It’s a struggle not to glance behind me as I walk down the corridor. Is Adrian tailing me, or did Damien decide to do the job himself? What if he’s standing at the end of the corridor, waiting for me?

I’m halfway to the restrooms and can see the door at the end of the corridor when I spot the kitchen to my right.

The words Staff Only are written above a small, misty window in the door. I almost walk past when a lightbulb goes off in my mind. I come to a halt as my pulse picks up pace.

Bracing myself, I take a look back. My heart lifts when I don’t see Adrian or Damien. I can’t believe they let me go on my own. Is this another test?

My plan had been to find a way out through one of the bathroom windows. But now I realize the windows might not be large enough to climb out of. If they are, there’s a chance Damien has guessed what I plan to do and is waiting on the other side for me to fall right back into his arms. That could explain why I’m not being followed.

The kitchen might be a better option. He might not think to search for me in there. At least, not right away.

With sweat trickling down my spine, I shove the kitchen door open with both hands. The door almost slams into a waiter carrying two silver trays. He steps back just in time.

“Sorry,” I murmur. No eye contact. I feel rather than see the annoyed glance he shoots me before pushing the door open with a shoulder and disappearing through it. He’s too busy to be suspicious of my presence. The door swings closed again.

My heart is lodged inside my throat as I allow myself to be swallowed by the kitchen rush. Waiters, chefs, and sous-chefs scurry around me, moving from one stainless steel appliance to the next.

Apart from the occasional glance from one or two people, no one seems to notice me looking lost.

My heart is thudding hard, but I’m unable to hear it over the sounds of sizzling oil, the clank of the dishwasher, waiters shouting out orders from their pads, and the humming of various industrial machines.

This is my chance. I have to use the rush to make an escape. I draw in a deep breath, heavy with the smell of spices, grease, meat, and fish. Then I duck my head and push forward, launching into a cloud of steam released by a massive boiling pot.

I try not to slip on the tiled floor, which someone must have just finished mopping. My target is the back door. Before I reach it, I spot a block of knives next to a microwave. There are three left in the block. Wasting no time, I grab the smallest one. From a hook near the door, I reach for a blue and white kitchen towel.

I push open the door and step out of the kitchen.

The balmy night air touches my skin, but dread keeps me in a cold sweat.

I scan the area. A small lamp above the door throws out enough light for me to make out my surroundings. The yard I’m standing in is enclosed by a wall that’s at least ten feet high. Three large dumpsters line one side of the yard. Two wooden chairs are propped against the other side of the wall, farthest from the dumpsters. A wooden table stands between them, with an overflowing ashtray in the middle of it. A few cigarette butts litter the ground.

I glance at the wall. I’ll have to climb over it. Thank God Damien didn’t insist on me wearing a dress instead of pants.

I have to act before someone comes out for a cigarette or brings out the trash.

My lips pressed together in concentration, I wrap the kitchen towel around the knife and push it into the back pocket of my pants. I grab a chair and scurry over to the dumpsters, thankful this part of the wall isn’t visible from the kitchen window.

Sliding the stilettos from my feet, I’m about to clamber up the dumpster and then the wall when raised voices spill out the kitchen window. My heart lodges inside my throat. I take a peek through the window and spot Damien talking to one of the chefs. Even from a distance, I feel his rage. Adrian is standing next to him, communicating furiously with his hands.

Climbing over the wall now is risky—they could decide to have a look outside. Before panic can paralyze me, I grab my shoes, climb onto the chair, and open one of the dumpsters.

Trying not to retch from the smell of rotten food, I ease myself inside and close it. It’s plenty big, even with the bags of trash already inside. I only hope they don’t see the chair and put two and two together.

I’ve just buried myself under enough slimy bags of rotten food when I hear the kitchen door crash against the wall. Damien and Adrian’s muffled voices come closer. I hold my breath.

“This is ridiculous. Where is she?” I hear the shuffling of feet. “She can’t have disappeared into thin air.”

Adrian clears his throat, and I imagine him rubbing his moustache as he thinks. “I doubt she escaped through the kitchen. Someone would have seen her.”

“And what the fuck were you doing, anyway? I signaled for you to follow her to the restrooms.”

The silence is so stark, I hear my heart beating.

“I’m sorry for not paying better attention. We’ll get her back, I promise.” Adrian pauses. “But don’t you think it’s best to… let her go? For now?”

“Never. Go and find her.” Something slams against the bin closest to mine—probably Damien’s foot. I close my eyes and brace myself for the possibility that they might think to look inside the dumpsters. I deflate with relief when their footfalls fade and the kitchen door opens and closes again.

I don’t know how long I remain curled up in my corner of the dumpster, arms wrapped around my body.