Isabella
I threw a rope over the thirteen-foot walls surrounding my mansion.Well… not an actual rope. It was bed sheets—knotted, twisted, desperate. I tied them up night after night, perfecting the art of the escape, threading freedom through threadbare linen.
It wasn't supposed to feel this dangerous. But it always did.
My backpack hit the other side first, swallowed by the trees just beyond the stone. That side of the property had become my secret lover—the one that always waited for me in the dark, patient and quiet. I gave the makeshift rope a hard pull, testing its weight again. My palms burned, my fingers raw, but the tension held.
This was the only corner of the fence where the cameras didn't reach. The guards rarely bothered to patrol this section anymore. It looked secure enough on paper. And my father trusted paper more than people.
One foot, then the other. Careful. Silent. My fingers gripped the sheets as I pulled myself up the cold, rough stone, heart pounding in my throat like it was trying to break free from my chest. The wind bit at my skin as I climbed, my dress catching at my knees.
I reached the top.
For a second, I just sat there, crouched like a shadow between two worlds. The mansion behind me stood tall and cruel, its lights glowing like the eyes of a god I didn't believe in anymore. The forest ahead whispered promises. Freedom. Chaos. Sin.
Then I jumped. A rough landing scraped my knees, but I didn't care. Pain was small. Freedom was worth bleeding for.
And then—click. A sharp, unmistakable sound. A camera. No. No. No.
I froze, my breath lodging in my throat. I'd been sneaking out this way for three years. Not once had I heard that sound. Not once had I seen a person. This was private property. My father made sure of it. No one dared trespass. Not unless they wanted to
disappear.
Another click.
Shit.
"Move!" Evangeline hissed from behind a tree, clutching my backpack like it was sacred. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, moonlight turning her into something wild. "Get the fuck down before you get caught."
I bolted across the dirt, heart still hammering. I yanked the skirt of my dress down my thighs as I reached her.
"I heard something," I whispered, scanning the dark woods. I could feel eyes on me. The kind that didn't blink.
"It's just your conscience," she said without looking at me, "which means you still have one. Congrats."
I laughed under my breath, but it was dry and hollow.
Maybe she was right.
Or maybe she was lying.
I had been feeling guilty lately. Every night I crawled back into that mansion, washed the dirt off my knees, and acted like the girl he wanted me to be.
Sweet. Innocent. Untouchable.
But that girl didn't exist anymore. And honestly? I wasn't sure she ever did.
Even after my mom died, my father wrapped me in silk and silence, bought me dresses, books, whatever I wanted—as long as I stayed in my place. His little princess. His untouched treasure.
And I played along.
Until I didn't.
Evangeline opened the car door, shoved my backpack into the backseat, and slid behind the wheel.
"Lights off," I warned.
She snorted. "I was born for this shit."
The engine purred to life, and we rolled out onto the private road that led from the mansion gates to the outer world. I glanced back once—just once—at the place that had raised me.
It looked smaller from this angle. Like it was shrinking the farther we drove.
Once we hit the main road, the air changed. The night stretched wide open. Lights glowed from storefronts. Distant voices floated from street corners. The world outside my walls wasn't loud—but it was alive.
"I swear this road has ghosts," Evangeline muttered, adjusting the mirror. "I always feel like someone's watching us when we drive it."
"Maybe they are."
She looked at me. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"
"I don't know," I murmured, eyes fixed on the glass. "I feel like something's coming."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're being dramatic again."
"Am I?" I asked softly.
Because deep in my gut, something really was off.
The kind of feeling that sticks to your bones.
I turned to her, letting my voice drop. "If my dad ever finds out… I'm dead, Vangie. Like actually dead."
"Then he'll have to kill me too," she said simply, flicking her cigarette out the window. "Not that he hasn't thought about it already."
We shared a look.
Tense. Tired. Loyal.
She was my cousin. My sister. My only friend. My reckless, dangerous lifeline.
Her parents had raised her differently—wild and loud and unapologetic. At twenty-four, Evangeline didn't follow rules. She broke them.
And I followed her every time.
Ours was the only car on the road.
Just two women driving into the night at 11:00 p.m., shadows chasing our tires and silence coiling around us like smoke.
And then—
Click.
Again.
The sound sliced through my chest like a knife made of air.
I whipped around in my seat, heart hammering.
Standing at the edge of the tree line was a figure.
A silhouette.
Motionless. Watching.
Like death had finally come for me in the form of a man cloaked in darkness.
"Eve," I said, voice cracked. "Behind us."
Evangeline didn't even flinch. She just adjusted her rearview mirror, cool as hell, and shrugged. "There's nothing there."
"I saw someone." My fingers shot to the car controls and I raised every window in a frenzy. I wasn't about to let my twenty-three-year-old soul get dragged into hell just because I wanted a night out. Nope. Not tonight, Satan.
"Probably your guilt again," she muttered, eyes on the road. "You keep calling it paranoia, but I call it a father complex."
I didn't respond. Mostly because I couldn't breathe properly. That thing—whoever it was—watched me.