My fingers gripped the edge of the seat.
Every movement outside was controlled. Coordinated.
Then the acceleration came.
The engines roared.
The pressure pressed me back into the leather.
And suddenly—
We lifted.
I felt the exact moment the wheels left the ground.
A gentle upward push. A strange weightlessness in my chest.
The city lights dropped away beneath us.
We were airborne. Away.
Far from the warehouse that still haunted my dreams.
Far from the marble mansion that had once represented marriage and betrayal in the same breath.
Far from the man who claimed to be my husband, the same man who wanted me destroyed for my sister’s sins.
Ruslan.
His face flashed briefly in my mind.
Blood on his hands. Fear in his eyes. Control slipping when I held the knife to my wrist.
I forced the image away.
New York. Somewhere safer. Somewhere anonymous.
Somewhere his influence didn’t reach as easily.
I didn’t know if it would feel like freedom.
I didn’t know if healing was even possible.
But maybe—just maybe—
It would be a place where I could breathe without expecting hands to grab me from behind.
A place where I could rebuild my body.
Rebuild my voice.
Rebuild whatever pieces of myself still remained intact.
Without thinking, my hand moved to my abdomen.
It was flat now. Empty.
My fingers traced slow, unconscious circles across the skin beneath the thin fabric of my shirt—the same motion I had used in the prison cell when the baby was still alive.
