Chapter 6 - The Golden CageThree weeks passed before Mia realized that absolute protection looked a lot like a golden cage.
The laundromat downstairs had been transformed overnight into a high-end French bakery, its glass windows gleaming, staffed by professionals who nodded politely and called her Madam whenever she walked past. Her rent debt was a distant memory, replaced by a bank account that grew by five figures every Monday morning—deposited quietly by unseen hands acting on Viktor’s standing orders.
Yet, Mia hadn't seen Viktor since the morning he left.
Her diner shifts had been quietly bought out by a mysterious corporate entity, and when she tried to apply for a new job, the hiring managers took one look at her identification, turned pale, and politely claimed all positions had been filled.
She was safe. She was wealthy. And she was entirely, suffocatingly isolated.
It was a Tuesday evening when the black sedan reappeared outside the bakery.
This time, the car didn't just idle. The rear door swung open, and a man Mia recognized from the convoy—a tall, sharp-featured enforcer named Gregor with a permanent scowl—stepped out, walking up the exterior stairs to her apartment door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Mia opened it before he could use his knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, crossing her arms. "Tell Viktor that if he wants to see me, he can walk up these stairs himself instead of sending his errand boys."
Gregor didn't flinch. He merely inclined his head with chilling politeness. "The Boss requests your presence, Miss Miller. Tonight. The annual gala at the Grand Continental."
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"I don't have a dress. I don't go to galas."
Gregor stepped aside, gesturing toward the landing where a massive, immaculate garment bag from a Fifth Avenue boutique was resting against the wall. "The Boss anticipates everything. The car will wait fifteen minutes."
