Page 92 of Silken Chains
I wander into the walk-in closet.
A fucking walk-in closet.
The realization that I now have a “his and hers” closet hits me hard. The dresses, all organized by color, the suits, and the extravagant pieces—it’s all too much.
Running my fingers over the fabrics, sequins, and lace, all this luxury still feels alien to me.
I puff out my cheeks in frustration, scanning the closet filled with outfits that scream wealth. No jeans in sight, just dresses and pants too fancy for my taste.
I really miss my own clothes. They might be nothing fancy, just sweatshirts and long pants, but they’re me.
In the end, I opt for the least extravagant pair of black pants and a simple, though clearly designer, white blouse.
Slipping on a pair of sneakers that fit perfectly, I can’t help but be impressed. “Wow, they’ve got everything down, from my underwear to my shoe size.”
Glancing at the ring on my finger, I realize… “This, too.” It must be the same size that Victor’s mom wore.
Approaching a full-length mirror, a silent curse escapes me.
“Shit, I look… elegant.” There’s a moment of disbelief as I see myself looking like those rich wives from Beverly Hills, a world away from my own reality.
The vastness of my room—or should I call it a suite?—hits me again. It dwarfs my old apartment, turning my past life into a distant memory.
What do I do now?
I let out a long sigh.
One breath at a time. Laur, just be thankful you’re still breathing today.
Determined to shake off my restlessness, I make my way downstairs.
The house is waking up; the soft morning light filters through grand windows, casting shadows that dance on the walls.
The early morning light casting a soft glow through the grand space. The TV remote sits precisely where it’s supposed to be on the coffee table. I sink into the plush sofa and try the TV, but nothing holds my interest. It’s too early, and my mind is elsewhere.
I shut it off, realizing it’s still early, just half past six.
“Fine, I’ll go look for him.” I finally give in to the worry gnawing at me.
Damn, why does the nightmare bother me so much?
He’s the man who took me from my life.
Without realizing it, my feet carry me to the door, half thinking it’ll be locked. But it opens right up.
“Oh! Did they forget to lock me in?” Stepping out, I move quietly, almost like a thief, down the corridor, recalling Victor’s words about his meeting room.
“Maybe he’s there, working? Or maybe dealing with mafia stuff…”
The corridors feel endless, lined with doors that hide secrets and stories I can only guess at.
I notice the voices of maids downstairs as I approach a room, the door slightly open, light spilling out. Nearing it, I freeze at the sound of Ksenia’s voice, tense and low, her frustration barely contained.
“What the fuck happened there, Igor?” she snaps into the phone.
My steps betray me, pulling me toward the door.
Logic yells at me to back off, to keep out of mafia messes. Yet, here I am, curiosity bulldozing my caution.
