Chapter 46

Samuel insisted on walking me to the car despite my protests. The sky was still dressed in grey, and the early morning mist wrapped around the quiet streets like a shroud. Elsa was bundled tightly in my jacket, her small head peeking out, ears twitching as if she sensed the shift in everything.

“I’m not letting you walk to a station like that, not when someone out there might be hunting you down,” he said firmly, opening the passenger door to his old pickup truck.

I climbed in with a nod, tucking Elsa securely against me. My chest tightened as I looked back at the little motel that had felt more like home in the last twenty-four hours than Adrik’s cold, golden prison ever did.

The ride was silent for the most part, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle I couldn’t suppress. Samuel glanced at me a few times but didn’t push. He seemed to understand that my silence wasn’t rudeness—it was survival.

“You sure about New York?” he asked when we finally pulled up to the bus terminal that connected to the airport shuttles.

“My grandmother lives there,” I said quietly. “She’s on my dad’s side. I haven’t spoken to her in years, but it’s the only place I know Adrik wouldn’t think to look.”

He nodded. “Family’s a good place to start.”

I reached into my coat and pulled out the small wad of bills he’d given me, along with some change I found in my old purse when I left the mansion. It was just enough. I had checked last night—if I made it to the airport in time, I could get a one-way ticket to New York. No baggage. Just me and Elsa.

“Thank you,” I whispered, looking at him. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

He gave me a small smile, tired and kind. “You already did. When you smiled at Elsa and called her family. My daughter used to do that with her cat.”

That lump returned to my throat. I reached over and squeezed his hand, my voice barely a breath. “Thank you for not asking too many questions.”

“I knew enough,” he said. “Enough to know you deserve to be free.”

And with that, I climbed down from the truck, holding Elsa close to my chest, heart racing as I stepped into the terminal. I didn’t look back.

The moment I stepped into the terminal, a wave of nervousness crashed over me. The bright fluorescent lights, the chatter of strangers, the cold tile under my feet—it all felt so loud and overwhelming after weeks locked inside Adrik’s gilded cage. But I kept walking, clutching Elsa tightly in my arms and trying not to look like someone on the run.

I made my way to the self-check-in kiosk, heart pounding so loudly I thought it would echo across the hall. When the screen asked for my passport, my fingers trembled as I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. And there it was—the small, navy-blue booklet that now felt like my only lifeline.

I remembered the night I found it. It was almost a week ago. I had walked into the bedroom after cleaning up Elsa’s mess and noticed the passport lying casually on the edge of the desk, right beside some of Adrik’s documents. I didn’t even think—I just picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of my robe. Maybe it was instinct, maybe divine intervention. I had no plan back then, but somehow… something told me to hold on to it.

And by some miracle, I had taken it with me that night when I went into the garden. Maybe I had forgotten it was still in my coat. Or maybe a part of me knew I wouldn’t be going back.

Thank you, God.

With trembling hands, I scanned it, praying silently. The system accepted it without any issue. I selected a one-way flight to New York—departing in less than an hour. The final cost matched almost exactly what I had. I took a deep breath and clicked “confirm.”

The boarding pass printed out, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could actually breathe.

I made my way to security. My palms were sweaty as I approached the checkpoint, my heart caught in my throat. Elsa stirred in my arms, her little nose twitching as I whispered soft reassurances into her fur.

The officer raised a brow at her. “Pet?”

“Yes,” I said, voice barely steady. “She’s registered.”

He barely glanced before waving me through. The metal detector beeped once at my necklace, but they let me pass after a quick check.

By the time I found my gate, the sun was starting to rise. The soft, orange light poured through the massive windows, casting a golden glow across the waiting area. It looked nothing like the prison I had come from. This felt like the beginning of something new.

I curled up in one of the cold seats, holding Elsa close, and whispered, “We’re going home.”

Samuel insisted on walking me to the car despite my protests. The sky was still dressed in grey, and the early morning mist wrapped around the quiet streets like a shroud. Elsa was bundled tightly in my jacket, her small head peeking out, ears twitching as if she sensed the shift in everything.

"I'm not letting you walk to a station like that, not when someone out there might be hunting you down," he said firmly, opening the passenger door to his old pickup truck.

I climbed in with a nod, tucking Elsa securely against me. My chest tightened as I looked back at the little motel that had felt more like home in the last twenty-four hours than Adrik's cold, golden prison ever did.

The ride was silent for the most part, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle I couldn't suppress. Samuel glanced at me a few times but didn't push. He seemed to understand that my silence wasn't rudeness—it was survival.

"You sure about New York?" he asked when we finally pulled up to the bus terminal that connected to the airport shuttles.

"My grandmother lives there," I said quietly. "She's on my dad's side. I haven't spoken to her in years, but it's the only place I know Adrik wouldn't think to look."

He nodded. "Family's a good place to start."

I reached into my coat and pulled out the small wad of bills he'd given me, along with some change I found in my old purse when I left the mansion. It was just enough. I had checked last night—if I made it to the airport in time, I could get a one-way ticket to New York. No baggage. Just me and Elsa.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking at him. "I don't know how to repay you."

He gave me a small smile, tired and kind. "You already did. When you smiled at Elsa and called her family. My daughter used to do that with her cat."

That lump returned to my throat. I reached over and squeezed his hand, my voice barely a breath. "Thank you for not asking too many questions."

"I knew enough," he said. "Enough to know you deserve to be free."

And with that, I climbed down from the truck, holding Elsa close to my chest, heart racing as I stepped into the terminal. I didn't look back.

The moment I stepped into the terminal, a wave of nervousness crashed over me. The bright fluorescent lights, the chatter of strangers, the cold tile under my feet—it all felt so loud and overwhelming after weeks locked inside Adrik’s gilded cage. But I kept walking, clutching Elsa tightly in my arms and trying not to look like someone on the run.

I made my way to the self-check-in kiosk, heart pounding so loudly I thought it would echo across the hall. When the screen asked for my passport, my fingers trembled as I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. And there it was—the small, navy-blue booklet that now felt like my only lifeline.

I remembered the night I found it. It was almost a week ago. I had walked into the bedroom after cleaning up Elsa’s mess and noticed the passport lying casually on the edge of the desk, right beside some of Adrik’s documents. I didn’t even think—I just picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of my robe. Maybe it was instinct, maybe divine intervention. I had no plan back then, but somehow… something told me to hold on to it.

And by some miracle, I had taken it with me that night when I went into the garden. Maybe I had forgotten it was still in my coat. Or maybe a part of me knew I wouldn’t be going back.

Thank you, God.

With trembling hands, I scanned it, praying silently. The system accepted it without any issue. I selected a one-way flight to New York—departing in less than an hour. The final cost matched almost exactly what I had. I took a deep breath and clicked “confirm.”

The boarding pass printed out, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could actually breathe.

I made my way to security. My palms were sweaty as I approached the checkpoint, my heart caught in my throat. Elsa stirred in my arms, her little nose twitching as I whispered soft reassurances into her fur.

The officer raised a brow at her. “Pet?”

“Yes,” I said, voice barely steady. “She’s registered.”

He barely glanced before waving me through. The metal detector beeped once at my necklace, but they let me pass after a quick check.

By the time I found my gate, the sun was starting to rise. The soft, orange light poured through the massive windows, casting a golden glow across the waiting area. It looked nothing like the prison I had come from. This felt like the beginning of something new.

I curled up in one of the cold seats, holding Elsa close, and whispered, “We’re going home.”

The boarding call for my flight echoed through the speakers, snapping me out of the daze I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into. People began to line up, dragging their suitcases, talking softly into phones or to their children. All of it felt surreal—so ordinary, so peaceful. So unlike my life.

Clutching my small bag tighter and holding Elsa’s little carrier to my chest, I stood and joined the line. My legs felt like jelly, but I kept moving. Every step closer to the plane was a step farther away from Adrik. From the chains. From the darkness.

When it was my turn, I handed the flight attendant my boarding pass and passport. She smiled, scanning them quickly before nodding and saying, “Enjoy your flight.”

I muttered a soft “Thank you” and stepped through.

The tunnel to the plane was quiet, save for the occasional wheeled luggage bumping across the floor. I glanced over my shoulder once—half expecting to see a tall shadow appear, hear that voice I feared whisper my name like a curse.

But there was nothing.

I boarded, found my seat near the window, and settled in. Elsa nestled herself in my lap, her eyes already fluttering shut, content in her little world. I envied her.

As the plane began to taxi, my heartbeat climbed into my throat. Was this really happening? Was I really doing this?

The engine roared, and the force of takeoff pushed me back into my seat. My eyes burned with tears, but I refused to cry. Not until we were in the air. Not until I was sure that I had made it out.

And then we lifted off. The ground shrank beneath us, the lights of the city dimming like fading nightmares. I watched from the window, silent, breath caught somewhere between fear and freedom.

New York. That’s where I was going. To my grandmother. I hadn’t seen her in years, not since I was a teenager, but I prayed she’d take me in—just for a little while. Just until I could figure things out.

I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even have clothes beyond what I wore and what was in my tiny bag. But I had air in my lungs and a pulse in my neck and a chance—finally, a chance.

The seatbelt sign flicked off with a soft ding, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The hum of the cabin felt distant, almost dreamlike, as I rested my head against the cold window. Below me, clouds rolled like waves, separating me from the life I’d just barely escaped.

I glanced down at Elsa, who was still curled up in her carrier, breathing softly. She didn’t understand what had happened—didn’t know how close we came to never making it out. But having her with me made the silence feel less heavy. She was my constant, my little piece of peace in a world that had tried to swallow me whole.

My fingers absently brushed over the small passport tucked safely in the side pocket of my bag. I still didn’t know why I had taken it with me that night. It had just been sitting there on the desk in our bedroom, like it was waiting for me. I had slipped it into the pocket of my jacket without a second thought—maybe it was instinct, or maybe something higher was looking out for me. Either way, it had saved me.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think of him. Not his face. Not the sound of his voice. Not the way my skin used to crawl every time he touched me.

But of course, he lingered—like a stain in my memory.

I wondered how he reacted when they found the bed empty. If he’d screamed, raged, hurt someone in my place. Or if he was calm—silent and dangerous, already plotting how to find me again.

The thought made me sick.

Still, I reminded myself: He doesn’t know where I’m going. He doesn’t know about my grandmother. He doesn’t know I even had a passport.

I tried to find comfort in that.

The flight attendants came by offering water and snacks, and I took a small bottle, not because I was thirsty but because it gave me something to hold. Something real.

“Do you need anything else, ma’am?” the attendant asked kindly.

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “No, thank you.”

She moved on, and I stared out the window again.

Just a little longer, I whispered to myself. A few more hours and I’ll be somewhere he can’t touch me. Somewhere I can start over.

I didn’t know what New York would hold. I hadn’t spoken to my grandmother in over a year. But she was family. And right now, that was all I had left.

Just as the engines began to roar and the plane rolled slowly toward the runway, an unexpected tap on my shoulder made my heart jolt. I turned, startled, to see a flight attendant standing beside me with a polite, uneasy smile. In her hand, she held a phone.

“This is for you,” she said softly, offering it out like it was an ordinary thing. But nothing about it felt ordinary.

Confused, I hesitated, my gaze flicking between her and the device. “Me?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Someone insisted. He said it’s urgent.”

A chill crept up my spine. My fingers felt numb as I reached for it. I pressed it to my ear, already bracing myself for the worst.

And then I heard it.

That voice.

Deep, slow, calculated.

“Hello, my love.”

It was like my blood froze in place. My breath caught in my throat as every nerve in my body screamed to run—but I was strapped in at 30,000 feet, and the monster I thought I’d escaped had somehow found a way to follow.

“I must say,” he continued with a bitter amusement, “you’re braver than I thought. Hiding in a delivery truck, running to some dingy motel like a stray, and now this? Flying across the ocean like you weren’t mine?”

I couldn’t speak. My hands were trembling.

“Oh, don’t be scared, Joy,” he said, his tone dipping lower, darker. “I’m not mad. I’m just… disappointed. You had me worried. And you know how I get when I’m worried.”

The call dropped before I could say a word. The line went dead.

And I just sat there, cold, breathless, staring blankly ahead as the plane began its ascent—carrying me toward freedom…