Chapter Six
I WOKE SORE in places that weren’t from the punishment, the ache sunk deep enough to hum every time I moved. I still smelled of him, sharp cologne and the darker, intimate scent beneath it, and for a moment I lay there staring at the ceiling, willing my mind blank.
But the night before refused to fade.
The weight of his hands.
The way his voice had gone quiet, like softness was just another tool.
The way he’d stayed inside me too long afterward, like possession was something that could be sealed.
When I finally dressed, the marks he’d left were the kind that didn’t bruise skin but lived under it, in the muscles, in the pulse.
I found him in the front hall, his black coat already over his suit, gloves in one hand. He looked the way he always did before leaving, composed, measured, but there was a keener edge to him this morning, like last night had whetted something instead of sating it.
“I’ll be gone two nights,” he said, as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Business.”
I nodded, keeping my gaze lowered just enough. “I’ll miss you.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of leather rose from his coat. “You’ll keep to your schedule,” he said, voice low but not unkind. “I’ve left it with Rhea.”
“Yes, Gabrial.”
“And I’ll be watching.” His eyes lifted, just slightly, toward the corner of the hall where a camera lens caught the morning light. Then to another in the ceiling’s shadow. His meaning was as sharp as the flick of his gaze.
The back of my neck prickled. “Of course.”
His hand came up, not to strike, not to hold, but to let his thumb drag once across my cheekbone. The gesture was gentle in a way that carried more weight than violence ever could. “You’re looking at me differently today.”
“I’m tired,” I said, which was true in every possible way.
His mouth curved, almost a smile, almost not. “Rest. A rested mind is better at telling the truth.”
I forced my lips into something like agreement, knowing that in a few hours I’d be gone if Tallis’s plan worked.
He stepped back, gloves sliding on, and the housekeeper came forward to hold the door. He paused on the threshold, glancing once more toward the upper hall, the cameras, the invisible lines of sight he thought would hold me here.
When the door shut, the silence it left behind was too big to trust.
Every sound, footsteps overhead, the distant hum of machinery, felt like it could be him.
But today was the day.
Whatever he suspected, whatever he thought he’d see through those glass eyes, it wouldn’t matter by midnight.
I pressed my palm flat against my skirt to still its trembling and reminded myself of Tallis’s words. When the chance comes, take it. Don’t think, don’t wait—move.
***
MIDNIGHT CAME LIKE a held breath finally released.
The house had gone into its nighttime rhythm, doors locked, lights dimmed. The cameras were down; Tallis had promised me that, and I believed him. But the absence of their low hum didn’t feel like freedom, it felt like the moment before a storm breaks.
I’d been counting the seconds since sunset, my palms damp, the filled backpack imagined weight already in my hands.
I dressed quickly in the most comfortable dress I owned, dark fabric that wouldn’t catch, shoes that wouldn’t betray me on stone or dirt.
Zara was asleep when I touched her shoulder, but her eyes opened at once. No tears. No questions. Just her hand slipping into mine like she’d been waiting.
“Quiet now,” I whispered, and she nodded, still heavy with dreams.
Malik was awake. Sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed. I had whispered the plan to him in a private moment before bed. I knew in my heart he could be trusted not to tell.
“How long do we have?” he murmured.
“Enough,” I said.
His gaze searched mine. “Tallis is sure?”
“Yes.”
That one word would have to be enough for him.
We moved quickly but not loud, the way you learn to move in a place where sound can draw worse than eyes.
The nursery hall stretched ahead, lit by low amber lights. Our shadows moved before us, long and distorted, touching the far wall before we reached it.
The servant stairs were narrow and steep.
They groaned under our weight, but the absence of the camera hum made it feel like every sound carried twice as far.
I stumbled on the second-to-last step, and Malik leaned into me, catching us before we fell, my hand over her mouth until she nodded she was fine.
At the bottom, we paused. Voices floated faintly from somewhere toward the front of the house—shouts, sharp and muffled by distance. Tallis’s diversion.
“This way,” I breathed, and we slipped into the east corridor.
The backpack was where Tallis said it would be, behind the last panel before the garden door. I pulled it free. Cash, a burner phone, keys cold and heavy in my hand.
I had my hand on the garden door latch when I heard it—footsteps. Slow. Measured. Coming from the far end of the corridor.
I pulled the children back into the alcove by the panel, pressing them against the wall, my body curved in front of theirs.
The steps drew closer, steady, unhurried. My pulse pounded in my ears. Zara clung to my skirt. Malik’s hand tightened on my arm, not in fear, but in warning, ready to move if I did.
The guard passed the corridor entrance without looking in, his focus fixed on the shouting still drifting from to the direction of Tallis’s diversion. The moment his steps faded, I pushed the garden door open.
Cool night air rushed in, smelling faintly of wet grass and the metallic tang of the fountain. We slipped outside, keeping low along the hedge line.
At the far end of the garden, the wall loomed. The section near the old cypress tree was unlatched just as Tallis had promised. I pushed it open with my shoulder while holding Zara’s hand in one palm and the backpack in the other.
Beyond the wall, the dirt road was a dark ribbon between the trees. The car waited where he said it would, shadowed under the overhang of branches.
I pushed it first—silent but heavy—but thankfully it was downhill, the gravel grinding under my shoes. My arms ached, my breath came hard, but we didn’t stop until the wall was nothing but a shadow behind us.
I slid into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys. Malik pulled Zara into the back.
“Do you even know where we’re going?” he asked, his voice steady but low.
“Away.” I kept my eyes on the ignition.
“Far enough?”
“If we’re fast.”
The engine coughed, then died. My heart stopped with it.
Again. Turn. Nothing.
A third time, and it caught, loud in the stillness.
I glanced in the mirror. The road was empty. No sign of the guard. No sign of Gabrial, though that didn’t stop me from imagining him there, standing in the middle of the road, his eyes calm, as if he’d known I’d run all along.
I gripped the wheel so hard my fingers ached. Pressed my foot to the gas. The tires bit into the dirt, and the car rolled forward. I focused on remembering how to drive and found it came easy enough.
Every foot we put between us and the house felt like breath returning to my lungs after years underwater.
But then—movement.
A shadow broke from the tree line to our right, too quick to place. Just a flicker in my peripheral vision before it was gone. Malik sat forward in the back seat, his eyes locked on the spot.
“Keep driving,” he said.
I didn’t ask what he thought he saw.
I didn’t want to know.
I kept my eyes on the road, pushing the car faster. The trees closed in behind us, swallowing the house from sight.
But even as the darkness deepened, I could feel the weight of him still on me, the invisible gaze that distance couldn’t erase.
Gabrial would know.
Maybe not at this moment.
But he would know, and soon.
And when he came, he wouldn’t be gentle.