The Wishful Bride

Episode 9: The Last Escape

“Freedom was only a few steps away until fate caught up with her.”



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The brass key weighed heavily in Elaris's trembling hand. Beside the bedroom door, Mrs. Collins kept her eyes trained on the dimly lit hallway, her shoulders tense with fear.

“Go,” she urged, her voice barely a breath. “Go before someone sees you.”

Elaris swallowed hard, fighting back the wave of panic rising in her chest. “What about you?”

The older woman managed a faint, weary smile.

“I’ve lived my life, child. Yours is just waiting out there.”

Before Elaris could answer, Mrs. Collins pulled her into a brief, fierce embrace.

“Thank you,” the old woman whispered into her hair, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for finally choosing to live.”

They broke apart, and Mrs. Collins cracked the door open just enough to glance outside. “It’s clear. Go.”

Elaris closed her fingers tight around the key and slipped into the dark. Night had turned the mansion into something unrecognizable—the high, elegant ceilings now felt like the vaulted arches of a dungeon, and every ticking grandfather clock sounded like a countdown. She stayed low, keeping a hand against the wall as she navigated the narrow servants' passage Mrs. Collins had shown her years ago. Twice, the sound of heavy boots forced her to freeze against the plaster, holding her breath until the footsteps faded into the distance.

When she finally reached the glass conservatory, the pale glow of moonlight washed over the dark leaves and damp soil. Tucked behind a wall of overgrown ivy was the iron side gate. Her hands shook so violently it took three tries to fit the key into the lock. The old iron groaned, resisting at first, until a heavy clack echoed softly in the quiet night.

Seven years. Seven years imprisoned inside a house that had never felt like home.

Elaris pushed the gate open and stepped into the cool night air. A shaky laugh escaped her lips as tears blurred her vision. Freedom was only a few steps away. A harsh beam of light suddenly cut through the darkness, freezing her where she stood.

“Hey! Stop!”

Run.

It was the only thought left in her mind. She bolted across the manicured lawn, low branches whipping across her face and snagging on her silk dress. Behind her, frantic shouts erupted as the thunder of security boots closed in. The towering iron gates were just ahead from freedom.

A rough hand seized her shoulder. She was yanked backward so hard she nearly lost her footing.

"Let me go!" Elaris's voice cracked as she struggled against their grip.

“Hold her!” one of the guards barked, fumbling for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Sir... we have a situation. Mrs. Sterling reached the south perimeter.”

Five miles away, the interior of the black sedan was dead quiet until the phone buzzed against the leather seat. Damien picked it up on the second ring, his tone sharp and dismissive. “What?”

The voice on the other end delivered the news in a frantic rush. Damien's expression didn't change. Only the muscle in his jaw tightened as his eyes met the drivers in the rearview mirror.

"Turn around," he said quietly.

"If she sets foot beyond those gates... I'll ruin every single one of you."

The tires screeched as the driver slammed on the brakes, swinging the heavy car into a violent U-turn.

By the time the black sedan roared up the gravel driveway, two guards were still struggling to restrain Elaris near the outer iron gates. The rear door swung open, and Damien stepped out. He looked immaculate in his tailored suit, untouched by the chaos around him. Yet his eyes were dark, cold, and utterly empty.

He walked toward her with slow, measured steps, the crunch of gravel beneath his polished shoes the only sound breaking the silence. One by one, the guards instinctively stepped aside. None of them dared speak. None of them dared move. Within seconds, Elaris was standing alone before him.

“You tried to escape,” Damien said, stopping a few feet away.

Elaris straightened her spine, wiping a streak of dirt and tears from her cheek. “I was leaving a prison.”

“After everything I’ve built for you?” His voice was dangerously calm. “You disappoint me, Elaris.”

Something inside her snapped—a thread of fear burning away into pure, raw fury. “I hate you,” she spat, the words cutting clean through the quiet air

. "I hate you," she spat, the words cutting through the quiet air. "You never saw me as your wife... only something you could own."

Her words hung between them. For the first time that night, something flickered in Damien's eyes before it disappeared. He reached out, his hand closing firmly around her wrist. "We're going inside."

“No!”

She twisted violently, wrenching against Damien's grip. As one of the guards rushed in to restrain her, the pistol at his hip came within reach. Desperation took over. Elaris lunged forward, ripped open the holster, and wrenched the weapon free before anyone could stop her.

“Gun!”

The guards froze, exchanging uncertain glances. None of them dared move. Their employer stood directly in front of his wife, who was pointing a gun at him. One wrong move could end in disaster. Before anyone could react, Damien slowly raised one hand, silently ordering them to stay back. No one dared disobey.

Elaris stumbled back, raising the heavy pistol with both hands. Her arms were shaking so hard the barrel trembled against the moonlight.

“Don't come any closer,” she sobbed. “I swear to God, Damien... stay back!”

Damien didn't flinch. He took a slow step toward her.

“I mean it!” she screamed.

“You won't pull that trigger,” he said softly, taking another step. “You don't have it in you.”

“You don't know what I have in me anymore!”

He closed the distance until the cool steel of the barrel pressed directly against his chest. He looked down at her; his dark eyes locked onto hers with unbearable intensity. “Then do it.”

Before she could process his words, Damien lunged at her, grabbing both her wrists and trying to wrench the gun from her hands. Elaris fought back with a desperate burst of strength, refusing to let go as they struggled for control of the weapon.

“Let it go, Elaris!”

“No!”

A wrist twisted violently. Metal slipped against cold skin. A finger caught the trigger—then the gunshot shattered the night.

Everything stopped.

For a long, surreal second, nobody moved. The guards stood frozen in the garden, and Damien remained locked in place, his hands still gripping hers over the smoking weapon.

Then a soft, confused breath escaped Elaris's lips.

She blinked, her eyes drifting downward. Between them, a dark, heavy stain was spreading across the white silk like a flower opening beneath the moonlight.

The gun clattered onto the stone pathway. No one moved. Even the night seemed to hold its breath.

Damien stared at the blood, all color draining from his face in an instant. “…Elaris?”

Her legs simply gave out. Damien caught her before she hit the ground, falling to his knees as he gathered her into his arms.

“No... no, no...” The words broke from him in a whisper. The man who had always seemed untouchable now looked utterly helpless. He pressed both hands over the wound, but the blood kept flowing, staining his fingers, his sleeves, and everything he tried to save.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his hands trembling as he cradled her head. “Elaris, look at me! Keep your eyes on me!”

The world blurred and the cold settled deep into her bones. Elaris looked up at the man who had controlled her life for seven long years. For the first time, he looked small. He looked terrified.

A faint smile touched her lips. For the first time in seven years, the fear was gone.