Chapter 29: The Escape

Greta threw the deadbolt, the metal slide echoing like a gunshot in the small foyer. Her chest was heaving, and a smear of blood—mine, from grabbing her arm—stained her pristine white uniform.

"I sent the text," she whispered, her eyes wide and frantic. "About the cabin. I was trying to warn you."

My knees buckled. The anonymous messenger. "You? Why?"

"Because Catherine isn't the only one they've trapped here." She grabbed my shoulders, her grip surprisingly strong. "They're coming. Security. You need to hide. Now."

"Where is she? Where's Catherine?"

"Sedated. Bedroom. Go." She shoved me toward the back hallway. "In the wardrobe. Don't make a sound."

I stumbled into the bedroom. It was sparse, clinical, smelling of lavender and despair. A hospital bed dominated the center of the room. A lump beneath the quilt rose and fell in a slow, drug-induced rhythm. Catherine.

Heavy fists pounded on the front door. "Open up! Security!"

I dove into the wardrobe, pulling the louvered doors shut just as the front door crashed open.

I crouched in the dark, pressed against a row of identical, high-necked dresses. Through the slats, I could see a sliver of the bedroom.

"Where is she?" a male voice barked.

"Where is who?" Greta’s voice was calm, authoritative. The terrified woman from the hallway had vanished. "You're waking my patient. Get out."

"We're looking for Mrs. Vane. She was seen running this way."

"The only Mrs. Vane here is in that bed, unconscious. Do you want to check her vitals? Or do you want to explain to Eleanor why you disturbed her daughter's rest?"

A pause. The shifting of boots on floorboards.

"Check the bathroom," the guard muttered to someone else.

Footsteps. A door opening and closing.

"Clear."

"I told you," Greta snapped. "Now leave. Before I call the police for harassment."

"We are the police," the guard scoffed, though I knew he was private security. "Fine. But keep the door locked."

The front door slammed.

I didn't move. I counted the beats of my own heart. One hundred. Two hundred.

Ten minutes passed. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

My leg was cramping. I shifted my weight, trying to stretch out my calf. My heel caught on something uneven in the floor of the wardrobe.

I froze.

I reached down, my fingers tracing the wood in the darkness. It wasn't just a seam. It was a gap. One of the floorboards was loose, the nails pried up.

I listened for Greta. Silence.

I dug my fingernails into the gap and pulled. The board groaned softly, lifting just enough for me to get a grip. I pulled harder.

It came free.

A cool draft of air hit my face. I pulled my phone out, using the screen’s dim glow to see into the hole.

It was a cavity, insulated with old insulation. Nestled inside, wrapped in an oil-stained rag, was a metal lockbox.

It looked like a standard cash box, the kind you’d buy at an office supply store. But it was heavy.

I lifted it out. It rattled.

I tried the latch. Locked. Of course.

I looked at the lock mechanism. It was simple, but I didn't have a key, and I didn't have time to pick it.

I heard a soft moan from the bed. Catherine was waking up.

"Elena?" Her voice was a slur, a ghost of a whisper.

I scrambled out of the wardrobe, clutching the box to my chest. I went to the bed. Catherine’s eyes were open, glassy and unfocused.

"I found it," I whispered. "The box."

Her eyes cleared for a second. She focused on the metal box in my arms. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, tracking into her hairline.

"The evidence," she breathed. "Take it. Run."

"Come with me."

"I can't." She closed her eyes. " too tired. Just... save the boys."

The boys. My twins.

Panic surged through me. If Eleanor was willing to erase Catherine's child, what would she do to mine to keep control?

"I will," I promised.

The front door handle rattled. A key scratched in the lock. Not Greta. Someone else.

"Go," Catherine whispered. "Window."

I didn't hesitate. I ran to the window on the far side of the room. I unlatched it and pushed. It stuck for a second, painted shut, then gave way with a crack of breaking seal.

I climbed out into the flowerbed, the metal box digging into my ribs. I hit the ground running, sprinting toward the line of trees that marked the edge of the estate.

I didn't know what was in the box. I didn't have a key. But as I vanished into the woods, leaving the Vane empire behind, I knew one thing.

I held their lives in my hands.

She didn't have time to open it. She took it and ran.