roast beef and consumed a small bag of potato chips as well as two more bottles of water, Andros settled in the seat next to me. In his hand was a small screen filled with baby furniture. Everything was new. There were cribs and small beds called bassinets. There were rocking chairs, dressers, and changing tables. I wasn’t certain I’d ever heard of a table designed for changing diapers.
“Why are you being nice?” I asked.
“I’m not. That’s the last word to describe me.”
“But you are.”
“I’m simply securing my investment. I’m confident that you and your baby will be worth it.”
That may have been true that he wasn’t nice and I was his investment, but with my thirst quenched and stomach satisfied, I wanted to believe that Andros was nice.
As the warmth of his arm rested against mine and I looked from one picture of a nursery to the next, there was no possible way for me to comprehend the truth—that Andros Ivanov’s method was far more devious than that of Miss Warner.
She thrived on negative reinforcement while capitalizing on her victims’ basic needs. We accepted every debasing and degrading consequence as our only means to survival, as well as that of our child. She exploited our instincts to protect the baby within us, and to that end, we suffered anything she or the customers did in order to keep the child within us alive.
Andros, with his spicy cologne, expensive suit, dangerous accent, handsome looks, and dark stare was eviler than the devil himself. He understood that further humiliation of an already-broken girl was fruitless. Instead, his strategy was to build me up, support my child, mend my shredded self-esteem, and make me believe I was valuable.
Only then, only once my confidence was regained, could he truly humiliate me and in doing so, tighten his hold on my future and that of my child.
Madeline
Present day
The scenery of northern Texas passed beyond the limousine’s windows as David drove us to St. Pierre, Marion’s jeweler. When I’d returned to my room after not eating breakfast, imagine my shock at finding the cleaned vanity in my bathroom. All of the cosmetics had been returned to their places and most importantly, the necklace Patrick had instructed me to wear was missing.
Instead of panicking, I went to the dresser and found the wooden box Eloise had shown me the day before. Removing it from the drawer, I lifted the lid. As it had been before, the necklace was within it. I immediately secured the chain around my neck. With the door to the hallway locked, I stepped to the large windows and peered out at Marion’s ranch. In the distance were trucks and men near the oil wells. I hadn’t seen anyone near the barns or corrals, but there were people. He couldn’t possibly believe I’d be content as a hostage on this piece of land.
As I stepped into the shower and multiple showerheads rained warm water over my skin and long dark hair, memories I’d forgotten continued to return.
Forgotten was a bad choice of wording.
They were memories that I’d successfully compartmentalized away.
As the water streamed and steam filled the bathroom, I recalled my first shower at Andros’s home. Much like this suite at Marion’s, my assigned suite at Andros’s had been like something out of a storybook or TV show. In the span of twenty-four hours, I’d gone from living in darkness, filth, and bodily secretions to the lap of luxury.
My room was large, complete with a bed bigger than I’d ever seen. It wasn’t only a bedroom but also living quarters, including an area furnished with a sofa, television, long chair, and tables. There was even a desk for when my studies began.
The closet was larger than Patrick’s and my room at the mission, and the attached bathroom not only had a big glass shower but also a bathtub with jets that bubbled when a button was pushed. Also like Marion’s home, my suite at Andros’s was on a second floor. Those windows overlooked an inner courtyard—much like a small park surrounded by house.
Within the next few weeks, Andros would have the room next to mine connected by an inner door and create an attached nursery.
I hadn’t given my arrival to Andros’s much thought over the years as life became routine. However, now that circumstances changed, I was able to look back and see my willingness to inaccurately credit Andros’s actions as care or concern.
They said that hindsight was 20/20. In reality, it was