chapter 6
1302 Words
Chapter 6 – The Escape That Wasn’t
The world went black.
Not the gentle black of night, not the familiar dimness of sleep, but a suffocating, absolute darkness that devoured everything. The storm outside roared louder, like the earth itself had opened its mouth to swallow the mansion whole.
Isabella couldn’t breathe. For a heartbeat, she thought she had gone blind. Her fingers clutched instinctively for something—anything—to hold onto, until they found it.
A hand.
Warm. Trembling. Urgent.
“Run,” Ethan whispered in her ear. His voice was low, rough, the kind of sound that cut through the dark like steel. " you have to run for me, for you, for us and for better future."
Her body moved before her mind caught up. Bare feet slapped against the polished wood floors, echoing in the cavernous silence. She let him drag her into the shadows, lungs screaming for air, heart hammering like it might tear itself from her chest.
Behind them—shouts. The scrape of boots against marble. The harsh crack of orders barked in the dark.
Damian’s men.
Her throat tightened, the urge to scream locked inside her chest. The lamp she had dropped earlier was still shattered somewhere behind them, shards glittering faintly whenever lightning cracked through the tall windows.
Every flash of white fire painted the hallway like a graveyard. Portraits of ancestors glared down from gilded frames, their painted eyes accusing her for daring to flee.
Ethan’s grip was strong but not crushing. Desperate but not possessive. It wasn’t the grip of a man who thought he owned her. It was the grip of someone who had already lost her once and swore he would never let go again.
She stumbled, her breath catching. “Ethan—where—are we going?”
“Quiet,” he hissed, yanking her down another corridor. His voice was raw, tight with urgency. “He’ll hear us.”
As if summoned, a sound split the storm.
“Isabella!”
Her body jolted.
Damian’s voice rolled through the mansion, deeper than thunder, sharper than any bullet. It wasn’t the shout of a man afraid of losing her. It was the command of a man who had never known disobedience.
Her name had never sounded like that before—an order. A vow. A threat.
Ethan didn’t slow. His hand clutched hers harder, and in that second she realized: Ethan wasn’t only running to save her.
He was running to fight him. To start a war.
---
They crashed through a side door and stumbled into the conservatory. The storm’s fury rattled the glass walls, each pane trembling as though ready to shatter. Lightning flickered across broken leaves and toppled chairs.
Ethan slammed the door shut behind them and pressed his back against it, panting, his chest heaving with effort. His shirt clung to him, soaked with blood at the shoulder.
Isabella spun toward him, her pulse pounding in her throat. “You’re bleeding—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. His eyes burned, storm-grey and unyielding. He grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her still. “Listen to me. Damian isn’t what you think. He’s been lying to you since the day you met him.”
Her breath caught. His words were knives, each one slicing at the fragile strings tethering her sanity together.
“You expect me to believe you?” Her voice cracked. “You—who disappeared without a word, who let me think you were dead? You dare stand here and—”
He flinched, as if her words had struck him harder than the bullet grazing his arm. For a heartbeat, the pain in his eyes was raw enough to undo her.
“I know,” he whispered, hoarse. “I know what I did to you. I thought staying dead was the only way to protect you. But when I found out he had you…” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the truth itself was unbearable. “I couldn’t stay gone anymore. Not when it’s him.”
Her chest constricted, her breath hitching. She wanted to scream at him, hit him, demand answers—but her heart betrayed her with the aching pull of his confession.
Before she could speak, the conservatory door rattled violently.
BANG.
The wood groaned under the weight of a boot.
“Open this door, Isabella.”
Damian’s voice seeped through the cracks like smoke, thick and lethal. “Don’t make me take it off its hinges.”
Her stomach dropped.
Ethan yanked her toward the other exit, pointing to the terrace beyond. But her feet wouldn’t move. Not when she could hear Damian’s footsteps outside.
Deliberate. Measured. Predatory.
He wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t chasing.
He was hunting.
“Isabella,” Damian called again, his tone lower now, coaxing. “You can run if you want. But where will you go? Out there, into the storm? With him?” A pause. Then a low, humorless laugh. “You’ll last five minutes.”
Her nails dug into her palms. The storm outside screamed with wind and rain. She thought of Ethan’s limp, of the blood soaking through his shirt.
Damian was right.
But the way he said it—you’ll last five minutes—wasn’t concern. It was a promise. A vow that survival itself depended on him and she can't survive without his command.
Her hand trembled in Ethan’s. Her body leaned toward escape. Her soul tilted toward the door behind them.
she was confused what fate has written for her.
---
The far door groaned under Ethan’s shove, and then the storm swallowed them whole. Rain lashed at their skin, the cold biting like knives. Wind tore at her hair, tangling it across her face.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the terrace in white fire. For a moment, Isabella swore she saw herself reflected in the storm—fragile, furious, breaking apart.
Ethan dragged her across the slick stones, his body staggering from blood loss but unrelenting. “We’re almost out,” he shouted. “There’s a car—”
“Do you really think,” a voice cut through the downpour, deep and mocking, “you can take her from me so easily?”
Isabella froze.
Damian stood at the top of the terrace steps, black coat snapping in the wind like a dark wing. His gun gleamed, steady in his hand despite the rain. His eyes locked on her, never once acknowledging Ethan.
As if Ethan were a ghost.
“Come here, Isabella.”
The command was soft. Quiet. It didn’t need volume to carry. It slithered into her spine like chains tightening link by link.
Ethan pulled her closer, his arms a trembling shield. “Don’t listen to him. He’s twisted you into thinking you’re trapped. But you’re not. You’re free. If you come with me, you’re free.”
Free.
The word sliced through her, tearing at the cage she hadn’t realized she’d built around herself.
But Damian stepped down one stair, then another. The rain ran down his face, his eyes burning with unshaken fury.
“Take one more step with him, Isabella,” he growled, voice low and deadly, “and I swear I’ll burn this world down until there’s nothing left but us.”
Her chest heaved, torn between two storms.
Ethan, bloodied and begging, fighting to keep her safe.
Damian, dark and merciless, willing to destroy everything to claim her.
Her throat opened but no words came. Only silence.
The storm screamed for her instead.
And then—
BANG.
The terrace exploded into chaos.
---
A gunshot tears through the storm ,but who pulled the trigger, and who was hit? Damian? Ethan? Or someone else hidden in the night?
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- Writer
