Ch.25: Caught by the Wife

I couldn't stand it. The blue light, the dead babies, the sound of the compressors humming—it was a nightmare factory.

I ran.

I pushed past Isabella, not caring about her silk dress or her title or the fact that she was the reason these children were dead. I just needed to get out. I needed air. I needed to scrub my skin until it bled.

I scrambled up the service stairs, my heels slipping on the metal grates. My breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps.

Isabella didn't try to stop me. She just stood there in the archive of her sins, watching me go.

I burst through the door at the top of the stairs, tumbling into the service hallway behind the kitchen. I didn't stop. I ran toward the main corridor, blindly seeking the exit.

I skidded around a corner—and froze.

Isabella was there.

She was waiting for me at the intersection of the hallways, her back pressed against the wall, peering around the edge.

How? I had left her in the basement. She must have taken the elevator. She must have known I would panic.

I stopped, my chest heaving.

"Get out of my way," I hissed.

She held up a finger to her lips. *Shh.*

She wasn't looking at me with malice. Her eyes were wide, darting toward the main foyer. She looked terrified.

"He's coming," she whispered. "He knows someone was in the elevator."

I heard it then. The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps on the marble floor. Thorne. And he wasn't alone. I heard the crackle of a radio. Security.

"If he finds you here," Isabella said, her voice trembling, "he won't just fire you. He'll put you in a tank downstairs."

She wasn't threatening me. She was warning me.

The footsteps got louder. They were close. Just around the bend.

I had nowhere to go. The service hallway was a dead end. The kitchen was full of staff. The only way out was past Thorne.

Isabella moved.

She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and shoved me backward. Not toward the exit, but toward a narrow linen closet set into the wall.

"Hide," she hissed.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because I'm tired of eating children," she whispered.

She shoved me inside. It was cramped, smelling of lavender detergent and starch.

"Stay quiet," she commanded. "Don't breathe."

She slammed the door shut just as a shadow fell across the crack at the bottom.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would vibrate through the wood.

"Isabella?"

Thorne's voice. Right outside the door.

"What are you doing here? You should be resting."

I heard the rustle of silk as Isabella turned to face him.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. Her voice was calm, perfectly modulated. The terror I had seen in her eyes was gone from her tone. "I heard a noise. I thought perhaps the caterers were still cleaning."

"Security triggered a silent alarm on the service elevator," Thorne said, his voice suspicious. "Someone used it."

"It was me," Isabella lied. "I went down to the wine cellar. I needed... something to settle my nerves."

Silence. Thick, heavy silence.

"You went to the cellar?" Thorne asked slowly. "In that dress?"

"I wanted a specific vintage, Julian. The '96. The one you opened for our anniversary."

I held my breath. It was a flimsy lie. The wine cellar was Sub-Level 1. The elevator had gone to Sub-Level 2.

"I see," Thorne said finally. "And did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then let's get you back to bed. You look pale."

"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."

I heard their footsteps retreating. The heavy thud of Thorne's dress shoes, the light click of Isabella's heels.

She had done it. She had saved me.

I waited until the sound faded completely before I dared to exhale. I leaned my head against the doorframe, shaking.

She pushed me into a closet just as Thorne's shadow fell over the hallway.