The silence of the house splintered into a thousand sharp shards. It was as if Anya had been jolted by electricity. The shock ran from the crown of her head to her heels, knocking the air out of her lungs. A heart that had been still a second ago broke into a mad gallop.
She instinctively turned her head toward the exit. Five meters. Just five meters separated her from that voice.
One dash, one desperate cry—“I’m here! Help!”—and it would all be over. Right now. Viktor wouldn’t make it. He simply wouldn’t be able to do anything against armed men. She could already see herself throwing herself at the door, her nails scraping the wood…
And then time slowed. In her mind, like frames from a horror film running backward, another ending surfaced.
She saw Viktor. Not the “Gardener” who gently watered her roots, but the one who had coldly killed a stray cat. The one who had left only a handful of bones from the previous “value” hidden inside the wall. If she screamed, he would have no choice. He wouldn’t have time to run, wouldn’t have time to justify himself. He would have nothing left to lose.
She saw it so clearly, as if it had already happened: she screams, she pounds on the door, and Viktor… Viktor watches in a stupor as his “highest value” betrays him. And in that instant, the Gardener’s mask finally slips off.
In two bounds he crosses the distance to the kitchen. His hand snatches the sharpest knife. Cold steel cuts into her throat before the police can break the lock. He won’t let her be taken alive. He will simply close the project, as if scrapping a defective part.
And then—another poisonous, icy thought:
What if this is a test? He has sensors, a fence, cameras… How could they have come right up to the door unnoticed? If I make a sound now, I’m dead.
If this was his next test, and she screamed now—she would lose everything.
Anya jerked her head away, almost convulsively. Her gaze was nailed to the basement steps.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Something clicked inside Anya. Fear gave way to a wild, almost insane fury. Her face twisted, her teeth bared in a snarl. It was the fury of a grandmaster whose life’s chess game some idiot had decided to interrupt with a random slap at the board.
I won’t allow it! Everything in her head screamed. I washed those damn dishes for a month! I built every gesture, every breath! I won’t let you ruin my perfect strategy with some random knock at the door!
She didn’t run to the exit. Instead, with terrifying quiet confidence, she started down the steps. She placed her palm on the door handle and slowly pulled it toward herself. Soundlessly. Softly. Millimeter by millimeter. She was going into the basement voluntarily, choosing her cage at the moment salvation stood on the threshold.
Viktor, who had flown down from the second floor like a bullet, froze in the hallway. His face was pale, his eyes feverishly bright. He was waiting for a scream. He was waiting for her to rush to him—or to the exit.
But instead, he saw only the basement door slowly and soundlessly closing. She was going into the darkness of her own accord. She had chosen his world.
Viktor stood in complete shock. Anya’s rejection of a real chance at rescue struck him harder than the sound of the police knocking. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and, still in a state of cognitive dissonance, headed for the front door.
Upstairs, a scene unfolded that was surreal in its ordinariness. While Anya curled into a ball in the basement, beyond the oak door there was a conversation about things so prosaic they felt like mockery.
Through the thick floorboards, only muffled voices reached Anya, but thanks to the ventilation shaft she could catch the gist.
“…They broke the lock in broad daylight,” a male voice was droning. “Took everything, right down to the TV. Neighbors two houses down from you. You didn’t see anything suspicious? Strange cars, people?”
“No,” Viktor’s voice sounded tight but polite. “Nothing at all. I’ve got enhanced soundproofing here, triple glazing. I work in my study with headphones on, so I hardly notice anything outside.”
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“I see. Still, stay alert. Quiet neighborhood—everyone’s relaxed. We’re going around to everyone now, collecting footage from anyone with exterior cameras…”
“My cameras record only the inner perimeter of the property—privacy, you understand…” Viktor answered quickly. “But I’ll check the archives; if something got into the frame, I’ll definitely let you know.”
The pointless chatter dragged on. They discussed weather, locks, safety… Every minute of that conversation felt like an eternity to Anya.
And while upstairs Viktor played the respectable citizen, down in the basement Anya’s emotions reversed in an instant. Fury scorched her soul down to the ground, leaving only a handful of ash where her hope for help from outside had once been.
She sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and she was literally shaking.
You miserable, overconfident amateur. You promised me absolute peace. You bragged about your sensors. After Artem barged in here, you swore not even a mouse would get through, that this was your sanctuary! And now?
Someone just walked up and knocked. Just. Knocked. On. Your. Door.
I went into this hole, I shut the door behind me, I strangled the cry for help inside myself so I wouldn’t give you a reason to slit my throat in a panic. I did everything perfectly. I was more of an Architect than you ever were! And you made a miscalculation. You let the world touch this house.
Wait until they leave. Come down here, my ‘great Gardener.’ I’ll wipe the floor with you for this mistake. How dare you make me take that kind of risk?!
She felt her fingers digging into her legs. A plan was already ripening in her mind: she would not be a victim who needed comforting. She would become the arbiter of her fate—and his. She would turn this incident into her weapon.
Anya took several deep breaths to steady the shaking. She straightened the folds of her dress, reached for a book, and settled into a pose of absolute, icy calm.
Upstairs, the front door slammed. The grating sound of keys turning in the locks three times rang out like the final chord in this symphony of absurdity. The police were gone. The world sealed shut again, but now that seal felt false and fragile to Anya.
She heard his footsteps. They were heavy, uneven. Viktor was coming down into the basement not like the master of the house, but like a man who had just avoided the electric chair.
When he reached the bottom, his face was sallow, his shirt stuck to his back. He opened his mouth; his voice trembled with unspoken admiration and relief.
“Anya…” he breathed. “You… you’re incredible. Well done. What a smart girl you are. What you did… how you went down… that’s the ultimate proof of devotion. You saved us both.”
Anya slowly, with pointed care, closed the book. Rage boiled inside her, but she let only an icy chill of disappointment rise to the surface. She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time.
“What are you thanking me for, Viktor?” she asked quietly, and in that quiet there was the ring of steel.
“For the way you reacted!” He leaned forward, almost choking on emotion. “Anyone else would have screamed, rushed to the door. But you… you understood everything without words. You chose to stay. It’s… it’s masterful!”
Anya stood up. Her posture held such dignity that Viktor had to step back.
“Your praise… is insulting,” she said, crisp and clear. “You’re thanking me like someone who expected betrayal? So all that talk about trust was just talk?”
Viktor was taken aback. The smile slid off his face. He wanted to object, but Anya didn’t give him a second to breathe.
“I trust you, Viktor. Unconditionally. Even though you promised no one would come up to this house after that incident with the brute in the kitchen. But I’m not making accusations. I understand: technology isn’t foolproof. This isn’t your mistake—it’s a failure of your sensors that didn’t warn you. I believe in you, not in bits of metal.”
She paused, boring into him with her gaze.
“But you—you don’t trust the very result you cultivated yourself? You expected me to scream?”
Viktor stood stunned. She had just turned the situation upside down: his lapse became a “technical glitch,” and her obedience became “wounded trust.” Instead of relief, he felt searing guilt.
Anya turned away in disappointment, her shoulders dropping, her whole posture showing how deeply he had hurt her.
“All I need is to feel that I’m trusted the way I trust you,” she said with strain in her voice. “In a family, mutual trust is important, isn’t it, Viktor?”
“Yes…” he mumbled, thrown off. “Trust… of course, it’s the foundation. Anya, forgive me, I just got rattled…”
“Then trust me,” she snapped, turning back. “And let me take a bath. Upstairs. Every day before dinner. It will be easier than trying to wash here at the sink. It will be a sign that, to you, I am a value—not just a mouse sitting in a maze.”
In Viktor’s gaze, a transformation unfolded: from shock to almost religious rapture. She wasn’t trying to escape, wasn’t accusing him of kidnapping, wasn’t asking for freedom. She was asking for “cleanliness” and “trust.” His ego, just crushed by fear, swelled to impossible proportions again.
“Of course…” he breathed. “Of course, Anya. Every day. You’re absolutely right. I was wrong to doubt you for even a moment. Starting tomorrow, we begin. The bathroom is at your disposal.”
Anya meekly nodded and turned toward the wall so he wouldn’t see the victorious, cold gleam in her eyes.
Swallow it, my dear Architect. Swallow every word. You were so afraid of the police you didn’t notice I put a collar on you.
You’re such easy prey when you’re scared. ‘A technical glitch’? Seriously? Your system is as full of holes as your conscience, but it benefits me for you to think otherwise. Now you’ll be proving your ‘trust’ three times as hard, just to atone for daring to doubt me.
Bath time. Every day. Half an hour behind a closed door, with the rush of water drowning out the microphones. Half an hour alone with myself in a room with mirrors, chemicals, and—maybe—something else.
Before, I was just washing dishes. Now I’ll scrub your brain until it shines…