Rain hit the trees hard. It pounded the forest. Trees bent and groaned in the wind. Wind howled like wolves in the night.Camela ran.She just ran—barefoot, breathless, and terrified.Her white wedding dress clung to her legs, soaked and heavy. Tore on every branch, the lace catching like claws. Her bare feet sank into the mud, bled from thorns and sharp stones. The cold bit at her skin, and branches whipped at her face. Her lungs burned. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. But she didn't stop.Behind her, footsteps crashed through the trees. Voices shouted behind her."Find her! She couldn't have gotten far!"Camela didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she might freeze and if she froze—she'd be caught."No," she whispered. "Keep going. Keep going."The woods around her were dark. The trees looked the same in every direction. Her veil had been torn off miles ago. Her legs were bleeding, her ribs ached and her heart felt like it might burst but she didn't stop.Just that morning, she had stood in front of a mirror dressed in white silk, perfect makeup, a beautiful bride, a dutiful daughter, a sacrifice.She stood in a church, surrounded by flowers, lights, and smiles that didn't reach her eyes.Now? A runaway."You're doing this," she whispered aloud, pushing through dripping leaves.Now, she was nothing but a runaway bride."Camela!" another voice called. Closer, familiar. She froze.That voice. Vincent Castellano"You can't run forever, sweetheart," he said, his tone calm like he was talking to a child. "Come back now, and I'll forgive you."She remembered the last time he had said those words. Her body shook, not from cold, but from fear."Camela!" Vincent called again. "It's not too late. Just come back. We can fix this!"She laughed bitterly and stumbled forward.Fix this?They couldn't fix what her father had done.They couldn't fix Vincent Castellano.A flash of light suddenly lit the woods."There!" a voice yelled.She dropped low, crawling behind a tree. Her hands sank into cold, wet dirt. The skirt of her dress dragged behind her like a chain."Go around!" a man shouted nearby.Her panic grew.She ran harder, tears mixing with the rain."She couldn't have gone far!" another voice called, closer this time.Camela curled into a ball behind a log, holding her breath and pressing her hand over her mouth.She thought of Vincent.His hands on her skin.His voice in her ear."You're mine now," he had muttered last night. Pledged it.Her stomach turned.Three months ago, her father—Mayor Siegel—had given her to him like she was property."It's just business," her father had said. "You'll be fine. He's rich. He'll take care of you."But behind Vincent's pretty smile lived something cold, Something violent, Something broken. And now he was chasing her through a storm, like a predator playing with its prey."Don't let him catch you," she told herself. "Not again."She pushed through a wall of wet leaves and dropped low behind a fallen tree. Her fingers shook as she wiped blood from her cheek.Her heart wouldn't slow down."I saw her dress!" a voice barked. "Up ahead!"She ducked lower.Vincent's voice echoed in her head."No one touches you but me, Camela. Not even the wind.""No one else gets to hurt you. Only me."The thought made her skin crawl. Her hands clenched. She stayed hidden, biting her lip to remain still. Then footsteps. Close. Heavy."Check behind the tree."She stopped breathing.A flashlight beam swept past her face—just inches away. Then it turned."Nothing here!"Boots stomped off. She waited five more seconds before rising again."Move," she whispered. "Now."She stood shaky but determined. The fabric of her dress was ripped up to her thighs now. Dirt and blood covered her skin. She grabbed the fabric and ran. There had to be a road nearby. There had to be a way out.Then she heard it."Camela!" a voice called from the dark—soft, almost gentle.Her blood turned cold.Vincent.He was here."You know you can't run forever, my love."She ran faster. Thorns slapped her arms. Her foot slammed into a root, causing her to fall hard. Rocks tore at her hands, and her knees hit the ground. She screamed but didn't stop.As she pushed deeper into the woods, her mind spun back. Vincent's eyes—calm, cold, always too quiet. She had tried the door every day for three months, but it never opened. Not once.He would come into her room like it was normal, talk to her like they were in love."I'll protect you," he'd say, brushing her hair. "You'll never leave me. You're safest here."But the bruises told a different story—the locked doors, her journal hidden under the floorboard."You're mine," he'd whispered one night. "Even if you run, I'll find you."Now those words chased her harder than the men behind her. Tears blurred her vision as she crawled forward, then stood, limping now."Just a little more," she whispered. "Just a little more…"The wind shifted."Camela…" Vincent's voice floated again, closer. "If you make me angry, I can't promise I'll be gentle."She covered her mouth to muffle a cry. Leaves crunched to her left—too close. She bolted again, crashing through the wall of trees and slipping down a slope.Then, through the trees, she spotted light.Not flashlights.Headlights.A carA road She could almost cry. She pushed herself forward with every ounce of strength. Her legs barely worked, and every step felt like knives cutting into her soles. But she didn't stop.She ran faster, dragging the shredded wedding dress behind her. As she crossed the trees and stumbled onto the pavement, she waved her arms. "Please! Stop!"A car began to slow down. "Stop! Please!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Help me!"
The car pulled over, and the driver's window rolled down. "Oh my God. Are you okay?" a woman asked."Please," Camela begged, "let me in. He's after me."The woman's eyes widened as she unlocked the back door. "Get in. Quickly," she said. Camela didn't hesitate; She dove in and slammed the door shut. The car took off."Call the police," she begged."I already did," the woman replied, starting the car. "You're safe now."But Camela didn't feel safe. Something was wrong. The forest behind them was too quiet—she could feel it. He was watching.As the car drove away, Camela tried to breathe. Her hands shook in her lap. The woman asked questions—her name, where she came from—but Camela couldn't answer. She didn't feel safe.She looked out the window as the woods flew past. Suddenly, her stomach dropped. A black car rolled slowly out of the trees."No," Camela whispered, leaning forward. "Do you see that car behind us?"The woman glanced into the mirror. "Yeah. "It's been there since we left.""Do you know him?" Camela's throat closed."Yes," she whispered. "That's him. That's Vincent.""That's his car," she added quietly.The woman's grip on the wheel tightened. "Hold on," she said, speeding up. But the car behind them sped up, too.Camela turned her eyes wide. Through the other car's windshield, she saw him—Vincent.His face was calm, wearing that smile that meant nothing good. He lifted his fingers—four of them, stained red and waved. He tapped the air.One. Two. Three. Four.Like he was counting down. Camela couldn't breathe. "He found me," she whispered. The woman looked back at her through the rearview mirror."What do we do?" she asked Camela looked ahead at the twisting road, the forest still running alongside them. "We don't stop," she said. "Not ever again."But Camela knew this wasn't over. Vincent's car kept pace. He wasn't rushing. He was waiting—like he always did. The Fox. He'd earned that name for a reason.As the car sped up, Camela pulled her knees to her chest and stared out the window. Her hand touched her side—something was missing.Her journal.She had left it behind. The one where she wrote down everything: every bruise, every threat, every truth. If Vincent found it…he'd know what she did, what she planned, and who helped her?"No…" she whispered.Suddenly, her phone buzzed, hidden deep in her dress. An unknown caller. She hesitated, staring at the screen. The woman looked back at her through the mirror. "Are you okay?"Camela answered. "Hello?"Silence.Then his voice—soft, low, and cold. "You left without saying goodbye, Camela."Click.The line went dead. She hung up and dropped the phone as if it had burned her. He had her number. He had her journal. He had everything.She pressed her hand to the window. Far behind them, Vincent's car slowed to a stop. He got out and just stood there, smiling—not chasing, just watching—as if he already knew where she was going. Like the hunt had just begun.