I eased the window open and exhaled.
Then, I climbed onto the slate tiles, the sun at my back and the fire of rebellion in my veins.
It was a beautiful day—so beautiful it felt almost cruel. The sun bathed the world in gold, and with each careful step along the rooftop, I felt my chest swell with a strange, wild joy.
It was as if the light had cast some magic over me, boiling away fear and flooding me with a clarity of purpose I had never known.
I could do this.
Iwoulddo this.
Even if it meant escaping my own home like a thief in the daylight.
Carefully, I moved across the pitched roof, each step deliberate on the blistering slate tiles. At the edge, I paused, staring down at the garden below. The distance made my stomach lurch. Dizzy, I crouched and pressed my palms against the tiles, grounding myself.
When the spinning ceased, I leaned forward to examine the trellis beneath the windowsill—an old wooden lattice draped in ivy, secured where the stone met the brick.
Itlookedsturdy.
But I wouldn’t know for sure until I tested it.
Glancing around to ensure no one lingered below, I lowered myself onto my belly, legs dangling over the edge. My toes fumbled for a foothold, and when they met wood, I clutched the rooftop edge and carefully let my weight shift onto the trellis.
It held.
With a breath of relief, I began my descent, inch by inch. The wood creaked softly under me, but it didn’t crack. I moved, the vines brushing my skin, the scent of lavender and earth drifting up.
I paused as I neared the bottom, still a few feet from the ground. I wanted to savor the moment—the air on my skin, the forbidden thrill in my blood.
And then, I let go.
I landed in a whisper.
The grass gave beneath my feet like silk, and for one sweet moment, I felt like a bird who had finally slipped its cage.
But freedom had a price.
And the night was calling.
I didn’t linger.
Hugging the hedges, I darted along the side of the house, my heart pounding in rhythm with my feet. I kept to the shadows, slipping past the garden, the stables, the long gravel drive. When I reached the end of the estate, I turned.
One last glance at the house I had fled—its windows glinting like quiet eyes.
And then I ran.
The journey to Raul’s estate was longer than I’d remembered. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and the sun rode higher in the sky as I finally arrived, breathless and flushed, sweat clinging to my brow.
Raul was in the yard, astride his bay stallion, a figure carved of confidence and charm. As I approached, his dark eyes caught mine, and a wicked grin curled across his lips.
“Well, well,” he drawled, patting his horse’s sleek neck. “What are you doing here? Come to play, Alina?”
“Please, Raul,” I gasped, my voice ragged but urgent. “I need your help.”
His smile deepened, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
He cocked his head, letting the silence hang—just long enough for my nerves to spark.
