I didn't run because I was brave.
I ran because something inside me finally broke.
The clock on the wall blinked 2:17 a.m. when the shouting started again. My father's voice—slurred, ugly, soaked in alcohol—cut through the apartment like broken glass. A bottle shattered somewhere behind me, followed by the sound of his footsteps dragging across the floor.
"Lina!" he yelled. "Don't pretend you can hide from me."
My hands were already shaking as I stood in my bedroom, keys clenched so tightly in my fist that the metal bit into my skin. I'd been here before—too many times. The silence before the storm. The smell of smoke and cheap liquor. The way the air changed when he was looking for someone to take his anger out on.
Tonight felt different.
Tonight felt final.
The doorframe creaked as he leaned against it, blocking the only exit. His eyes were red, unfocused, but sharp enough to make my stomach twist. He smiled in a way that made my skin crawl.
"You think you're better than me now?" he sneered. "You think you can just walk away?"
I didn't answer. I'd learned that words only made it worse.
He stepped closer. I stepped back.
My heel hit the edge of the bed.
Something in his expression shifted—dark, impatient. His hand came down hard on the wall beside my head, the impact making me flinch.
"You owe me," he said quietly. "After everything I've done for you."
That was when it clicked.
Not fear. Not anger.
Clarity.
If I stayed, this would never end.
I ducked under his arm when he reached for me, bolting past him into the hallway. He cursed, lunging, but he was too slow. Years of drinking had taken their toll. I didn't look back as I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door.
Glass shattered behind me as I slammed the door open.
Cold night air hit my face like a slap.
I ran.
Barefoot on cracked pavement, lungs burning, heart pounding so hard I thought it might rip out of my chest. The city didn't care that I was breaking apart. Cars passed. Windows glowed. Somewhere, people laughed.
I ran until my legs screamed.
Until the apartment building disappeared behind me.
Until I reached the bridge.
I stopped at the railing, gripping cold metal as I bent over, gasping for breath. The river below was dark and slow, reflecting the city lights in fractured lines. My reflection stared back at me from the glass—wide eyes, tangled hair, a stranger I barely recognized.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I froze.
No name. No contact.
Just a message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You won't get far.
Panic surged through me.
I typed back with trembling fingers:
Who is this?
No reply.
I stuffed the phone away, pulse racing. That's when headlights washed over me, slow and deliberate. A black car pulled up to the curb, engine purring softly, like it had all the time in the world.
The window rolled down.
A woman sat inside.
She was elegant in a way that felt deliberate—perfect posture, expensive coat, eyes sharp and calculating. Not surprised to see me. Not concerned.
Expectant.
"You shouldn't be here," she said calmly. "He'll be looking for you."
My blood ran cold.
"I don't know you," I said, backing away.
"No," she agreed. "But I know you."
She said my name next.
"Lina Moore."
Every instinct screamed danger.
"How do you know who I am?" I whispered.
She studied me like a chessboard. "Because your father has been a problem for a long time."
The car door clicked open.
"Get in," she said. "You're not safe out here."
"I'm not getting into a stranger's car."
A faint smile touched her lips. "You already ran from one monster tonight. The difference is—I won't pretend to love you."
I should have walked away.
I should have screamed for help.
But the city was quiet, and I knew—deep down—that if I turned around, I'd see him. Somewhere in the dark. Watching.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Miriam Hale."
The name meant nothing to me.
But the certainty in her voice did.
I hesitated.
Then my phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
If you don't get in, he will.
That was the moment fear made the decision for me.
I got into the car.
The doors locked with a heavy click, final and absolute.
We drove in silence, the city thinning out as streets grew wider and darker. I hugged myself, staring out the window, waiting for the panic to explode. Miriam didn't look at me. She didn't need to.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Somewhere he can't reach you," she replied.
"And what do you want in return?"
She turned to me then, eyes sharp.
"Honesty," she said. "Obedience. And patience."
The car slowed as iron gates rose ahead, opening smoothly. Beyond them stood a mansion—massive, white, glowing against the night like something unreal.
My stomach dropped.
"This is a mistake," I whispered.
"No," Miriam said. "Running was the mistake. This is the correction."
Inside, the house was quiet and immaculate. Polished floors. Soft lighting. Power wrapped in silence.
A man stood near the staircase.
Young. Tall. Dark-haired.
His gaze met mine, steady and unreadable.
"This is Ethan," Miriam said. "My nephew."
Ethan nodded. "You're safe here."
I didn't believe him.
"Take her to the east wing," Miriam ordered. "No phone. No outside contact."
I stiffened. "You can't—"
"I can," she interrupted calmly. "And I will."
Ethan hesitated, then held out his hand—not touching me, just offering direction.
"This way," he said quietly.
As I followed him down the corridor, my phone vibrated one last time in my pocket.
I glanced at the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
She thinks she owns you now.
A second message followed instantly.
She doesn't.
I stopped walking.
Ethan turned back. "What is it?"
I looked up at him, my pulse roaring in my ears.
"I think," I said slowly, "someone followed me here."
His expression hardened.
Behind us, the mansion doors locked.