Chapter 49

Chapter 49
We didn’t say a word as we drove from the postcard-perfect township onto winding country roads lined with tall pines and golden fields. The silence between us wasn’t peaceful—it was tense, taut like a wire stretched to its limit, waiting to snap. It lurked in the car like a third passenger, suffocating in its weight.

I stared out the window, arms crossed tightly over my chest, each breath shallow, my heart pacing itself like a soldier waiting for the enemy to strike. I wanted to dance in happiness, to scream and laugh and cry at once. But I wasn’t free yet. Not completely. Freedom wasn’t just the absence of a cage. It was safety, certainty. And I didn’t have that.

Stay collected. Stay wary.

I frowned, forcing my fingers to relax where they gripped the edge of the seat. After three weeks of degradation, of pain and fear, could it really be over just like that? Uneasiness prickled beneath my skin, a ghost of anxiety brushing down my spine.

No. It couldn’t be that simple.

The GPS.

The realization hit me like a slap. Oh god. In my frantic escape, in the chaos of everything, I’d completely forgotten about Lucien’s damn tracker. My stomach twisted.

Shit!

I jerked my leg up, resting my heel on the seat, my hands trembling as they fumbled to push up my jeans. The anklet stared back at me—a symbol of everything I wanted to forget. A tight, black twist-tie dug into my skin.

I tugged hard, trying to wedge my fingers beneath it, but it refused to budge. The plastic tightened, cutting off circulation to my foot.

I bit back a scream of frustration, my breath hissing between my teeth. “Come on, come on,” I whispered to myself.

The guy glanced over, one hand steadying the wheel as he navigated a curve. “What are you doing?”

He gave a longer look, eyebrows furrowed. “What is that?”

Our eyes met. I hesitated, heart hammering. He didn’t look threatening—mid-thirties, kind face, not particularly handsome, but sincere. There were early creases at the corners of his eyes, like he smiled often, or had seen too much pain. I didn’t know which.

Something in me decided to trust him. For now.

“I need a knife. Or scissors. Anything sharp,” I said. My fingers clawed at the anklet again. “Please. I need to cut this off.”

I could probably gnaw it off if I had to. The thought made me grimace—what was I, a cornered animal? No… worse. I felt like one.

He didn’t question me. Didn’t ask why or push. He simply nodded and reached awkwardly into his jacket. There was something oddly funny about the way he shifted his hips, trying to dig into an inside pocket. It might’ve made me laugh on another day.

A small, satisfied grin crossed his face as he pulled out a miniature red Swiss army knife and passed it to me without a word.

I blinked, stunned. My fingers trembled as I took it. “Thanks.”

The weight of it felt heavier than it should have—like a key to my next life.

With a shaky breath, I flipped open the serrated blade and started sawing. The plastic was tough. My palms slickened with sweat, and my skin burned under the friction of the jumper. Each movement of the blade was like slicing through Q’s hold over me, one thread at a time.

And then—snap. The anklet fell to the floor.

A cry escaped my lips. It wasn’t joyful, not quite. It was raw and broken and disbelieving.

Freedom. Or the closest thing to it.

I slumped back into the seat, pressing a hand over my racing heart. My vision blurred for a moment, and I swallowed hard.

The guy hadn’t spoken. His eyes flicked from the road to me, studying. I handed the knife back. My face betrayed nothing as his fingers brushed mine, pocketing the tool again.

Should’ve kept it, a voice whispered.

No. Don’t start that. You’re not thinking clearly, neveah. Don’t trust anyone. Not yet.

His voice broke through the thick silence. “What happened?”

It took everything in me to form the words. “lucien Mercer happened.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. But he didn’t press. Didn’t ask me to explain. Just kept driving.

Gratitude welled in my chest. He didn’t know it, but that kindness was saving me. One small moment at a time.

Fatigue hit me like a brick wall. Now that the adrenaline had run its course, I could feel the exhaustion in every cell. Three weeks without proper food, without rest. My bones ached. My eyes burned.

So close. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

“I need to get to the police,” I mumbled, voice barely audible.

He nodded, a quiet promise. “Pas de problème.”

The sun dipped lower, casting long golden fingers across the dashboard, catching strands of his hair and setting them ablaze. He looked… safe. Just for a moment, I let myself believe it.

I managed a watery smile. The kind that doesn't quite reach the eyes, but says everything anyway.

I curled into the passenger seat, knees drawn up, body trembling now that the danger was momentarily behind me. My fingers clutched the hem of the jumper tighter around me like a shield.

Images of Lucien flashed in my mind. His rage. His cold fingers around my throat. The way his voice could turn warm just before snapping into ice.

I wasn’t out of his reach yet. Not truly.

But maybe, just maybe, I was finally out of his grip.

The road stretched before us like a ribbon toward a better tomorrow. I leaned my head against the glass, listening to the hum of tires and the quiet, unspoken promise of safety that the stranger beside me offered.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t dare.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself hope.

I looked forward to the future.