Resigning from His Obsession

Chapter 5: The Narrow Escape

The silence stretching across the room felt heavy enough to crush bone. Isla kept her eyes glued to the glowing screen of her monitor, her vision blurring as tears of pure panic pricked at the corners of her eyes. She heard Martha shift her weight behind the front counter, the old floorboards creaking under her shoes.

"Like I said, mister, nobody by that name works in this office," Martha repeated, her voice carrying a calm, matter-of-fact tone that made Isla want to sob with relief. "You must have the wrong district. Most of the people here are folks I've known since they were kids."

Jonathan paused. Isla could picture him standing just a few feet away, scanning the room, his sharp eyes evaluating the layout. Every second stretched out like an eternity. Her hands remained locked onto the keyboard, her knuckles white with strain. She forced herself to breathe in slow, shallow increments, terrified that the slight rise and fall of her shoulders might give her away if he glanced toward the back row.

"Are you sure?" Jonathan asked, his voice dropping into a colder, more skeptical register. "I have reliable intelligence placing her in this general agricultural district within the last month."

"Mister, if someone was hiding out around here, I'd know about it before anyone else," Martha replied, her tone hardening just a fraction, losing its previous warmth. "We take care of our own people in this valley. If you're looking for corporate runaways or tax debtors, you're looking in the wrong place. Try the commercial district two towns over."

A tense silence followed. Isla held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She waited for Jonathan to demand to see the physical records, to bypass Martha and walk back toward the employee desks to check for himself. If he took three more steps forward, he would see the side of her face, and the game would be over instantly.

Instead, she heard the heavy sound of dust-covered boots shifting on the floor.

"Right," Jonathan said, sounding entirely unconvinced but realizing he had hit a wall with the stubborn elderly woman. "If you happen to see or hear of anyone matching her description—slim build, dark hair, professional background—my card is on the counter. There's a substantial cash reward for any verified information."

"Save your card, mister, nobody's interested," Martha said flatly.

A moment later, the heavy wooden door creaked open again, letting in another rush of warm valley wind before slamming shut with a sharp bang.

Isla slumped forward in her chair, her forehead nearly hitting the edge of the desk as all the strength drained completely out of her limbs. She was shaking so violently she could barely keep her fingers steady. He was gone. For right now, he was gone. But the terrifying reality of his visit crashed down on her chest with crushing weight. They were actively looking for her. They were closing in.

"Isla?" Martha’s voice called out gently from the front, followed by the soft sound of footsteps walking back toward her desk.

Isla quickly wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, taking a deep, shaky breath before sitting up and forcing her expression into something resembling calm. She turned around as Martha walked up beside her, holding out a paper towel and looking down at her with deep, knowing concern in her eyes.

"You can breathe now, honey," Martha said softly, her voice dropping to a low whisper so the rest of the small office couldn't hear. "He's gone out to his car."

Isla stared up at the older woman, her eyes wide with shock. "Martha... you knew?"

Martha offered a small, knowing smile, placing a warm hand gently on Isla's trembling shoulder. "I've lived a long time, Isla. I know an important man looking for a terrified woman when I see one. And more importantly, I know a good girl who deserves to be left in peace. You think I'm going to hand over one of my own staff to some suit flashing a corporate badge?"

Tears spilled over Isla's eyelashes, rolling down her cheeks as a mixture of immense gratitude and raw fear washed over her.

"Thank you, Martha. You don't know what this means to me. If he found me... I can't go back. I can't."

"I figured as much," Martha said, her expression turning serious as she squeezed her shoulder. "Which means you can't stay here anymore. The moment that man checks the local motels or talks to the regional transport hub, he's going to figure out someone matching your description is working right under his nose. He might even come back tomorrow with local police backup."

The words hit Isla like a cold bucket of water. Martha was right. Staying here was no longer an option. The safety net she had built over the last month had just been torn wide open.

"Pack your things," Martha instructed gently, handing her the paper towel. "Go back to your little house, grab what you actually need, and take some cash from the cooperative safe—consider it a generous advance on your pay. There's a late-night bus heading north out of the regional depot at midnight. It goes past the farming highways, far away from the valley routes these big-city investigators watch."

Isla looked down at her hands, feeling a heavy wave of grief. She had finally started to feel safe here. She had liked the smell of the soil, the quiet routine, and the kindness of the elderly woman standing in front of her. But the shadow of the Ashford empire stretched much further than she had ever imagined.

"I can't drag you into this, Martha," Isla whispered, her voice breaking. "If they find out you lied to a corporate investigator—"

"Let me worry about myself," Martha interrupted with a fierce, protective grin. "I've dealt with worse men than a rich CEO in my lifetime. Now, stop wasting time crying and go. You have a little one to protect now. That's all that matters."

Ten minutes later, Isla walked out the back exit of the farming cooperative into the twilight, pulling her dark raincoat tightly around her shoulders. She didn't look back. She hurried down the dusty path toward her small rental house, her mind racing with a desperate plan for survival.

She packed her few belongings into a single canvas duffel bag—her clothes, a few savings bills she had hidden beneath the mattress, and the small ultrasound photo of her baby tucked safely inside a journal. By the time she stepped out onto the dark road to catch the midnight bus, the wind was rustling through the nearby fields like a warning.

She was running again. But as she clutched her bag to her chest and stepped onto the warm, dim bus heading north into the dark unknown, she knew she would run to the ends of the earth before she ever let Damian Ashford take her child away.