Chapter Fourteen-The Quiet aisle

p

The West Wing apartment felt cold despite the luxurious temperature control. I sat on the sterile, silk-covered sofa, clutching my phone. Agnes had just delivered my first 'asset stipend' with the black card. It's a stack of clean, expensive linens. She had gone out with a few maids to get me some clothings, footwear and toiletries for me. My true security, however, was in the call I was currently on. It was Bensjasmin, her voice thin with exhaustion but vibrant with a hopeful energy I hadn't heard in years.

“So, the update of all updates” She announced, her voice cracking slightly. "They're moving her, Bluey. My mother is being airlifted to the clinic in Geneva next week. Multiple surgeries. The funding came through.”

A rush of pure, unadulterated relief washed over me, immediately followed by the hollow dread of my own situation. “Jasmin! That is... phenomenal news! I knew that woman was a fighter.”

“Two months, minimum. They want to reconstruct the damage. I got the emergency leave approved. I'll be flying out with her as her primary caregiver.”

The length of time hit me. Two months. Eighty-six thousand, four hundred minutes of absolute isolation, trapped inside Lot 27. My only anchor was leaving the continent.

“Wow. Two months” I repeated, trying to sound excited rather than terrified. “That's enough time for you to learn fluent French, meet a ridiculously handsome Swiss banker, and come back with a whole new accent.”

Jasmin laughed, a tired, genuine sound. “Bluey, darling, I'm going to be changing bedpans, not banking.” She paused, and I could hear the background bustle of hospital monitors. “But two months... that's the hope. And I have to take it. She's the only family I have left”

“You absolutely do. This is your life, Jasmin. This is a good fight.” I rubbed my temples. I couldn't tell her about Khaid's ultimatum, the destroyed house, or my new status as an 'asset.' Not now. Not when she was on the brink of this life-changing trip.

“What about you?” she asked, her voice turning serious. “You still haven't told me why you were running around yesterday like you saw a ghost. You were frantic. I could see the massive phone calls. Is everything alright?”

I took a deep breath, weaving the necessary lie. “It was just a massive fright. The landlord finally lost it, tried to evict me with the cops, and I panicked. I had to crash at an old acquaintance's place. Someone really rigid and uptight, who takes up half of Belg City, actually. I'm safe now. I've got a temporary arrangement. It's... ridiculously secure.”

“Secure is good, Satera. We need security.” She sighed. “Look, I have to go through the final discharge papers. But I'll call you the minute we land. You have to promise me you'll stop being so reckless. You have to lie low for these two months.”

“Promise” I vowed, the word tasting of bitter irony. I was so low, I was practically subterranean, caged by a Mafia CEO and a womanizer. “Go save your mother, Jasmin. She needs you whole and focused. Don't worry about me. I'll be here, brewing the next batch of coital bliss and planning my European vacation to see you in Geneva.”

“I'll hold you to that, Bluey. I love you. Stay safe.”

“I love you too, my brilliant friend. Give your mom a kiss for me. Tell her to heal fast so she can come home and boss you around again.”

We said our final, tearful goodbyes. As the line disconnected, the reality of my servitude snapped into stark relief. Bensjasmin was flying toward hope and light but was sinking deeper into the shadows of Lot 27. For the next two months, Khaid Jager was my only contact with the outside world. My lease on this luxurious cage had officially begun.

★

MTP Clan

The air inside the MTP Clan's opulent but suffocating compound was thick with anticipated disaster. News of Elvira's brutalized return had spread ahead of the black sedan that carried her. The main receiving hall, usually a hub of quiet activity, was now frozen with tension.

When the heavy doors swung open, Elvira stepped inside, flanked by a nervous, twitching Jerry. She was dressed in an unfamiliar, drab gray tunic which is the uniform of Khaid’s bunker which looked ridiculously out of place against the Clan’s polished marble floors. Her exhaustion was profound, a dark smudge beneath her eyes, but her face was set in a mask of aggressive indifference. The subtle bruises around her cheekbones, courtesy of Anna, were starkly visible.

Mae and Ginger, Elvira’s two younger, identically anxious siblings, rushed toward her, their relief instantly turning to horror at the sight of her battered state.

“Elvira! What did that bastard do to you? Are you alright?” Mae cried, reaching out a protective hand.

Elvira flinched away with a sharp, visceral recoil. Her eyes which were usually sparkling with mischief were flat, devoid of emotion, but boiling underneath with sheer fury.

“Fuck off” she snarled, the words low and ice-cold. It was a vicious dismissal that sliced through the familial concern.

Mae and Ginger recoiled, their faces shifting from worry to stunned silence. Elvira didn't spare them another glance.

“Boss says to see him before you go to your quarters” Jerry relayed the message.

Without saying a word, she carried herself with a heavy, wobbly nonchalance that suggested the events of the last seventy-two hours had stripped away her capacity for normal emotion.

She strode past her siblings and stopped dead center in the room, directly before the wide, looming figure of MetroPaul, who sat enthroned in his customized, lion-shaped chair. He was puffing furiously on his pipe, the rich smoke swirling around his head like a notorious crown. He stared at his daughter, his eyes blazing, not with a father's pain, but with the terrifying intensity of a mob boss whose property has been damaged. Mae and Ginger stood frozen behind Elvira, silent witnesses to the coming storm.

“Where is it?” MetroPaul rasped, his voice a low, gravelly growl that shook the silence.

Elvira waited, her defiance still intact despite her exhaustion. “Where is what, Father?”

MetroPaul slammed his heavy fist down on the armrest, causing the lion's head to rattle. “Don't play games with me, girl! I sent the consignment, didn't I? He confirmed he has the key. Now where is the necklace? The one you were supposed to be wearing, the decoy, you little idiot!”

Elvira's composure shattered. The sheer, staggering weight of his priorities hit her. Not even a question about her safety, not a word about the bruises on her face or the trauma of the underground cell, but an immediate, panicked demand for a piece of jewelry she now knew was worthless. The anger and exhaustion drained from her face, leaving behind only raw, wounded shock. Her jaw went slack. The brutal reality of her disposability in the face of her father's grand schemes struck her with more force than Anna’s fist.

She looked at her father, her eyes wide with bewildered betrayal. Mae and Ginger watched, stupefied, the air cracking with the unspoken realization that their father cared more about an antique key than his eldest daughter.

“The necklace?” Elvira whispered, the word thick with disbelief. Her voice barely carried. “What is the necklace all about, Father?”

“It's none of your business” MetroPaul answered. “Where's it?”

“It's not with him” Elvira responded defiantly.

“Then where's it?” MetroPaul's nostrils flared in controlled anger.

“With the king of Belg City? King of the Mafia world? I think” Elvira intoned deliberately. She was fearless as to her statement. She knew how much her father hated calling or hearing anyone call Khaid the king of the Mafia world.

“You're a bastard, Elvira” MetroPaul finally lost it and the gigantic mirror suffered the rage as it came crashing down in torrents.

“I am not Satera, father”

“What did you just say?”

“I will take my leave now, boss” With that being said, Elvira burst out of the door like a flash. Mae and Ginger stood gob smacked. Jerry was barely breathing.

MetroPaul smirked, in amusement rather than anger. “How will they know you're the true of your father if you don't act like it”