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I hadn’t exactly figured out my plan once I got out of here. I wanted to find August and tell him I was alive, but also felt nervous about going back to the castle. Atticus was right, it was too dangerous. If I had my way, I’d grab all three of them and leave this kingdom for good.
“I don’t know. I just can’t stay here.” She nodded, and the haunted look in her eyes made me cock my head in curiosity. “Mrs. DuPont…do you…do you want to go with me?”
She flinched, her eyes wide with wonder as she absorbed my question. “Me? Leave?” A shadow crossed her expression. “No, sweetheart. It’s too late for me to leave.” The robotic way she spoke sent shivers down my spine. “But come along, if you’re determined to leave, then I suppose I’ll help you. You better hold that gun to my head so my husband doesn’t punish me for this.”
My brows raised, but I did as she asked, following her toward the elevator doors while positioning the barrel of my gun at the back of her skull. “Atticus is a good man, you know,” she whispered. “Not quite like his father, but still ruthless in his own right. You know what makes him different?”
I shook my head as she typed in a code on the panel. “He feels things deep. He commits. When he loves, there’s no going back. No matter what you do—what you ask of him. You’ll get through this, Christine. I know it.”
This woman was delusional. I was literally holding a gun to her head and escaping their tower. I had a pile of bodies in my wake.
When the doors opened, I slid past her and stepped onto the elevator.
“Be safe, Christine. Have grace for my Atticus when he finds you. I know he’ll have grace for you.”
The doors shut and I breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the pain in my chest and the uncertainties surrounding my escape, I was proud of myself. I’d found my backbone and begun to see the world for what it was: a wild and unkind place, but also one where I could carve out a life for myself if I was strong enough. My body was tired from running and fighting, but my mind was sharper than it had ever been.
I’d escaped.
I’d gone from surviving to surviving with a purpose. The elevator doors opened and I stepped out, immediately finding myself in a small atrium with glass walls. The elevator doors closed behind me as I saw an opening to a large lush garden. The sun was bright and the plants were full of color. I could see a fountain at the center of it all and an iron gate that led to the outside world. I felt a rush of fresh air hit my face, and my heart pounded with a surge of adrenaline. Freedom. I was free and out from behind these walls. I could run away and take my chances. A smile crossed my face, and for a moment, I was free and light.
Then the realization hit me: I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to be with Atticus, behind the walls of the DuPont estate, in the security of his arms. The idea sent a pang through my heart. It was a warm feeling, a familiar one.
But I couldn’t be with him like this—with him owning me, his father toying with me, and resentment building a wall between us.
I had to leave. And I’d find all my men on my terms.
Or I’d die trying.
Chapter Thirteen
CHRISTINE
My childhood home was falling apart. No one had bothered to maintain it these years, and it broke my heart to see it so run down. The concrete stairs leading up to the front steps were cracked and weathered, the paint peeling on the trim. The grass was as tall as my waist and was dying from the fall weather. I could see my mother’s garden that I’d always admired as a child, but its beauty was lost behind the vines.
The vines had overrun the house, their crimson leaves and deep purple blooms pushing up past the windowsills and clinging to the screens to block the view inside. The flowers were clinging to life but would be dead soon. Another few brisk morning chills, and the petals would fall. The leaves would turn brown and fall to the ground.
I could see the marble statuary of the fountain in the front, and the ivy had wrapped itself around the stone wolf I remembered from my childhood. The vines had grown even taller than the fountain, and I couldn’t see beyond them. My mother’s garden overwhelmed the gray brick with wild abandon, granting her a sense of freedom even in death. She’d always loved these beautiful flowers and had tended to them with such care and compassion. I wished she could see how beautifully they’d grown. My mother loved untamed things; maybe it’s why I struggled so much with feeling controlled.
I pulled my hood tighter over my head and clutched it close. The leaves crunched under my boots as I made my way to the back door and slid my skeleton key into the lock. To my surprise, the door opened, revealing a time capsule of my childhood.
The wooden floors creaked with every step, and I dragged my hand along the old yellow wallpaper my father hated. Sheets covered the furniture in the sitting room. The sunlight came in through the windows, but the light was muted by the blood-red leaves and purple flowers clinging to the screens, blocking out the sun and casting a deep gloom over the room.
The air was unfamiliar, like the onset of winter—cold and dank.
The kitchen was overrun with cobwebs, and the counters were covered in dead flies. The leaves had invaded there too. The vines were on the countertops, crawling toward the cabinets and the ceiling. The molding was gunked up with paint, and the once-goddess room showed its age. Most of the paint had peeled off of the walls and showed the wooden slats. The room was dark, with a dark wood floor and dark brown walls. The curtains were thin and tattered, hanging haphazardly around the window.
It all looked so depressing and run-down.
I pulled out the burner phone I’d bought with money I’d stolen. The weight of it felt heavy in my palm, but I knew what I needed to do.
I dialed a phone number I memorized during my days of waiting for Atticus to return, the numbers a drone in my mind. A cold voice answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Leo,” I said while sitting down at the kitchen table and running the tips of my finger in the dust collected there. My tongue felt heavy and dry. I licked my lips and tasted dust. My anxiety was growing. I felt like I was suffocating, like the walls were closing in on me.
“Christine? Where are you? Are you safe?”
