Callum is there in the foyer, directing them with his usual authority.
Telling them where to put things, signing paperwork, completely focused on the task at hand.
And the front door?—
The front door is propped open.
Wide open.
Held in place with a doorstop so the delivery men can move freely in and out.
For the first time since I arrived at this estate ten days ago, there's nothing between me and freedom except twenty feet of marble floor and my own fear.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, in every nerve of my body.
This is it.
This is my chance.
Maybe my only chance.
Because if I stay—if I let tonight happen, if I go to Vaughn's room and let him touch me again, let him show me more, let him deepen his control—I'll be lost completely.
I'll want it too much to leave.
I'll need him too much to run.
I'll become exactly what that invitation described: obedient, skilled, devoted.
His perfect acquisition, trained to perform.
And in three weeks, I'll stand in front of the Consortium's inner circle and demonstrate my submission like a good little purchased woman.
No.
Fuck that.
I won't do it.
Won't be that.
Won't let Vaughn turn me into a trained pet for the entertainment of men who see women as property.
I don't think, don't plan.
I don't grab money or supplies or anything except the clothes on my back.
I just move.
Walk toward the open door like I belong there.
Like I'm supposed to be going outside.
Like this is completely normal and no one should question it.
My footsteps are silent on the marble floor.
I force myself to walk, not run.
