Chapter 39: The Lock-Down

The return trip from the cold, dark study was silent. We didn't take the staff elevator; we took the private lift to the penthouse floor, the one that required both Dmitri’s and Ivan’s fingerprints to activate. It was a clear, non-verbal message: I was no longer just a resident; I was a specific, high-value asset, requiring dual clearance.

When the doors opened, the atmosphere in the penthouse was unchanged—still immaculate, still silent, still smelling faintly of expensive wood polish. But the air around me felt suddenly colder, thinner.

Dmitri kept a firm, non-negotiable grip on my arm as he guided me into the living area. He released me only when we reached the center of the room.

Ivan was already there, holding a tablet. He looked less like a corporate executive and more like a warden reviewing the security protocols.

"We need to clarify the structural parameters, Leo," Ivan began, his voice dry and functional. "Your attempt this evening was costly, both in time and in the necessary deployment of resources. This cannot happen again. Since psychological assurance proved insufficient, we must implement physical certainty."

He held up the tablet, which displayed a blueprint of the penthouse and the immediate surrounding blocks. "Your physical freedom has been drastically revised. Previously, movement within the Residence and the immediate private park was acceptable. Now, movement outside the penthouse requires explicit, prior authorization."

I stood there, numb, staring at the flashing red zones on the screen. "And if I need to buy a coffee, Ivan? What then?"

"You will inform the household manager," Ivan replied, utterly flat. "He will purchase the item, or a Volkov representative will accompany you, shadowing you at a distance of no more than three meters. This is non-negotiable. You are not to be unattended in public space again."

Dmitri stepped closer, his presence warm and suffocating against my back. "We trust your word, Leo. But we don't trust the chaos of the outside world, and we don't trust your impulse control when that guilt flares up. This is a failsafe. You don't get to hurt yourself, and you don't get to damage our investment."

The phrase 'damage our investment' was a brutal, perfect summary of their care.

Ivan continued, scrolling down the screen. "Furthermore, the studio you are currently using is inadequate. It's too exposed, too conducive to distraction. Dmitri has arranged for the repurposing of the former guest wing."

He gestured toward a far hallway. "You now have a suite of rooms dedicated solely to your craft. It has been soundproofed and equipped with the highest quality materials. This provides you with the luxury of solitude and us with the certainty of your focused productivity."

I didn't resist when Dmitri’s hand returned to my back, guiding me through the long, silent corridor. The lock-down wasn't just physical; it was an isolation chamber designed for focused work—a gilded cell.

The guest wing was stunningly opulent. The main room had been converted into a massive, minimalist studio, flooded with tunable northern light. New canvases, custom-made drafting tables, and every tool I could ever dream of were waiting.

"See, Leo?" Dmitri murmured, his voice softer now, almost placating. "We understand your need for space and beauty. We simply provide it in a way that is structurally sound. You get the beauty, we get the certainty."

He walked over to a window that overlooked the inner courtyard—a beautiful, carefully curated Japanese garden.

"This is your view now," Dmitri said, placing his hand firmly on the glass. "Quiet, contained, and completely within the perimeter. You can breathe, you can work, but you won't be exposed to unnecessary variables."

I felt the immense wave of defeat wash over me. The terror from the confrontation faded, replaced by a cold, heavy acceptance. They hadn't just defeated me; they had neutralized my reason for fighting.

They've built the perfect cage.

My mind was a numb surrender. They've removed the excuse of suffering. They've provided the perfect workspace. They've even provided the ultimate motivation: Mom's peace. If I suffer here, it's my own choice. If I break, I break the one person I swore to protect.

I turned and looked at Dmitri, who was watching me with a possessive intensity. He wanted to see the moment the will finally broke.

"The gym bag," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "The letters. Did you read them?"

Dmitri didn't lie. "We read the letters. They were... sentimental. And entirely useless."

"But you know the truth now," I pressed. "You know I hate the lie I’m living."

Dmitri walked toward me, his face softening with a complicated, terrible expression—a mixture of dominance and something that looked sickeningly close to empathy.

"I know the depth of your devotion to your mother," Dmitri admitted, lifting a hand to gently cup my jaw. The touch was possessive, but not harsh. "And I know that devotion is the strongest anchor we have. Your hate, Leo, is irrelevant. Your productivity, your safety, and your presence—those are absolute."

His eyes dropped to my lips. "We will ensure you are comfortable. We will ensure you are satisfied. We will ensure the moments of... connection... are profound enough to distract you from the noise in your mind. We will do everything for you, except let you go."

He released my face and stepped back, nodding to Ivan, who was already moving toward the door.

"The new regime begins now," Ivan stated, his tone signaling the end of the discussion. "The staff has been briefed. Welcome to your permanent residence, Leo. We expect results by morning."

They left the new studio as silently as they had arrived, leaving me alone in the luxurious, soundproofed room. I walked over to the massive new drafting table, ran my hand over the cool, expensive surface, and felt the immense, terrifying weight of the new normal.

The cage had just been locked, and the key had been thrown away. I was finally, utterly, their property. And all

I could do was start to paint.