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Stupid to hope, but I can’t seem to stop. No matter how bad things get, I keep hoping they’ll get better.

He’ll never have my best interests at heart. The scars on my back should be enough proof of that.

I’ve spent years locked away, playing the part of the dutiful, submissive Omega daughter. And for what?

I tossed and turned all night, trying to think of a way to get out of meeting whoever my father was talking to. It wasn’t until the sun started to rise that I came to a sickening realization.

There would be no escaping his plans. There’s only one way to prevent the future my father has in store for me.

I need to run.

Nervously, I lick my dry, chapped lips and take the final step off the staircase and onto the foyer floor.

Everything echoes in this area of the estate. My shallow breaths, my steps, my pulse thumping wildly behind my ribs—each sound amplified by the marble and glass. I swallow thickly, trying to work some moisture into my mouth.

I’m only a single room away from the door.

Twenty feet.

That’s all that stands between me and freedom.

My backpack feels incredibly heavy for containing so little. I readjust it on my shoulder and wince at the way the safety-pin holding the right strap together digs into my skin.

Move, Idril. Just move, for the Fates’ sake.

The grandfather clock in the living room behind me ticks loudly, like a soundtrack to my escape. Every second that goes by is another second wasted when I should be running.

Ten feet.

I’m so close I can almost smell the fresh air on my face.

There’s a part of me that’s strangely excited, though running means blindly navigating my way through the forest surrounding our property on my own.

I don’t have food, so that needs to be my priority.

Once I’m safe, that is.

Cautiously, I take another step, then another. The seconds stretch into eternity the closer I get to the door.

If only there were more time, I could have stashed food to bring with me. I could have saved some of my dinner, or maybe even pretended to be sick and begged Chef for some crackers.

It doesn’t matter now.

All that matters is escape.

Getting free.

Leaving this golden cage for the first time in almost a decade.

Three feet.

I stretch out my arm. My fingers graze the cool brass of the door handle. My heart stalls before resuming its wild, erratic beat, adrenaline and giddy joy coursing through my blood.

I push down on the handle, take a deep breath, and⁠—

The sound of tires over gravel reverberates through the air. Less than a second later, an engine cuts off, and I hear the sound of car doors slamming, followed by feet crunching over gravel.

I’m frozen, fingers wrapped around the door handle, for what feels like eternity. My eyesight blurs, tears pooling on my lash line and threatening to spill.