Chapter 220 220
Sabine’s POV
He’s just like Father.
Always promising something, always dangling it just out of reach only to shift the goalposts the moment I get close. Every single time.
I haven’t met a single person yet who hasn’t lied to me.
I’ve been trapped in this flat for a week.
A whole week.
I’d rather be home. At least there I could swim, sip ridiculous fancy cocktails, pretend my life wasn’t slowly suffocating me. Here? Takeout every night. Greasy cartons and sugar-heavy rubbish. I can practically feel my boobs getting bigger from the lack of exercise and the constant junk food.
Ironically, that was the first thing I planned to do with my money get a boob job. A reduction, obviously. God blessed me with breasts far too large for my frame, and I was sick of the backache, sick of lugging them around like punishment for existing.
The guard pathetic as ever is passed out drunk on the sofa. Bored senseless. Just like me.
Geneviève must be shagging him. He talks about her in his sleep, murmuring her name like she’s some sort of fantasy. And he hasn’t looked at me once like that. Not even accidentally.
So much for seduction.
That means my only option is knocking him out.
Yes, he’s asleep but he wakes at the slightest sound. He knows Father would be hunting him by now. Would be gunning for his blood.
Somehow, I’ve become his personal beer server. And the idiot thinks he’s in control.
He isn’t.
With every beer I hand him, he gets more intoxicated. More sluggish. More vulnerable. The alcohol will keep him down longer after I hit him.
I’m in the kitchen grabbing another bottle when I carefully slide open a drawer.
Jackpot.
A thick wooden rolling pin.
That’ll do.
It was either that or the frying pan sitting on top of the microwave.
I place the beer on the coffee table, then quietly retrieve the rolling pin. By the time he reaches out for his drink, I’m already behind him.
I swing.
The sound makes my stomach turn. A dull, sickening thud. I’ve never hurt anyone before. Never.
He drops instantly, collapsing to the floor with a heavy bang for such a skinny man, he hits the ground hard.
Guilt flickers through me, sharp and uncomfortable.
But he lied to me. Just like all the others.
I grab his phone, rip the cash from his wallet, and bolt for the door.
I’m on the run.
The feeling is exhilarating. Terrifying. Free.
I don’t even know where I’m going but that somehow makes it better. I’ll figure it out as I go. What’s Father going to do? Lock me away again until I’m twenty-one?
That’s another three years.
I’ll take my chances.
I jump onto a bus, hand over some money, and sink into a seat near the back. I have no clue where it’s headed and for once, I don’t care. The uncertainty feels intoxicating.
Who knew I could be this rebellious?
I watch the passengers. Listen to snippets of conversation. Track who gets on and who leaves. A young couple a few rows ahead catches my attention, their suitcases stacked between them.
They’re talking about catching a train to the port. From there, a boat to an island.
That sounds perfect.
An island feels far enough. Isolated. Somewhere I could disappear for a while and figure out my next move.
They must be newlyweds. They keep glancing at the rings on their fingers, smiling softly at each other, eyes full of devotion. If knocking the guard out made me feel sick, this is worse.
Mum raised me to stand on my own two feet.
So when Father suddenly entered my life and demanded control over my money, I was devastated. I was twelve—twelve. Legally powerless. Any lawyer who tried to help either vanished or was bought off. My friends. Their parents. Even my boyfriend.
All gone.
Mum left a lot of money behind. I suppose they decided a payoff mattered more than I did.
Well screw them.