The escape
946 Words
Chapter 15: The Freedom That Wasn’t
The morning sun lit the grand estate with deceptive peace. Burak Aslan sat at the long dining table, dressed impeccably in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, showing off his usual icy aura. Around him stood two guards—silent, stern. The air was thick with tension.
“Where’s the caretaker?” Burak asked coldly, sipping his strong Turkish coffee.
A guard stepped forward. “Sir, the caretaker’s phone is missing since morning. We suspect it’s stolen.”
Burak narrowed his eyes. “Zoya…”
He clenched his jaw. Something didn’t feel right. His instincts were screaming.
---
Earlier that Morning…
Zoya stood near the large window in her room, eyes burning with decision. Her fingers trembled as she tied her dupatta tightly around her neck. Her escape had to be today. No more whispers. No more darkness.
She turned, and standing at her door was Cemil Aslan, casually leaning against the frame.
“Ready?” he asked with a smirk.
Zoya nodded, swallowing the panic crawling up her throat. “Let’s do this.”
They moved quickly. The house was alive but distracted. Cemil had already created the chaos she needed.
“I switched the caretaker’s phone last night,” Cemil said under his breath. “Guards are searching the south wing now.”
As they reached the gate, Cemil distracted the guard with a fake signature request. Zoya slipped through like a shadow.
She was finally out.
---
But freedom was cold.
Zoya stood outside the grand gates, Istanbul roaring around her, a city too big, too unfamiliar. She had no phone. No money. No idea where to go.
She wrapped her shawl tightly and walked aimlessly down the street, heart pounding. Her friends lived on the Asian side—but she didn’t know addresses. All she remembered were the digits she had memorized years ago.
“I need a phone,” she murmured.
She stopped a man and pleaded, “Please, can I just use your phone?”
The man looked at her suspiciously, then ran.
Zoya turned to chase—and the world went black.
---
Somewhere in Istanbul
In a glass-walled office, a striking woman in a fitted black blazer and red heels sat cross-legged in her chair. Her lips, painted the color of blood, curled into a cold smile as she watched the CCTV feed of the Aslan Estate.
“Interesting,” she whispered.
Her almond-shaped nails tapped her iPhone screen as she made a call.
“Yes, it’s time,” she said simply, before hanging up. Then she sipped her coffee and stared out the window, watching a lone seagull dive into the Bosphorus.
---
Back at the Aslan Estate, chaos was rising.
Burak stormed into Cemil’s room. Cemil, wearing headphones and examining suits for his private party, didn’t hear him.
“CEMIL!” Burak roared.
Cemil jumped, pulling off the headphones. “What the hell?”
“Where is Zoya?”
Cemil leaned back lazily. “I don’t know. Why ask me?”
“She’s your responsibility now?” Burak snapped.
“She’s your wife, not mine,” Cemil mocked. “Though, most of the time, she’s with me.”
Burak stepped forward, fury in every step. “I saw the CCTV. You let her go.”
Cemil shrugged. “She wanted freedom. I helped her. Maybe she’s tired of being your little prisoner.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Or maybe,” Cemil smirked, “you’re just not enough for her. In bed or in life.”
Burak grabbed the headphones and smashed them on the floor. “Stay away from her.”
Cemil laughed. “Truth hurts more, doesn’t it?”
---
On the stairs, Leyla watched everything unfold. Her wine glass dangled in her hand.
“She’s not a child, Burak,” Leyla said coolly. “She chose to leave.”
Burak glared at her. “You and your brother need to stay out of my life.”
Leyla tilted her head. “We’re already in it.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and marched down the hallway. “Get the car!” he barked to the guards. “We find her now.”
---
Cemil threw on his black blazer and headed out for his party. Flashing lights, music, and laughter waited for him.
Leyla poured herself another glass of wine and walked into Burak’s room. The music blasted. She danced alone, wild and victorious. For her, Zoya was gone. The chapter was closed.
---
But somewhere in the shadows, the game had only just begun.
A black car pulled up quietly at the back of the Aslan Estate. No one saw it. The back door creaked open, and a man stepped out, dragging an unconscious Zoya in his arms.
Her face was hidden under cloth, wrists bound. She was barely conscious. With a shove, the man dropped her near the estate’s back corridor.
The car vanished into the night.
---
At 1 a.m., Burak returned home. He removed his tie, exhausted and defeated. His usually sharp eyes were now hollow. He sat silently in the lounge.
The caretaker handed him a glass of water.
Burak held it loosely, staring at the ripples.
Then—
“Sir!” A guard rushed in, breathless.
Burak stood. “What?”
The guard whispered something into his ear.
The glass slipped from Burak’s fingers.
It shattered on the floor.
Water spread across the marble like a silent scream.
Burak didn’t wait.
He ran.
---
And somewhere inside the estate, Zoya lay unconscious on the cold floor.
The freedom she had dreamed of… had become a trap.
[To Be Continued…]
- Writer
