the glass as she worked, fingers trembling with the effort. She peeled the screen back with slow precision, ignoring the scrape it made against the frame.
Beyond the window was darkness. She couldn't tell how far the drop was, but she saw ivy-covered walls and what looked like a garden path below. It wasn't freedom. But it wasn't a prison, either.
She slipped one leg out the window and braced herself.
This was insane.
She didn't care.
She was halfway out when—
"You're braver than most."
The voice stopped her cold.
Deep. Low. Smooth as velvet but sharp as broken glass.
Anna froze.
Ivan.
He was somewhere behind her—in the doorway, maybe, or already in the room. She hadn't heard the door. Hadn't heard his footsteps.
Of course she hadn't.
She turned slowly, still straddling the window frame.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes darker than the shadows around him. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips.
"I wouldn't recommend that jump," he said calmly. "The roses below are lined with steel thorns. Decorative, but deadly."
Anna gritted her teeth. "Is this all a game to you?"
"No," he said, taking a step closer. "Games are for children. This—" he gestured around them "—is a lesson."
"A lesson in what? Submission?" she spat.
"In power."
He moved to the window, effortlessly closing the distance between them. She backed up instinctively, retreating into the bathroom as he leaned over and snapped the window shut with a soft click.
"I admire your instinct to run," he said, voice dropping. "But instinct won't get you far in a world built by men like me."
He turned away, as if the conversation bored him already.
Anna's heart pounded, but she refused to cower. "You think locking someone up proves something? That it makes you more of a man?"
He paused at the doorway, then glanced back over his shoulder.
"No, Miss Kimberley. That's not what makes me a man." His smile was like frost. "It's what happens next that does."
He left without another word.
The door clicked.
Locked again.
Anna sat on the cold bathroom floor, chest heaving, eyes stinging. She hadn't failed because she was weak. She had failed because he'd let her try.
That was worse.
---
Ivan
He watched the footage again.
Frame by frame. The way her hands worked the screen. The way her breath hitched when she believed she had a chance. The way her shoulders tensed when he spoke.
Fear. But also fury.
She was still dangerous. Not because she could hurt him—she couldn't. But because she hadn't broken yet. She still thought she had choices.
Aleks entered the room quietly and stood by the monitors. "She's resourceful."
"She's predictable," Ivan replied, eyes still on the screen. "Which means she's controllable."
"And if she weren't?"
Ivan didn't look up. "Then I wouldn't have chosen her."
There was a pause. Aleks hesitated, then said, "You could have taken someone simpler. Easier to mold."
"No," Ivan said sharply. "She's the one. She carries the debt. Whether she knows it or not."
Aleks inclined his head and left.
Ivan turned the monitor off.
Anna wasn't here by mistake.
She was a spark from a fire that had burned too many years ago—one he thought he'd extinguished. But her existence reopened old wounds. Her father had once stood in the same building, pleading for mercy. Lying with every word.
Ivan hadn't forgotten.
And Anna… she would learn why her name had been whispered in the halls of power, even if she'd never known it herself.
But she would also learn something else.
Not all cages are built with bars.
Some are built with questions.
Some are built with him.