Chapter 2

I’ll take everything!

The yellow taxi bounced over potholes on the way to Teterboro Airport. Helen pressed her forehead against the cold window. Outside, the gray New York rain turned the world into a blurry smear. Andrew couldn’t see her off — they finally gave him an extra shift at the clinic, and they couldn’t afford to lose even those few dollars. Their goodbye was short, dry, and awkward, as if both of them were embarrassed by what was happening.

Looking at the streams of water running down the glass, Helen slipped back into the past without meaning to. Steve. In high school he wasn’t the quiet loser Andrew tried to make him sound like. No, Steve Crowley was a force of nature. Aggressive, always with scraped knuckles, he had animal instincts and scary persistence.

She remembered senior year. His jealousy was almost something you could touch — he looked at any guy who came near her like a personal enemy. Helen remembered that evening after the school party, the smell of his cheap cologne and the feverish shine in his eyes. He cornered her in the gym, and in his hands there was no gentleness — only demanding, hungry ownership. He almost got her that night. It took all her strength, slaps, and screams to break free.

“I always get what I want, Hel,” he whispered into her back.

Ten years later, he hadn’t changed. He just traded the leather jacket for an Italian suit and replaced his fists with a checkbook. But the core was the same: he wasn’t inviting her. He was taking her.

Helen gripped the handle of her bag tighter. Inside, among the small amount of makeup, lay a heavy metal perfume bottle with sharp edges and a folding stiletto she had bought at the corner shop in her neighborhood.

“Five days,” she repeated to herself like a mantra.

She knew Steve would test her limits. He would play cat-and-mouse, enjoying her dependence on his money. But she was no longer the scared schoolgirl. She was a woman with nothing left to lose except her apartment and her struggling husband.

The taxi stopped at the private aviation terminal. Shiny limousines and white airplanes looked like they belonged to another planet. Helen took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and put on a mask of icy calm.

She had to be ready for anything. Always alert. Always armed. If Steve thought he had bought a quiet, obedient escort, he was in for a very unpleasant surprise.

Вот перевод следующей сцены в том же простом, понятном американском английском:

A man in a coat met her at the airport entrance. Then a black SUV with tinted windows quietly drove her straight to the plane steps. As soon as the door opened, Helen was hit by warm, wet wind carrying the smell of jet fuel and damp concrete. Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands casually in his pants pockets. No tie, top button of his shirt undone — it made him look deceptively relaxed.

Helen instinctively tightened her grip on the handles of her old bag, expecting a sharp comment about her worn coat or cheap shoes. She already had a quick comeback ready, but Steve only tilted his head slightly, studying her with a strange look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said simply, gesturing toward the stairs. “Go on in, Hel. They’re waiting for us in the sky.”

She climbed the steps, feeling like she was willingly putting her head into a golden trap. Each step was hard; her back muscles were tense to the limit.

The moment she stepped inside the plane, her breath caught.

This wasn’t an airplane in the usual sense. No narrow aisles, no knees pressed against the seat in front, no smell of heated plastic meals. She entered a spacious cabin finished in light leather, polished wood, and soft thick carpet that swallowed her heels. The lighting was soft and intimate, and the air carried a faint scent of expensive tobacco and sandalwood. This wasn’t just transportation — it was a flying symbol of power.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Steve said, pointing to one of the wide seats that looked more like a throne. “No fighting for the armrest here.”

She sank into the incredibly soft leather. The seat seemed to wrap around her body. Steve sat across from her. Between them was a wide table made of burl wood, already set with glasses and a chilled bottle of water.

The engines grew louder. The plane shook and started rolling. When the wheels left the ground and her body pressed back into the seat, everything inside Helen dropped. The dirty streets of New York, the unpaid bills, Andrew with his constant guilt — all of it shrank fast, turning into tiny dots far below under a layer of heavy gray clouds.