11. Chloe
Chapter 11
Chloe
F ive days! That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Alexander or been let out of this godforsaken room.
Since the first night I arrived and shared a meal with him, he’s been MIA, and my patience with him—and this place—is starting to wear thin. The only person I see now is Carmella when she brings me food.
She usually stays for a few minutes to chat, but I can see the unease in her eyes when I ask if I can speak with Alexander, get an update on my dad, or have some time outside this room to stretch my legs. I’ve been pacing back and forth like a caged lion for days. I need fresh air and something to keep me occupied! I’m not used to sitting still, and I’m starting to feel like I’m losing my mind.
I know he comes home at night because I hear his heavy footsteps as he walks down the hallway. I’ve even resorted to banging on the door and calling out to him when that happens, but he ignores my pleas.
Arsehole.
I’m so vocal it would be impossible for him not to hear me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbours heard me too. I feel like I'm going out of my mind, and I’m starting to lose control with every passing day. The unanswered questions are only adding to my desperation.
Will he ever let me go?
Is this what my life will look like from now on?
Did he keep his word and check on my dad like he promised?
My poor father.
I know he’s the one who got me into this mess, but that doesn’t stop the overwhelming worry I carry for his well-being. The guilt and fear keep gnawing at me. I feel like I’m trapped between my own survival and the weight of my family’s fate.
I’m curled up in the foetal position on my mattress when Carmella returns to collect my lunch dishes. She is a marvellous cook, which has been the only silver lining in this hell on earth I now find myself in.
The tray she left me is still sitting on top of the dresser where she left it.
“ Dolcezza ,” she says, her gaze filled with concern as she notices I haven’t touched my food. Up to this moment, I’ve eaten everything she’s brought me, but as appetising as lunch looked, I couldn’t stomach any food. Abandoning the tray, she makes her way towards where I lay, stopping beside the bed. “Are you feeling okay? Should I call the doctor?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong, belladonna ?”
“Do you really need an answer to that?” I say as tears sting the back of my eyes. “I’ve been locked in here for days, with only four walls to look at. I need fresh air … I need to feel the sunlight on my face. ”
When my voice cracks, I feel the mattress dip when Carmella takes a seat on the side of the bed and sweeps her hand over my hair. “I will talk to Mr Mancini when he gets home later tonight.”
“Don’t bother; he doesn’t care about me or my well-being.”
“He cares more than you realise.”
I roll over and give her my back when she says that. “The man you think he is, Carmella, is not the man I know him to be,” I whisper, wiping away the pesky tear that leaks from my eyes.
I hear her sigh, but I don’t get a response. When she stands, I expect her to collect the tray containing my uneaten lunch and leave, but she does something surprising.
She crosses the room and retrieves the key from her apron pocket. When she unlocks the window and opens it, I sit up.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Letting in some fresh air. It will hopefully make you feel a bit better. Mr Mancini isn’t going to like me doing this, but we are on the second floor; it’s not like you can jump out of the window.”
Ha! She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does, either.
I’d consider jumping off a four-storey building if it got me out of this hellhole and back with my dad.
I wait half an hour, and not a second more, before I leap off the bed and move towards the window. I’ve looked out of this countless times since I arrived here, so I have a fair idea of how high up I am.
I survey the yard before glancing back at the door briefly. When the coast is clear, I carefully remove the flyscreen and pop my head out.
Fresh air never smelt … fresher .
My stomach recoils when I see the sheer drop I need to scale, but a broken bone or two is a small price to pay for freedom. Right?
I only have one chance at this, so I give myself a moment to consider the best approach.
To start, I should probably change out of the silk nightdress I’m wearing. If I manage to pull this off, my outfit will only draw attention once I’m out on the street.
I dash over to the walk-in wardrobe and riffle through the drawers, grabbing a pair of leggings and a T-shirt before quickly dressing.
Sitting on the bench, I slip into a pair of joggers sans socks because I don’t have any more time to waste.
On my second day here, Carmella asked me for my shoe and bra size, which I can only assume was according to Alexander’s instructions. Later that day, a delivery arrived—boxes and boxes of casual and dressy shoes. All the ill-fitting bras were replaced with the right cup size.
After hastily gathering my long hair onto the top of my head, I wrap an elastic around the tangled mess and secure it.
When I stand to leave, I pause for a second and take one last look around at the beautiful things Alexander bought me, but I won’t miss them. I stopped caring about material things a long time ago.
I head back to the opened window and wince as I stick my head back out. It’s a long way down, and I already know this is going to hurt like a bitch.
Maybe I could tie the bedsheet to the bedpost like they do in the movies. It would lower me enough that the fall won’t be fatal.
If I die, what chance will my father have?
I move back to the bed, using every ounce of strength I have. It takes a few good shoves before the solid timber frame finally shifts.
I’m a sweaty mess when I get it into position by the window. I quickly strip the bed and tie one corner of the king-size flat sheet to the bedpost.
I tug on it a few times, ensuring the double knot is secure, before dropping it over the edge. The sheet ends about halfway down, which is a free fall that seems less daunting. I’m starting to think this plan is not foolproof.
It works in the movies, but does it work in real life?
I guess I’m about to find out.
I hoist my leg over the windowsill, say a silent prayer, grasp the sheet, and let myself drop. A small squeak escapes my lips as the front of my body slams against the side of the house.
For a moment, I’m frozen with fear as my knuckles turn white from the death grip I have on the fabric. Doubt floods my mind, but it’s too late to turn back. I fill my lungs with air and loosen my hold slightly, letting out a little yelp as gravity pulls me downward. The palms of my hands burn from the friction, but I continue descending nevertheless.
My heart is in the base of my throat when I reach the end of the sheet and begin my free fall, bracing myself to hit the ground.
Surprisingly, I land on my feet, but the jolt of the impact as it radiates through my body is jarring.
I stand there in disbelief for a second. I can’t believe I did it, and survived in one piece.
I glance from side to side before tilting my head back to look at the window above. I’m still in the clear, not yet discovered, so I quickly duck around the side of the house and scurry behind a perfectly manicured hedge .
My chances of getting out through the front of the property are slim at best. The rear seems like a better option.
I take a moment to scope out the surroundings. I haven’t seen the rear of the house before.
Like the rest of this estate, the backyard is sleek and sophisticated, with an open layout. A stunning infinity pool stretches across the space, its water seamlessly blending with the horizon. The poolside is lined with smooth, dark stone tiles reminiscent of the house’s contemporary aesthetic. Plush lounge chairs with charcoal-coloured cushions are arranged around the pool, offering a place to relax and enjoy the sun.
I wish I’d had the chance to spend my time out here instead of cooped up inside.
At one end of the pool, a built-in hot tub with gently bubbling jets is tucked into a raised platform. Nearby, a fire pit with a modern, sculptural design is surrounded by comfortable seating. It is perfect for evening gatherings—not that I can imagine Mr Grumpypants entertaining. The man barely tolerates the presence of others, let alone hosting a social event.
I start moving again, my body low and quick. I duck behind obstacles and weave through shadows, staying as quiet as possible. My eyes dart around constantly, scanning for any sign of movement as my breathing remains shallow but steady.
Every step is calculated as I try to stay unnoticed. I avoid the open spaces, hoping to reach the brick wall surrounding the property without drawing any attention.
When I finally reach the rear of the property, I plaster my back against the dark bricks and gulp some much-needed air into my lungs.
I can see some taller trees further down, which will be my best chance—this wall is too high for me to scale without assistance.
Crouching back down, I head in that direction.
Minutes later, I smile triumphantly as I hit the ground outside Alexander Mancini’s compound with a heavy thud. My chest heaves, winded from my landing, and pain shoots through my wrist, but the rush of freedom overwhelms it all.
I did it … I actually did it.
I’m fucking free!