I saw each result as clearly as my eyes saw color.
But my escape window was already closing. Guards would rotate. Locks would be checked. The house would settle back into its rhythm, and I would be folded into my cage once again.
There was no third path.
I didn't weigh them or debate. I moved.
“Get up,” I growled to myself.
I gathered every shred of resolve left and forced my body to unfold, trying to stand. Pain tore through me immediately. My limbs shook, nearly uncontrollably, and my balance wavered. Each contraction was brutal and relentless. Still, I took one step. Then another. Then another.
I stood backward in front of Marco’s metal chair, feeling along it with my bound hands until my fingers caught on something sharp. It was a jagged edge near the folding hinge.
I wedged the zip tie against it and sawed back and forth, ignoring the sting as plastic tightened on my wrists.
Just as my hands grew numb from circulation loss, my restraints suddenly snapped. A tingling sensation spreadthrough my fingers as blood flow returned.
I stretched my arms briefly before moving towards the door. My hand finally wrapped around the handle.
It turned.
The door creaked open.
I half expected someone to be standing on the other side. A guard, Luca, or even Marco himself, waiting and laughing, ready to reveal it as another cruel trick. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d let me believe escape was possible. He crushed that hope early on, and the punishment for trying had been brutal.
But the hallway stood empty.
When Marco told Luca to gather everyone, he’d meant it.
As soon as I stepped out of my prison, a sharp contraction rolled through my stomach, sending me stumbling. My vision blurred as my hands slid along the wall, bracing myself to stay upright. Every movement forward was torture.
Marco relocated each wife frequently, shuffling them between locations, always blindfolded and never told where they were. He moved me far less often. For the past two years, I'd been here, in the basement of his private residence as a punishment for refusing to speak.
I didn't know specifically where in Falcon City his home was located, but the map in my mind told me what turns to take through the house, as I recounted how I had entered it all those years ago.
Once outside, I hoped my mind would piece together another image, orienting and telling me which direction to go.
I groaned as a particularly brutal contraction struck me. Through my hazy vision, the basement stairs came into focus. They led upward, a single door waiting at the top, light seepingthrough the bottom gap. I prayed it stood unlocked.
I climbed as quietly as I could, pausing on the landing, waiting for the pain to ease before reaching for the handle. Footsteps thudded on the other side of the door, freezing me in place. I held my breath as whoever it was passed, waiting long after the sound faded before I finally turned the knob.
It opened.
Light flooded my vision, blinding me. I stumbled, gripping the railing to keep from tumbling backwards down the stairs. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was standing in a kitchen. Marble counters gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Stainless steel double ovens lined one wall, polished and pristine.
Off to the side, a smaller room stood partially open. Inside, surveillance monitors displayed feeds of the entire house. The chair positioned in front of them was empty.
No one was watching.
I crept out of the kitchen, straining to hear footsteps. In the distance, shouting echoed through the hall. Marco’s voice, furious and raw.
For a moment, the sound of his alpha voice called to me. My omega instincts, still burning with heat, pulled me toward it. Towardanyonewho could knot me.
But years of practice had prepared me for this.
“You can do this, Lena,” I whispered under my breath. “Five years. Five years.”
The words looped in my head as I moved, following mymental map. Five years in his captivity. Five years of resisting him. I had survived so much and only had to hold out for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes and I would finally be out of his grip.
