Chapter 1 Ella #2
I stride out of the hotel lobby, heels clicking on the gleaming marble floor.
I don’t stop for my coat. I just keep walking, right out into the cold December night and straight to the taxi queue.
The cold air hits me like a slap, rushing over my bare skin, the air filtering through my thin dress.
I don’t care, because the cold feels like freedom.
I slip into a taxi and give him my address, my thoughts whirling, my temples pounding.
The drive from the hotel to my parents’ mansion is a blur.
I don’t see anything, too caught up in my own thoughts to take anything in.
When we pull into the circular drive, I pay him and leave a huge tip, then rush into the house.
It’s quiet and dark, with the staff off for the night because of the party.
I kick off my heels, adrenaline coursing through me. I’m leaving. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’ll do. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I can’t stay here for another second. Not after what happened tonight.
I hike my dress up as I take the winding stairs two at a time, sprinting down the hall to my suite.
Gilded cage.
The words hum through me, feeling more true than ever. I’m a canary to be sold to the highest bidder, nothing more.
Fuck. That.
I grab a suitcase and start packing. Clothes, toiletries, my passport, a few mementos that have meaning to me. I don’t know if I’ll need my passport, but I’m not leaving it behind. Maybe I’ll flee to Paris. Or Buenos Aires. Maybe I’ll make a new life for myself in some tiny Norwegian town.
Anywhere but here.
Suitcase in tow, I head back down the stairs, throw on a coat and a pair of boots, and head to the garage, where my sleek, black two-door BMW is parked.
I toss the suitcase in the trunk and peel out of the garage, driving without a destination.
I just need to get away. Away from their control, their expectations, their manipulations.
Freedom will come with a price, I know, but I’m willing to pay it, no matter the cost.
Snow starts to fall as I drive south out of the city, but I don’t care. I can’t stop. I can’t go back. I won’t.
I turn on the radio, not really listening to the Christmas music playing as I navigate to who knows where. Soon enough, the city’s behind me, and I’m headed south down the highway as snowflakes swirl against the windshield, dancing in the headlights.
I drive and drive, snow falling a bit heavier now. The road stretches out before me like a black ribbon cutting through the onslaught of white. Snow is sticking to the roads a little now, and I ease my speed a bit. Now that the city’s far behind me, my chest feels less tight.
I lose track of time as I drive, not paying much heed to where I’m headed, thoughts swirling just like the snowflakes, my mind replaying everything that happened not just tonight, but over my entire life.
Honestly, given their track record of control and manipulation, I shouldn’t really be so shocked that they’re trying to sell me off like a prized heifer at the county fair.
I think about how my mother forced me to take ballet lessons for years because she wanted me to have “grace and poise.” I hated every single second of it, hated every disciplined, stuffy movement, hated the endless critique of everything that was wrong with me.
I finally quit when I was a teenager, and my mother refused to speak to me for week.
Or when they sent me away to a boarding school in France for a year because I talked to a boy they didn’t approve of.
Or the way my mother controlled everything I ate, everything I wore, and would screech at me for saying the wrong thing.
They never cared about me as their daughter. As a person. They never saw me as a fully formed person with hopes and dreams and interests completely unrelated to them and their designs. I was only ever an asset to be used.
The road blurs in front of me as tears fill my eyes again, but I blink them away angrily. I don’t want to cry over them. They don’t deserve my tears. They don’t deserve a damn thing from me. They never have, and tonight, it went too far. I’m done. Done with them. Done with that life.
Done.
I blink when I glance at the clock, surprised to see I’ve been driving for hours now.
I’m the only car out on the roads, and the snow is falling in thick, heavy flakes now.
Gusts of wind push against the car, and I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles start to ache.
I watch for signs along the side of the road to tell me exactly where I am, but none appear.
I pull over and fish my phone out of my purse, trying to pull up Google Maps.
But there’s no service. I can’t connect to a signal.
I try the GPS built into the dash of my car. I haven’t used it because I think my parents can track where I am with it, but it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t connect either.
“Okay,” I say, blowing out a breath and easing back onto the road. “I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for a place to stop. There’s got to be something along here. It’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.”
With both hands on the wheel, I lean forward, peering intently through the windshield as the wipers work furiously to clear the flakes. Wind howls, pushing against the car, and I know that this isn’t just a little snowstorm anymore. This is a full on blizzard.
The world outside my car is a maelstrom of white, and I can’t tell where the road ends and the ditch begins.
I’m driving purely on instinct, praying I stay on the road.
There has to be something ahead. A motel.
A gas station. Something. Anything. I need to get off the road.
And I can’t just pull over because I’ll freeze. I need to find a place to stop.
Visibility is so poor that I don’t see the curve until it’s too late, and I yank on the steering wheel, over-correcting in an attempt to stay on the road. I feel the tires lock and slide, the car veering sideways, and suddenly, I’m not in control anymore.
This is not the time for a fucking metaphor about my life, Universe. Just FYI.
The world outside my windshield spins sickeningly, the headlights sweeping in a wild arc against the relentless snow. My heart is in my throat as I grip the steering wheel for dear life, the car sliding across the road.
It’s as though everything drops into slow motion. I can see everything with crystalline detail—the snowflakes dancing in the headlights, the shiny patches of ice on the road, the ditch spinning slowly closer.
And there’s nothing I can do but wait to see where I crash.
The car slams into the ditch, the airbags go off, and the seatbelt digs into my chest. I scrunch my eyes shut, pain pounding through me as the car shudders to a jolting stop.
The engine sputters and stalls out, shuddering the car in complete silence save for my ragged breathing and the wind howling outside.
I suck in a breath and take a quick inventory. I pry my fingers off the wheel, flexing them, then move my legs. I’m sore, but I don’t think I’m seriously hurt.
Thank you, Universe, sorry for my earlier sarcasm.
I take a breath, and then another one. My hands are shaking, my heart pounding chaotically. I feel a bit nauseous. I manage to find my purse and my phone, but I still have no signal. No way to call for help. Wind rocks the car, and I shiver.
I’m stranded. I’m alone. No one knows where I am. It’s freezing out here, and soon, the car will be covered in snow.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, hot tears streaking down my cheeks. “I’m gonna die out here. Oh my god.” More tears fall, and a sense of despair so overwhelming it takes my breath away consumes me.