The Only Escape

Lydia's POV

I whimpered in his unyielding grip as he harshly grabbed my chin. He squeezed my cheeks, forcing my lips to part into a pout. His deep blue eyes tracked the movement, turning dark as they locked onto my mouth. His large thumb brushed over my bottom lip, dragging against the soft flesh in a slow, deliberate stroke. My breath hitched. Panic surged through my chest, tight and suffocating. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Oh god. Please, no. Not a kiss. Please don't kiss me.

I shut my eyes tight, dreading the forceful crush of his mouth against mine. I braced myself for the invasion. But the impact never came. He paused.

I cracked my eyes open. He hovered just inches away. A strange, unreadable mystery shadowed his gaze. For a fleeting second, a crack formed in his brutal demeanor, revealing a strange softness. Then, just as fast as it appeared, it vanished. He let go of my face and took a sharp step back.

He mumbled something angry under his breath in rapid Italian. The harsh syllables bounced off the bathroom tiles. Before I could process what had just happened, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the washroom.

The heavy bedroom door shut behind him with a loud, echoing thud.

I slumped against the cold glass of the shower, letting out a shaky sigh. Profound relief washed over my trembling body. I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to steady my erratic breathing. What was his problem? I knew I was nothing to him. Just a body. A transaction. I expected no respect. I just needed to survive. My shaking heart hammered a steady reminder against my ribs: I only had to endure this twisted arrangement for exactly fourteen more days. Just fourteen days, and I would be free. I grabbed a towel, dried my skin, and pulled on my cheap clothes.

The massive house felt empty as I walked cautiously downstairs. My footsteps made no sound on the polished hardwood floors. I headed straight for the large kitchen. The sweet scent of brewing coffee and frying bacon hit my nose. Helena, the older maid, stood by the stove.

She turned and offered a warm smile. "Good morning, Lydia."

"Good morning, Helena."

Her eyes flicked to my damp hair. "Why is your hair still wet? You will catch a cold, dear."

A small pang hit my chest. It felt nice to have someone care. After my mom passed away, nobody checked on me. My dad could barely look after himself, let alone worry about my health.

"I am used to it," I replied, managing a faint smile. "I will be fine."

"Come sit. I will fix you a hot plate of breakfast." She pointed to a small wooden table tucked in the corner of the sprawling kitchen.

I hesitated. My fingers gripped the hem of my shirt. "I don't know if I should. What if he finds out?"

Helena placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the table. She pulled out a chair and sat across from me. "What are you thinking about, dear? You look stressed."

"I am scared of eating in his grand house without his explicit permission," I confessed. My voice shook with deep fear. "I don't want another punishment."

Helena chuckled softly. The sound seemed out of place in this terrifying mansion. "If you are still sitting here, then he wants you to eat here."

"He knows I am in the kitchen?"

She raised an eyebrow and gestured subtly toward the corner of the ceiling. I followed her gaze. A concealed CCTV camera sat mounted high on the wall, a tiny red light blinking in the shadows. A cold chill crept down my spine. The thought of him watching my every move unnerved me. Did he have cameras in the bedroom too? The idea made me sick.

"Trust me," Helena said quietly, pulling my attention back. "Nothing happens in this massive house without his permission."

So he knew I was here, and he allowed it. I picked up my fork and took a cautious bite. The food tasted incredible. I hadn't realized how starving I was until the warm eggs hit my empty stomach. I ate quickly.

"You have magic in your hands, Helena," I said between bites. "I love this."

She smiled, but her eyes held a lingering sadness. "Lydia, you haven't told me what is going on between the two of you." She leaned closer, keeping her voice low. "I can tell you are not a prostitute. You are definitely not his lover. So who are you? Please do not take this the wrong way, but the permanent fear in your tired eyes makes me worry for you."

My appetite vanished. I put my fork down. The strict, life-or-death warning Mr. Vargas had given me echoed in my head.

"I don't know who I am, Helena," I whispered, staring down at my half-empty plate. "But I cannot tell you anything. I am not allowed to speak a single word about it."

Helena sighed. She reached across the table and squeezed my trembling hand reassuringly. Her touch was warm. "I understand. Forget I asked. Just take care of yourself."

"Will he hurt me?" I asked, unable to keep the desperation out of my voice.

She looked away for a moment. "Depends on you. But I think he won't. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now."

"I don't know how to deal with him," I admitted, my voice breaking. "He scares me. Sometimes he just confuses me. He never talks to me."

"He was always like that," Helena said with a fond smile. "He does not like to talk much. He is the calm one in his family. The smart one."

"How long have you known him?"

"Are you curious?" she teased softly.

"I just want to know what I am dealing with," I replied nervously.

Helena chuckled. "I have known him since he was a child. I worked for his father."

My eyes widened in disbelief. "Really? How did you survive so long under him?"

"He is not that bad, Lydia," she tried to ease my overwhelming worries. "Actually, Lucian is the kindest one among his siblings."

The terrifying thought chilled me to the bone. This violent, cold-blooded monster was somehow the kindest? What kind of monsters were his siblings?

"So it is a family business?" I probed gently.

"Yes. Lucian is a literal mafia prince. His father is the absolute king of the Italian mafia. A very powerful man. He helped me a lot during my difficult times, so I remain loyal to him and his children."

"Then why does Lucian live here alone?"

"I heard Lucian fought with his father. A big argument. After that, he left his family home. His mother worried about him, so she asked me to come here and take care of him."

"His mother?" I frowned. "How could a mother approve of her son becoming a mob boss?"

"It is not her fault, Lydia. These men are cunning." Helena sighed heavily. "I cannot really explain it, but I think you have an idea of what they are capable of."

"Was she forced?" I asked, wondering if I had judged too quickly.

"I do not think so. She is not someone easily manipulated. She is powerful too. But we cannot just assume. We do not know the reality."

My heart hammered again. "Should I be scared of his family?"

Helena's expression turned grave. "Very much."

I swallowed hard. "Who is the dangerous one?"

"Mother," she warned, her tone dead serious. "Stay away from her. She is not evil. She is good with good, and worst with bad. If you ever come across her, try to be on her good side."

"What could she possibly do?"

"She is the absolutely only one who can save you from Lucian's wrath."

Her ominous words deepened my suffocating dread. The last thing I wanted was to get tangled in this crazy, murderous family drama. If Lucian was the kindest, I had no desire to meet the worst. I just needed to keep my head down.

"It doesn't matter, Helena," I said, pushing the plate away. "I only have fourteen days left. After that, I will be entirely free of him. I won't come here again."

Helena's smile faded. "I thought you needed this job?"

"I do. But only for fourteen days." The mere thought brought a faint, genuine smile to my lips.

"Whatever works for you, dear. I can only wish you a happy life."

I bid her a quiet goodbye and walked out the back door. The freezing morning air hit my face like a slap. It was Sunday, meaning I had the day off from my other jobs. Luckily, Lucian hadn't stopped me from leaving.

I began the grueling hour-long walk home to save my meager money. A cab would take ten minutes, but I could not afford to waste a single penny. I pulled my thin jacket tighter around my shivering body. The bitter Christmas chill perfectly mirrored my inner emotional numbness. The streets were lined with festive decorations, twinkling lights, and green wreaths, but I felt no excitement. The holiday cheer bypassed me completely.

I just desperately yearned for a normal, fearless life. A life where I did not flinch at shadows or calculate my every breath to avoid punishment. But even when the fourteen days ended, I worried his rough touches and haunting, deep voice were already permanently branded into my damaged mind. The phantom weight of his body against mine, the way his fingers bruised my skin—would I ever be able to scrub that clean? Would I ever feel normal again?

I kept my head down, ignoring the biting wind. The familiar route took me past a row of high-end shops. I usually walked fast past them, but today, something caught my eye.

I paused outside a glittering, famous boutique. Through the pristine glass window, a mannequin displayed a gorgeous black strapless gown. It featured a daring thigh-high slit and delicate detailing along the bodice. The fabric looked like liquid silk. I stared at it, completely mesmerized. For a brief second, I imagined wearing it. I imagined feeling beautiful, confident, and free.

Then my eyes dropped to the small, elegant placard at the base of the mannequin. The staggering price tag shattered my naive awe. I could work for five years and still not afford the tax on that dress. The reality of my pathetic life crashed down on me. I was a girl who sold her body to a mafia prince just to keep a roof over her head.

"Miss, would you like to come in?"

A gruff voice broke my trance. I blinked and looked up. A burly security guard stood by the boutique entrance. His eyes scanned my cheap, worn-out clothes, noting how I lingered on the sidewalk.

A flush of deep embarrassment burned my cheeks. I took a quick step back. "No, thank you," I mumbled.

I turned away and hurried down the street. I did not need the dress. I had nowhere to wear it anyway. It was a stupid fantasy.

I wrapped my arms around myself, picking up the pace. The depressing, gray buildings of my neighborhood finally came into view. The contrast between the glittering boutique and my cracked sidewalks felt like a punch to the gut.

Just as I turned the corner to my street, a familiar, warm voice called out from behind.

"Lydia!"

I froze. That voice.

I turned around. My tired eyes sparked with long-lost, genuine joy as I saw the tall figure standing a few feet away. His dark hair was slightly windblown, and his handsome face held a gentle, easy smile. He wore a thick coat and carried a small paper bag. It was my favorite person in the world.

"Tariq..." I smiled.