Stella shivered as a chill seeped into her bones, pulling her from her restless sleep. Her stomach growled, sharp and insistent, a reminder of how long it had been since she last ate. She blinked groggily, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar room, the soft sheets beneath her a stark contrast to the chair she remembered falling asleep in.
"Simon," she muttered under her breath, piecing together how she must have ended up here. It had to be him. There was no one else in this isolated manor who could have moved her. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to dwell on it further. Explanations didn't matter right now—she needed food and answers.
Sliding off the bed, Stella wrapped her arms around herself as she descended the stairs, the silence of the manor pressing down on her. The dim lighting and the absence of any movement made the place feel eerily empty. She called his name softly, then louder, but there was no response.
She moved quickly, checking the usual places: his office, the kitchen, even his bedroom. Each room was devoid of his presence, the air cold and still. She furrowed her brows. He's not at home, she thought, a glimmer of both relief and apprehension washing over her.
Then, like a spark igniting a dry wick, the idea struck her. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. He wasn't here, and she was alone. If she was ever going to escape, it had to be now.
Her heart raced as she remembered the back door she'd spotted earlier that morning while exploring the manor. Quietly, she tiptoed toward it, her pulse thundering in her ears as she twisted the handle and stepped outside.
The garden stretched out before her, its manicured beauty a stark contrast to the suffocating confines of the house. Stella didn't stop to admire it. She moved quickly, her bare feet crunching softly against the gravel path as she made her way toward the edge of the property.
The tall fence loomed ahead, and she paused for a moment, gauging the height. You can do this, she told herself, determination outweighing the fear clawing at her. With a sharp intake of breath, she hoisted herself up, her fingers gripping the top of the fence as she scrambled over.
She landed awkwardly on the other side, her knees hitting the ground hard. Pain shot up her leg, and she hissed, clutching at the scraped skin. Blood welled up from the small gash, but there was no time to tend to it.
"Not now," she muttered, forcing herself to her feet. Wiping her hands on her robe, she scanned the area. The first priority is finding a phone, she thought, determination etched into her features. She needed to call Mal or Gigi—someone who could help her.
Luckily, Stella had always been good at remembering numbers, and she clung to that small advantage as she limped forward, her resolve unwavering despite the pain. I can do this. I have to. The thought of Simon finding her gone propelled her forward. There was no turning back now.
Stella's heart raced in her chest as she held her skirt, the fabric brushing against her legs as she sprinted through the dense forest. The sounds of the night surrounded her—crickets chirping, the wind rustling through the trees—but none of it could drown out the frantic beat of her pulse. She couldn't stop now, not when she was so close to freedom.
After what felt like an eternity, she spotted something ahead—large gates, towering fences. She had made it to the end of the island, or at least she hoped so. This is it, she thought, her legs aching from the long run, but the sight of the gates renewed her strength. She had to act fast.
The guards were positioned at the entrance, standing watch under the flickering light of lamps that barely illuminated the darkness. I need to distract them, she thought, glancing around for anything she could use. Her eyes landed on a few scattered rocks on the ground—perfect.
With the grace of someone who had done this more times than she would ever admit, Stella crouched low, her movements barely making a sound as she picked up the rocks. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. This had to work.
She moved quietly, her black outfit blending seamlessly with the night. The darkness worked in her favor. Slowly, she approached the guards, her eyes scanning their positions. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she hurled the rocks toward the other side of the fence. They landed with a soft thud, but it was enough to grab the guards' attention.
Immediately, the guards tensed and turned toward the noise, their footsteps heavy as they rushed to investigate the disturbance. Now's my chance, Stella thought, adrenaline surging through her veins. She wasted no time. Without a second glance, she sprinted toward the gates, her body moving faster than she had ever thought possible. The metal creaked as she pushed through the door, her heart hammering as the gate swung open.
But as she crossed the threshold, her breath hitched in her chest. What she had thought was the edge of the island revealed something entirely different. There, in the clearing beyond the gates, lay a small, bustling market—bright lights, colorful stalls, and people going about their business, completely unaware of the drama unfolding just moments before.
Stella froze, her confusion making her heart drop. What is this?
Stella made her way over to a small diner nestled at the edge of the market, the faint glow of the neon sign above flickering in the night. She hesitated on the stairs before sitting down, her stomach growling as the hunger gnawed at her. She had been so focused on escaping that she hadn't thought to grab any money. She cursed under her breath—nothing was ever easy.
The old lady behind the counter, with her silver hair tied into a neat bun, noticed Stella almost immediately. Her eyes softened when she saw the girl sitting alone, looking out of place, a little lost in the chaotic market around her. The old lady wiped her hands on her apron and made her way toward Stella.
"Young lady, do you want something?" she asked kindly, her voice gentle.
Stella looked up, offering a weak smile, trying to mask her hunger and growing anxiety. "I'm terribly hungry, but I have no money with me right now," she began, hesitating slightly, "but I have a few questions. Will you answer them?"
The old lady raised an eyebrow, as if weighing the request. She glanced at Stella's torn outfit, the fabric clearly showing signs of her escape, and then, with a sigh, nodded reluctantly. She sat beside Stella, waiting for her to speak.
"Is this a private island?" Stella asked, her voice low, but filled with determination.
The woman nodded. "Yes, it is. The owner of the island gave us a quarter of the property so we could live and make use of tourism. The rest of the island is his, including his private mansion." Her voice was almost wistful as she spoke of the arrangement, as if she were resigned to her place in the grand scheme of things.
Smart guy, thought Stella, her mind racing as she processed the information. The idea of someone controlling an entire island wasn't a surprise, but it made the situation feel even more claustrophobic.
"Do you have a phone perhaps? I need to make an urgent call," Stella asked, her tone laced with a quiet desperation.
The old lady hesitated but then pulled a small, weathered phone from her pocket. Stella thanked her and dialed Elizabeth's number first, praying for the line to pick up. Come on, Gigi. But the call went straight to voicemail. Frustration bubbled up in Stella's chest. She immediately called Mallory, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer. But once again, there was nothing. No response.
She felt the weight of isolation press down on her. Simon would be back by now, and he'd be looking for her. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what he might do if he found out she had escaped. She couldn't afford to wait any longer.
"Is there a way I can reach Bali now?" Stella asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
The old lady thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "There's a boat leaving in about 15 minutes. I guess you can make it, if you hurry."
Before Stella could say anything more, the old lady handed her an apple. "You seem to be in a rush, child. Be safe."
Stella gratefully took the apple, her fingers brushing the lady's hand as she stood up to leave. She didn't have time to think twice. "Thank you," she muttered, her voice thick with gratitude. Without another word, she dashed toward the shore, following the directions the lady had given her.
Once she reached the water's edge, Stella quickly found a spot where she could tend to her wounds. She washed away any trace of blood, careful not to let the scent linger. If I'm caught, it's over, she reminded herself, her nerves spiking at the thought. Once she was sure she was clean, she boarded the large boat that had already started to fill with passengers.
She found a seat, her muscles sore from the escape, but her mind still buzzing with everything she had learned. The boat started moving, the sound of the water lapping against the hull offering a strange comfort.
As the boat drifted farther from the island, Stella's gaze wandered over the deck. She noticed a young boy, perhaps no older than 15, sitting nearby, shivering from the cold night air. His clothes were too thin for the temperature, and his teeth chattered in the chill. Empathy stirred inside Stella, and without thinking, she stood and walked over to him.
"Here," she said softly, removing her night robe and draping it over his shoulders. He looked up at her in surprise, but his eyes filled with gratitude as the warmth from her robe enveloped him.
Stella returned to her seat, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The night air grew colder, and her senses began to tingle. She felt eyes on her. Looking up, she saw three young men quietly approaching, their gazes fixed on her. Her stomach twisted uneasily as she stood up again, instinctively moving toward the railing at the edge of the deck.
Her heart pounded in her chest. What now?