Message failed. Recipient blocked.
I try again. Same result.
A scream of pure frustration tears from my throat as I realize that Luca disabled texting. I can’t call for help or coordinate with anyone outside these walls.
I throw the phone across the room, watching it crack against the wall with savage satisfaction.
Fine.Fine. I’ll do this alone.
I pace the room, my mind racing through possibilities. The estate layout I’ve memorized during weeks of supervised walks. The guard rotation patterns I noticed without really meaning to. The blind spots in camera coverage that I looked at thinking it was just cautious awareness.
All that information I gathered is suddenly useful in a way I never intended.
There’s a gap in coverage along the eastern wall, where the trees grow close enough to create shadows the cameras can’t penetrate. The guard shift changes at nine p.m., and there’s always a brief window of confusion during the handoff.
If I could create a distraction. Something to draw attention away from that section of wall…
My eyes fall on the fireplace in the bedroom. Old-fashioned, decorative, but functional.
An hour later, another knock. This time softer, more tentative.
“Mrs. Marchetti?” Linnea’s voice, but I still recoil at the name. “I brought you some water and crackers. I’ll just leave them outside the servant’s door.”
I stay silent. Wait. A few minutes pass. Then —
A soft creak.
I spin around just in time to see the servant’s door inch open.
“Don’t come in!” My voice cracks. “Don’t?—”
Linnea freezes in the doorway, her hands lifted in apology. “I’m sorry—I just thought you might need help. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My pulse roars in my ears. I’ve piled furniture in front of the main door, but of course I didn’t think to block the staff entrance. Stupid. Sostupid.
“Leave the tray and go,” I manage, backing away. “Please.”
She does. Quietly. The door clicks shut again.
I wait. Ten full seconds. Then twenty. Only when I’m sure she’s gone do I edge forward, lock the handle, and slide a chair beneath it for good measure.
I need to survive this. For me, yes, but also for the tiny life growing inside me. This baby deserves a chance. He or she deserves a life away from the violence and revenge that defines its father’s world.
By the time night falls, my plan is as ready as it’s going to be.
I find some clothes still in the closet—jeans, black sweater, and running shoes. I braid my hair back tight so nothing will catch or get in my way. My mind flashes to the pregnancy test in my jewelry box in Luca’s room. My breath catches and my heart sinks to my toes.
The evidence of life growing inside of me. If Luca finds that test…I shudder at the thought.
Hopefully by the time he ransacks my things and finds the test, I’ll have disappeared and he won’t ever be able to find me ormybaby.
I carefully dismantle my barricade, moving furniture as quietly as possible. Each scrape of wood against the floor makes me wince, but no one comes to investigate.
The hallway is empty when I peer out. The guard who usually patrols this wing must be elsewhere.
I slip into the corridor, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure someone will hear it. Every shadow makes me freeze, every sound of the house settling makes me think I’ve been caught.
But I keep moving. Down the servants’ staircase instead of the main one, where I’m less likely to be seen. Through the kitchen where only a single light burns—Ramirez must have finished for the night and gone to his room.
