Chapter Ten: The Escape
1076 Words
Lena left that night.
Not dramatically. No note. No confrontation. No slammed doors or shouted accusations. She had no energy left for drama. The fight had drained her, hollowed her out, left her as empty as the cold marble halls of the manor.
She waited until she heard Damian lock himself in his study. The heavy click of the door echoed through the house like a cell slamming shut. Then she listened.
Footsteps pacing. The low murmur of phone calls — sharp, angry words she couldn't quite make out. The clink of a decanter being refilled, over and over and over. Ice against glass. Whiskey against grief.
He was drinking himself into numbness. She recognized the pattern. She had seen it in her father after her mother died — the slow, deliberate erasure of feeling, one glass at a time.
Goodbye, Damian, she thought. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. I hope it's worth losing us.
Then she packed.
One suitcase. Not the expensive luggage Nadia had offered her when she first moved in. Her old suitcase, the one she had brought from her studio apartment, the one with the broken zipper and the coffee stain on the side. It was the only thing in this house that felt like hers.
She packed carefully, methodically, as if she were preparing for a funeral. Her own.
Clothes. Her father's letters, tied with a ribbon. The ultrasound photo — she had retrieved it from the terrace, slightly crumpled but intact. The dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights from the library. A bag of cookies Margo had baked, still soft. Her mother's wedding ring, tucked into a small velvet pouch that had once held earrings.
She left the platinum ring on the pillow in the east wing.
She didn't want it anymore. She didn't want anything that reminded her of the cold man who had offered her twenty million dollars to kill their child. Not the ring. Not the name. Not the house. Not the memory of his hands on her body, his voice in her ear, his tears on her skin.
I will forget you, she told herself. I will erase you. I will raise this baby without you, and we will be happy, and you will be nothing but a bad dream.
She didn't believe it. But she said it anyway.
Nadia was waiting by the back door.
She stood in the shadows, a silhouette against the moonlit garden, her silver hair glowing like a halo. She wore her coat already, though the night was warm. Her car keys dangled from her fingers.
Her eyes were wet.
"I'm not going to ask where," the old housekeeper said softly. "But I need to know you'll be safe."
Lena hugged her. The first real hug she had given anyone in months. She had been holding herself together with string and spite, and now, in Nadia's arms, she felt herself come undone.
Nadia smelled like lavender and bread flour and home. Like the mother Lena had lost. Like the safety she had been searching for her whole life.
"I have a friend," Lena said, her voice muffled against Nadia's shoulder. "A college roommate. Piper. She lives in a small town by the sea. Saltwind Cove. No one will find me there."
Nadia pulled back and pressed an envelope into Lena's hands. It was thick with cash — more cash than Lena had ever held at one time.
"Two thousand dollars," Nadia said. "Don't argue."
"I can't take your money."
"You're not taking it. I'm giving it." Nadia cupped Lena's face in her weathered hands, her thumbs brushing away tears Lena hadn't noticed she was crying. "You are brave, Lena Thorne. Braver than you know. And that baby is lucky to have you."
"Thank you," Lena whispered.
"Don't thank me. Just take care of that baby." Nadia's eyes glistened. "That man is a fool. But he's a fool who might come looking when he realizes what he's lost."
Lena shook her head. "He won't."
"He will." Nadia's voice was certain. "I've known Damian since he was a boy. I've seen him destroy deals, friendships, relationships — everything he's ever touched. But I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
Lena wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that somewhere beneath the ice, Damian Thorne had a heart that could beat for her. But she couldn't afford to hope. Hope was a luxury she had signed away with the contract.
"I have to go," she said.
Nadia nodded. "Go. Be safe. And when you're ready — if you're ever ready — know that you have a home here. With or without him."
Lena kissed Nadia's cheek. Then she walked out the door.
The car engine purred to life. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the long driveway lined with ancient oaks. Lena gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and forced herself not to look back.
She failed.
In the rearview mirror, she saw the manor — huge and dark and cold, a tomb of marble and memory. A single light was on in Damian's study. Third floor. Corner window. The one that faced the sea.
She imagined him standing there, watching her leave, doing nothing to stop her. She imagined his cold gray eyes tracking the car as it disappeared into the darkness. She imagined him feeling nothing — or feeling everything and not knowing how to name it.
She thought of his hand on her belly. The way he had said "I don't know how to be loved." The way he had offered her twenty million dollars to erase their child. The way he had looked at the ultrasound — terrified, awed, broken.
Goodbye, Damian.
She turned her eyes forward.
The road stretched ahead, dark and uncertain, lit only by the headlights and the moon. The trees blurred past. The ocean whispered somewhere in the distance, a promise of salt and freedom.
Inside her, the baby kicked. Soft. Insistent. Alive.
We're going to be okay, Lena thought. We have to be.
She pressed her hand to her stomach and made a promise.
No one will ever hurt you. Not him. Not anyone. I will protect you until my last breath. I will be your mother and your father. I will love you enough for two.
The car disappeared into the night.
Behind her, the light in Damian's study went dark.
- Writer
