A DESPERATE ESCAPE / A CRUSHING DEFEAT
Anna's heart raced. The boss's words echoed in her mind, sinister and suffocating, but they only strengthened her resolve. She had to escape—now.
The moment he left the room, she sprang into action, scanning every inch of her prison. Walls, floors, ceilings—any crack, any weakness, any overlooked detail could be her salvation.
From the corner, Rachel watched silently, her eyes sharp and calculating.
"Anna… what are you doing?" Rachel whispered urgently.
"I'm finding a way out," Anna replied, her voice firm, her eyes darting around the room.
Rachel's face tightened. "You can't escape, Anna. He has guards everywhere, cameras, motion sensors… you'll never make it."
Anna's jaw set. "I have to try."
A long pause. Then Rachel nodded, almost reluctantly.
"Okay," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'll help. But one wrong move… we're dead."
Anna's pulse spiked. "Let's do it."
Together, they slipped through the shadowed corridors, the air thick with dust and tension. Each step was a calculated risk: the creak of a floorboard, the hum of a security camera, the distant echo of guards' boots.
Suddenly, Rachel froze, gripping Anna's arm.
"What?" Anna whispered.
"They're watching us," Rachel hissed, fear etched into her features.
Anna's stomach tightened. They retraced their steps, careful not to alert anyone. Back in the room, they leaned against the door, hearts pounding, chests heaving.
"What now?" Anna asked, whispering.
Rachel's eyes darted to the door. "We need a new plan. We can't stay. He'll know we tried."
Anna nodded, mind racing. Then—a faint, deliberate sound outside. Footsteps. Heavy. Calculated. The guards. They were coming.
Panic surged. Anna's thoughts tumbled: escape. Hide. Survive.
They bolted down the corridors again, shadows their only cover. Guards shouted, boots pounding behind them. Each corner turned felt like a lifetime, every corridor a gauntlet.
Then—a sliver of light. A partially hidden door behind stacked crates.
"There!" Anna hissed. "Our way out!"
Rachel nodded. They sprinted. Anna's lungs burned. Her fingers scraped against the doorframe. Freedom was so close she could taste it.
But behind her, terror struck. Guards grabbed Rachel. She fought, screamed, struggled—but it was futile.
"Rachel, no!" Anna screamed, reaching back, but her hands met only air. Rachel fell, limp and still. Anna's stomach dropped into her chest. She had escaped… but at the cost of her friend.
Guilt and grief collided with fear. She had to keep moving. Sunlight glimmered through the exit. Hope teased her—but the sound of pursuit was relentless.
Anna burst out of the warehouse, the world suddenly overwhelming in its brightness. Trees, sky, freedom—so close, yet impossible to fully grasp.
Footsteps behind her. The guards hadn't given up. Panic surged. She ran, adrenaline sharpening every sense.
But they caught her. Hands seized her. She struggled, but their grip was iron. The taste of defeat was bitter.
Thrown back into the warehouse, her body trembling, Anna's mind screamed. Rachel… gone. Her only ally, dead. Her failure burned like acid.
Days blurred. Meals, sleep, forced obedience—a monotonous cycle of survival. Inside, Anna's spirit felt fractured, hollowed by guilt and despair.
And then, the boss arrived. The same cold, imposing figure, his eyes like knives. He smiled, venomous and casual.
"You're a valuable asset, Anna," he said smoothly. "I'm glad you're cooperating."
Anna nodded, stomach churning. Her voice was quiet, wary. "I'm glad to be of service."
His smile widened, predatory. "Life here isn't so bad. You'll learn to appreciate the comforts we provide."
Resignation washed over her. Escape felt like a dream, a memory of another life.
Later, the boss spoke with Victor, his trusted subordinate.
"Anna is our greatest asset, Victor," he said, voice low, controlled, merciless. "She's the key to currying favor with the young master of the Kuznetsov family in Azalia."
Victor's eyes gleamed. "Yes, sir. They are ruthless. If we gain their favor, we'll be untouchable."
The boss leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Exactly. Anna is perfect for our game. Young, beautiful, naive… the ideal pawn. Even the renowned prophet Alan confirmed it when I visited him."
Victor nodded grimly. "We'll make sure she's well looked after, sir. Like a princess."
"Hire another maid," the boss continued, voice chillingly casual. "I want her chubby, rosy… like a doll. And remind her—she's going nowhere. She belongs to us now. Every word, every action, must obey."
Victor's cold, satisfied smile mirrored the boss's. "It will be done, sir."
As Victor left, the boss leaned back, a look of satisfaction painted across his face. He knew with Anna under their control, his influence would grow. Unstoppable. Untouchable.
And somewhere, deep inside Anna, a small spark refused to die.
She had failed. She had lost Rachel. But she was still alive.
And survival was the first step to revenge.