Chapter 5
Dressing suite smelled like cold hairspray and clean towels. I locked eyes on marble reflection in vanity mirror, then on toddler in my arms. Her cardigan had slipped off one shoulder. Her cheek was pink from crying. I bounced her once, twice, felt her weight settle against my champagne dress, and turned toward door.
Hall noise bled through thin gap under door. Heel clicks. Low gala murmur. Then quiet.
I reached for brushed brass handle. Turned down. Nothing moved.
I tried again. Handle turned quarter-inch, caught hard. Deadbolt not engaged. Something blocked from outside. I pressed palm flat against wood, pushed. Door didn't budge.
Toddler fussed. Diaper sagged heavy against my forearm. She was wet, cold. Suite air blew cool from vent above. No blanket on chair, only thin satin robes hung on hooks. I pulled one down with one hand, tucked it around her legs.
I knocked. "Hello? Door stuck."
No answer for three seconds. Then shadow filled crack under door. Black strappy heel shifted. I saw her outline through frosted glass panel.
Her voice came through wood. Low, controlled. Amused edge still there.
"You look tired," she said.
I didn't answer. My hand stayed on handle.
She continued, same tone. "Leave quietly. Forget locket. Door opens."
Five words each part. Offer conditional. Leave quietly and forget locket. I understood leverage. Locket as ransom. Egress as control.
I adjusted toddler higher on hip. Her white mary jane pressed against my ribs. Her hands were cold. I rubbed her back under cardigan.
"No," I said. "Need locket back. Need safe exit for us."
Pause. I heard soft smirk in her breath before she spoke.
"Don't need it," she said. "You need dry child."
She wasn't wrong. Toddler whimpered, squirmed. Wet diaper rubbed. Suite had no diaper bag, no wipes. My clutch sat somewhere on ballroom floor near staircase. I had nothing except robe and my own dress. Warmth dropping. Her little nose ran. I wiped it with edge of robe.
I knocked again, harder. "We stay here until you unlock door. Give locket back. Let us walk out. No scene."
She laughed once, quiet. "You make scene already. On floor. In front of everyone."
Wood creaked as she leaned closer. Voice dropped.
"Forget locket, I forget you were here. Simple trade."
I looked at lock. Old hotel hardware. Keyhole above handle, but no key inside. Hinge side flush, no gap. No chair to wedge. Only vanity, ottoman, garment rack. None heavy enough to matter. And I wouldn't break door with toddler in arms. Instruction clear: no force. No risk to her.
I turned from door, set toddler on vanity counter, kept one hand on her chest. Opened drawers. Found travel sewing kit, mints, nothing useful. No diapers. I wrapped robe tighter around her, tucked ends under her bottom to add layer between wet fabric and skin. She calmed slightly when warmth returned.
Her voice came again, through glass. "Tick tock. Photographer leaves at ten. Stories set by then."
Threat implied. Narrative control. Public dominance tactic.
I returned to door, spoke close to wood so she heard each word.
"Not forgetting," I said. "Not leaving without locket. Unlock door."
Silence. Then heel shifted back. Shadow thinned.
"Stay then," she said. "Get cold. Think again."
Footsteps moved away. Not far. I heard chair scrape in hallway. She sat to guard door. Controlled containment. She didn't need to watch me. She controlled space.
I tested handle again. Still blocked. Likely rolling garment rack or service cart wedged outside. Something staff wouldn't question if she claimed privacy needed.
Toddler reached for my hair, tugged. Her fingers cold. I pressed my cheek to her forehead. She was not warm enough. I held robe closed around her, bounced, paced small suite.
May you like
Man unaware. He held locket somewhere beyond hall, beyond ballroom, unaware of lock-in. No signal could reach him without causing scene she wanted to punish. I had no phone. No staff inside.
I sat on ottoman with toddler on lap, back against locked door, listening to her breathing slow, feeling handle press into my spine, waiting.
