Sophia stepped back from the door, breathing fast. The man in the suit stayed in the hallway, out of sight but close, pressing on her like a weight she couldn't shake.
"Just rest, Mrs. Blackwood," he said, calm and polite, but with a sharp edge that made her shiver. "The doctor said so."
Doctor's orders. The words repeated in her mind, heavy and sharp. Dr. Morrison a man she had never met already had the power to tell her what she could or couldn't do.
She pressed against the cool marble wall, trying to slow her racing heart. The penthouse, once a place she loved, now felt like a prison. The marble floors, the huge windows showing the city lights, the expensive artwork Richard had chosen all of it felt like a trap. The beauty she once admired now felt like a cage.
Had he been here the whole time? Was Richard's "security" set up weeks ago while she never noticed? Or was this sudden, triggered by something she couldn't see?
Her hands trembled as she reached the window. Forty floors down, Manhattan was alive, people rushing along the sidewalks, taxis weaving through traffic, neon lights flashing. Freedom. Choice. Life. Things she hadn't felt in years.
Her reflection in the glass made her flinch: wide eyes, tight jaw, pale skin. She looked like someone stuck.
Sophia moved through the penthouse, noticing everything in a new way. She picked up the kitchen phone. No dial tone. It was either disconnected or being monitored or maybe both
laptop sat on the marble island, sleek and expensive. She opened it, hands trembling, trying to get into her email, social media, anything to connect with the world. Every password was wrong.
Account temporarily suspended for security reasons. Please contact support.
Richard had locked her out.
She tried to log into her bank account. No access. Her credit cards were probably frozen. Her ID was all in Richard's "secure" safe a lie she finally understood. Everything that gave her independence had been taken away.
She looked at the fridge. Fancy groceries, fresh flowers, imported cheeses all set up by Richard's assistant. When had she last picked her own food or cooked for herself? She couldn't remember.
Her phone sat on the counter. She grabbed it, hoping she could call someone, anyone for help.
Then she saw the call log. Only outgoing calls: Richard, Jessica, and a few approved people. Nothing unexpected. Even her calls had been monitored.
And there were three recent calls to Dr. Morrison's office in the last two weeks, calls she had never made. They were about setting up appointments for her "declining condition."
Richard had been quietly building proof that she was losing her mind, call by call.
She collapsed onto the velvet sofa, phone shaking in her hands. When had she last made a real choice for herself, not a dress, not a party, not some event Richard planned? She couldn't remember. Three years of what she thought was a dream life had really been a slow, hidden trap, disguised as marriage.
Her eyes scanned the penthouse, locked cabinets, closed doors, security cameras she hadn't seen before. She felt watched, monitored, controlled.
A soft chime from the elevator made her stop. Richard back early? He said he'd be out late. Unless…
The doors opened. Jessica walked in, her heels clicking on the marble floor, each step sharp and deliberate. She looked calm and confident
"Hello, darling," she said, as if everything was normal, like she hadn't been helping ruin Sophia's life. "Richard asked me to check on you. He's worried about your… episode earlier."
"Episode?" Sophia's voice trembled. They were already twisting the truth.
Jessica smiled, pretending to be concerned, though Sophia could feel the excitement behind it. "We think you need help. Professional help. That's why I brought someone for you to meet."
A woman appeared from behind her, middle-aged, carrying a medical bag, calm and serious.
"This is Dr. Helen Cross," Jessica said. "She helps women in crisis, even coming to their homes."
Dr. Cross stepped closer, calm but firm. "Hello, Sophia. Your husband and friend are worried about troubling thoughts, paranoia, delusions, thinking others want to harm you."
Sophia felt her stomach drop. They weren't waiting until tomorrow, tonight was enough.
"I don't need a doctor," she said, stepping toward the window.
"That's exactly what someone in trouble would say," Dr. Cross replied, calmly opening her bag. "Your husband said you might refuse help. That's normal for someone having a mental break."
Jessica stood in front of the bedroom, blocking the way, while Dr. Cross came closer from the other side. She held a syringe.
"This shot will help you relax," Dr. Cross said softly. "Then we can talk about getting you the help you need."
Sophia's back pressed against the window, forty floors above the street. She was trapped, stuck between two women who were calmly planning to sedate her.
"Please," she whispered, "I'm not crazy. I'm not losing my mind. They're trying to—"
"Shh," Jessica said, coming closer. "It's okay. After tonight, you won't have to worry about these paranoid thoughts."
"The syringe in Dr. Cross's hand looked sharp, threatening and dangerous."
"You won't have to worry about anything ever again."
Sophia's heart pounded. The city below was alive and free, but she was trapped in h
er own home. One thought ran through her mind: I have to escape. Somehow.