Previous Chapter (19) - Piotr | First Chapter - Camila
The side door of the main house clicked shut, severing the shouting match inside from the unnatural quiet of the backyard.
Tyler stood on the patio for a split second, his chest heaving. The cool morning air hit his sweaty skin like a physical blow. He wasn't bored anymore. He wasn't the disaffected teenager leaning against the fridge. He was a wire pulled to the breaking point.
Kowalski.
The name echoed in his head, a siren blaring danger. He knew the name. He knew the face. He’d researched the family extensively when he first bought the asset. He knew exactly who was standing in his kitchen.
He had minutes. Maybe less.
He broke into a sprint, his sneakers thudding softly on the manicured grass. He headed straight for the pool house, a small, detached structure that sat in the shadow of the property's perimeter fence. To his parents, it was just storage for pool noodles and old patio furniture. To Tyler, it was his kingdom.
He reached the door, fumbling with his keys. His hands were shaking. Calm down. You planned for this.
He unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it instantly behind him.
The air inside was cool, and smelled faintly of chlorine and something sharper—antiseptic and leather. He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, his thumb flying across the screen and opened the taxi hailing app.
Ride Request Confirmed. Toyota Camry. 4 Minutes.
Four minutes to erase his old life and start the new one.
He moved to the back of the pool house, past the innocent stack of lounge chairs, to the small storage annex. He stepped inside.
Against the far wall hung a large, heavy green tarp, draped from floor to ceiling. To the casual observer, it looked like it was covering shelves or equipment. Tyler grabbed the edge of the tarp and pulled.
It slid away to reveal the false wall.
It was a masterpiece of engineering. A solid partition with strategic openings, padded with acoustic foam.
It wasn't cheap, but dad's BTC wallet covered it easily.
The lie was so simple. "building a private study for college". They never come in here anyway.
Locked into "The Display", suspended in her beautiful, pretzel-like prison, was his prize.
"Hello, Dolly," Tyler whispered, his voice urgent but controlled.
The figure in the display shifted slightly. Her head, locked in the forward-facing brace, tilted as much as it could. Her blindfold was still in place.
"We need to go," Tyler said, stepping closer. "Come on. Now. Do you remember the plan we went over? The plan I told you for going away together?" he asked as he ripped the blindfold off her.
Dolly blinked hard, adjusting her eyes to the light. Then Dolly took a deep, steadying breath. Her chest rose against the hidden restraints. A smile, beatific and vacant, spread across her face.
"Yes, Master…" she breathed, her voice filled with a terrifying, absolute devotion. "Every word!"
"Good."
Tyler moved around to the side of the partition. He undid the latches with practiced speed. Click. Click. Click. The back of the display swung open.
He quickly unlocked the wrist cuffs, then the ankle shackles. Dolly didn't collapse; she kept her balance with a dancer's grace as she was released from the contortion. She unfolded, stepping out of the display and onto the cool concrete floor. She stood waiting, naked, and obedient.
"Now come on, time is very short," Tyler said, checking his watch. Three minutes. "You need to put these on."
He grabbed a sports bag from the corner and unzipped it. He pulled out the wardrobe he had curated for this exact moment. A sleek, long black dress—expensive, modest, but elegant. A pair of delicate, black lacy underwear. A clutch handbag. And a pair of strappy, high-heeled sandals.
"Please hurry, Dolly," he urged, thrusting the clothes into her hands.
While she dressed with fluid, silent efficiency, Tyler knelt and grabbed a nondescript grey backpack from under a workbench. He slung it over one shoulder, feeling the reassuring weight of it. Passports. Cash. The hard drive with the backup codes. Everything.
He moved back to the main door of the pool house and cracked it open just an inch. He peered out across the lawn towards the main house. Through the brightly lit kitchen window, it was like watching a silent movie.
His mother was screaming. Her arm was extended, finger pointed accusingly at his father. His father looked like he was melting, slumped against the counter. And in the middle, Piotr Kowalski stood like a statue, his head turning slowly, his expression shifting from anger to a dawning, terrible confusion.
They were still distracted.
Tyler let the door click shut. He turned back. Dolly was just slipping her feet into the sandals. She looked… perfect. Transformed. The captive doll was gone; in her place stood a wealthy young socialite.
"Okay, Dolly," Tyler said, stepping close to her. He took her hands. "Now, this is the most important part, okay? Listen to me."
She tilted her head toward him. "Yes, Master?"
"For today…" Tyler started, his voice firm. "Your name is Elena Kowalski. Say it. Elena Kowalski."
Dolly froze. The smile faltered. Her head twitched slightly, a subtle short-circuit in her programming. The name was a key to a room she wasn't supposed to enter. It was connected to the Before. To the Pain.
"El… Elena…" she stammered, her voice trembling. Her eyes seemed to lose focus on the present.
Tyler squeezed her wrists, hard. Not a caress, but an anchor.
"Dolly, stay with me," he commanded. "Don't go to that painful place. Don't go back there. You are safe now. You are with me. Remember?"
The tension left her frame. The glitch smoothed over. Her smile returned, serene and empty.
"S… safe," she whispered. "Yes, Master. I am safe now."
"Okay, good," Tyler said, releasing her wrists. "Now, when we get to the bank, you are going to tell them you want to access your trust fund. Your Kowalski trust fund."
Dolly beamed at him, nodding enthusiastically. "I remember, Master! Trust Fund means money means freedom!"
She looked at him with the wide, eager eyes of a child who had just recited the alphabet correctly, desperate for a gold star.
"Good!" Tyler said. "Very good, Dolly."
She finished buckling the strap of her sandal and stood up straight, smoothing the black dress over her hips. She reached out, waiting.
Tyler took her hand. "Come on. The taxi is waiting."
He led her out of the pool house, moving quickly but carefully across the lawn, sticking to the shadows of the hedges. As they reached the side gate that led to the street, Tyler chanced one last look back at the kitchen window.
It was empty.
His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. FUCK.
BEEP. BEEP.
The sound of a car horn from the street made him jump. A black sedan was idling at the curb.
"Move," Tyler hissed.
They hurried through the gate and onto the sidewalk. Tyler lunged for the back door of the taxi, yanking it open.
"Here you go, Elena," he said loudly, for the benefit of the driver.
Dolly slid into the backseat with practiced grace. "Thank you, Ma… rtin," she said.
The stutter hung in the air for a fraction of a second too long.
Tyler froze, one foot inside the car. He shot her a look of pure, bulging-eyed panic. The word Master had been right on her lips. It was the only name she ever used for him, etched into her psyche. She had caught herself at the very last microsecond, wrestling the Ma sound into the alias they had practiced: Martin.
Calling him Master in front of a taxi driver would have been suicide.
Dolly, sensing the spike in his tension, looked back at him. Her eyes were wide and apologetic, pleading for forgiveness for the near-slip, but the vacant smile remained plastered on her face.
Tyler didn't have time to scold her. He dove into the car, slamming the door shut. He flung his backpack onto the floor and shouted at the driver.
"Okay, go! Drive!"
The driver pulled away from the curb.
Tyler twisted in his seat, looking out the rear window.
The front door of his house burst open. His father stumbled out, looking pale and sick. His mother followed, furious. And behind them, looking like judgment day itself, was Piotr Kowalski. They stood on the porch, scanning the street, looking left, looking right.
But the taxi was already turning the corner. They were gone.
Tyler slumped back into the leather seat, the adrenaline crash hitting him like a physical weight. His chest heaved. He wiped a hand across his forehead, coming away slick with sweat.
"Er… everything okay, sir?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror, eyeing his sweaty, panicked passenger.
"Yeah," Tyler breathed, forcing his voice to level out. "Just… just late for an appointment. Big day."
He looked over his shoulder one last time. The street behind them was empty. No pursuit. No sirens.
He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He reached down and unzipped the backpack. The fake passports were there. The cash. The burner phones. Everything they needed to disappear.
The car sped up, merging onto the main road, heading towards the city center and the bank.
Tyler turned to look at the girl beside him.
Dolly sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap atop the clutch purse. She was staring straight ahead, her face calm, beautiful, and utterly empty. She looked every inch the wealthy heiress. She was the key to everything. The Kowalski fortune. The mansion. The life he deserved.
Tyler smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator who realizes he has just successfully stolen the trap's bait.
He leaned back, closing his eyes, savoring the victory.
You know what they say… tú casa es mí casa.
The side door of the main house clicked shut, severing the shouting match inside from the unnatural quiet of the backyard.
Tyler stood on the patio for a split second, his chest heaving. The cool morning air hit his sweaty skin like a physical blow. He wasn't bored anymore. He wasn't the disaffected teenager leaning against the fridge. He was a wire pulled to the breaking point.
Kowalski.
The name echoed in his head, a siren blaring danger. He knew the name. He knew the face. He’d researched the family extensively when he first bought the asset. He knew exactly who was standing in his kitchen.
He had minutes. Maybe less.
He broke into a sprint, his sneakers thudding softly on the manicured grass. He headed straight for the pool house, a small, detached structure that sat in the shadow of the property's perimeter fence. To his parents, it was just storage for pool noodles and old patio furniture. To Tyler, it was his kingdom.
He reached the door, fumbling with his keys. His hands were shaking. Calm down. You planned for this.
He unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it instantly behind him.
The air inside was cool, and smelled faintly of chlorine and something sharper—antiseptic and leather. He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, his thumb flying across the screen and opened the taxi hailing app.
Ride Request Confirmed. Toyota Camry. 4 Minutes.
Four minutes to erase his old life and start the new one.
He moved to the back of the pool house, past the innocent stack of lounge chairs, to the small storage annex. He stepped inside.
Against the far wall hung a large, heavy green tarp, draped from floor to ceiling. To the casual observer, it looked like it was covering shelves or equipment. Tyler grabbed the edge of the tarp and pulled.
It slid away to reveal the false wall.
It was a masterpiece of engineering. A solid partition with strategic openings, padded with acoustic foam.
It wasn't cheap, but dad's BTC wallet covered it easily.
The lie was so simple. "building a private study for college". They never come in here anyway.
Locked into "The Display", suspended in her beautiful, pretzel-like prison, was his prize.
"Hello, Dolly," Tyler whispered, his voice urgent but controlled.
The figure in the display shifted slightly. Her head, locked in the forward-facing brace, tilted as much as it could. Her blindfold was still in place.
"We need to go," Tyler said, stepping closer. "Come on. Now. Do you remember the plan we went over? The plan I told you for going away together?" he asked as he ripped the blindfold off her.
Dolly blinked hard, adjusting her eyes to the light. Then Dolly took a deep, steadying breath. Her chest rose against the hidden restraints. A smile, beatific and vacant, spread across her face.
"Yes, Master…" she breathed, her voice filled with a terrifying, absolute devotion. "Every word!"
"Good."
Tyler moved around to the side of the partition. He undid the latches with practiced speed. Click. Click. Click. The back of the display swung open.
He quickly unlocked the wrist cuffs, then the ankle shackles. Dolly didn't collapse; she kept her balance with a dancer's grace as she was released from the contortion. She unfolded, stepping out of the display and onto the cool concrete floor. She stood waiting, naked, and obedient.
"Now come on, time is very short," Tyler said, checking his watch. Three minutes. "You need to put these on."
He grabbed a sports bag from the corner and unzipped it. He pulled out the wardrobe he had curated for this exact moment. A sleek, long black dress—expensive, modest, but elegant. A pair of delicate, black lacy underwear. A clutch handbag. And a pair of strappy, high-heeled sandals.
"Please hurry, Dolly," he urged, thrusting the clothes into her hands.
While she dressed with fluid, silent efficiency, Tyler knelt and grabbed a nondescript grey backpack from under a workbench. He slung it over one shoulder, feeling the reassuring weight of it. Passports. Cash. The hard drive with the backup codes. Everything.
He moved back to the main door of the pool house and cracked it open just an inch. He peered out across the lawn towards the main house. Through the brightly lit kitchen window, it was like watching a silent movie.
His mother was screaming. Her arm was extended, finger pointed accusingly at his father. His father looked like he was melting, slumped against the counter. And in the middle, Piotr Kowalski stood like a statue, his head turning slowly, his expression shifting from anger to a dawning, terrible confusion.
They were still distracted.
Tyler let the door click shut. He turned back. Dolly was just slipping her feet into the sandals. She looked… perfect. Transformed. The captive doll was gone; in her place stood a wealthy young socialite.
"Okay, Dolly," Tyler said, stepping close to her. He took her hands. "Now, this is the most important part, okay? Listen to me."
She tilted her head toward him. "Yes, Master?"
"For today…" Tyler started, his voice firm. "Your name is Elena Kowalski. Say it. Elena Kowalski."
Dolly froze. The smile faltered. Her head twitched slightly, a subtle short-circuit in her programming. The name was a key to a room she wasn't supposed to enter. It was connected to the Before. To the Pain.
"El… Elena…" she stammered, her voice trembling. Her eyes seemed to lose focus on the present.
Tyler squeezed her wrists, hard. Not a caress, but an anchor.
"Dolly, stay with me," he commanded. "Don't go to that painful place. Don't go back there. You are safe now. You are with me. Remember?"
The tension left her frame. The glitch smoothed over. Her smile returned, serene and empty.
"S… safe," she whispered. "Yes, Master. I am safe now."
"Okay, good," Tyler said, releasing her wrists. "Now, when we get to the bank, you are going to tell them you want to access your trust fund. Your Kowalski trust fund."
Dolly beamed at him, nodding enthusiastically. "I remember, Master! Trust Fund means money means freedom!"
She looked at him with the wide, eager eyes of a child who had just recited the alphabet correctly, desperate for a gold star.
"Good!" Tyler said. "Very good, Dolly."
She finished buckling the strap of her sandal and stood up straight, smoothing the black dress over her hips. She reached out, waiting.
Tyler took her hand. "Come on. The taxi is waiting."
He led her out of the pool house, moving quickly but carefully across the lawn, sticking to the shadows of the hedges. As they reached the side gate that led to the street, Tyler chanced one last look back at the kitchen window.
It was empty.
His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. FUCK.
BEEP. BEEP.
The sound of a car horn from the street made him jump. A black sedan was idling at the curb.
"Move," Tyler hissed.
They hurried through the gate and onto the sidewalk. Tyler lunged for the back door of the taxi, yanking it open.
"Here you go, Elena," he said loudly, for the benefit of the driver.
Dolly slid into the backseat with practiced grace. "Thank you, Ma… rtin," she said.
The stutter hung in the air for a fraction of a second too long.
Tyler froze, one foot inside the car. He shot her a look of pure, bulging-eyed panic. The word Master had been right on her lips. It was the only name she ever used for him, etched into her psyche. She had caught herself at the very last microsecond, wrestling the Ma sound into the alias they had practiced: Martin.
Calling him Master in front of a taxi driver would have been suicide.
Dolly, sensing the spike in his tension, looked back at him. Her eyes were wide and apologetic, pleading for forgiveness for the near-slip, but the vacant smile remained plastered on her face.
Tyler didn't have time to scold her. He dove into the car, slamming the door shut. He flung his backpack onto the floor and shouted at the driver.
"Okay, go! Drive!"
The driver pulled away from the curb.
Tyler twisted in his seat, looking out the rear window.
The front door of his house burst open. His father stumbled out, looking pale and sick. His mother followed, furious. And behind them, looking like judgment day itself, was Piotr Kowalski. They stood on the porch, scanning the street, looking left, looking right.
But the taxi was already turning the corner. They were gone.
Tyler slumped back into the leather seat, the adrenaline crash hitting him like a physical weight. His chest heaved. He wiped a hand across his forehead, coming away slick with sweat.
"Er… everything okay, sir?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror, eyeing his sweaty, panicked passenger.
"Yeah," Tyler breathed, forcing his voice to level out. "Just… just late for an appointment. Big day."
He looked over his shoulder one last time. The street behind them was empty. No pursuit. No sirens.
He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He reached down and unzipped the backpack. The fake passports were there. The cash. The burner phones. Everything they needed to disappear.
The car sped up, merging onto the main road, heading towards the city center and the bank.
Tyler turned to look at the girl beside him.
Dolly sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap atop the clutch purse. She was staring straight ahead, her face calm, beautiful, and utterly empty. She looked every inch the wealthy heiress. She was the key to everything. The Kowalski fortune. The mansion. The life he deserved.
Tyler smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator who realizes he has just successfully stolen the trap's bait.
He leaned back, closing his eyes, savoring the victory.
You know what they say… tú casa es mí casa.
