Chapter 200 Chapter two hundred

Chapter 200 Chapter two hundred
Lena's POV

The heavy silence of the mountain estate was broken only by the muffled rhythm of rain washing down the glass. Inside my room, time moved in agonizing ticks. I sat in the high-backed leather chair, my hands rested casually in my lap, hiding the eight-inch piece of jagged, cold steel tucked tightly into the waistband of my green dress.

Every muscle in my body was coiled like a spring. I wasn't cold. I wasn't tired. The terror that had paralyzed me for days had vanished, replaced by an absolute, icy focus.
I kept my gaze fixed on the shadow passing beneath the gap at the bottom of the oak door.
1:58 PM.

I knew the routine by heart. The heavy footsteps of Marcus—Wes’s head of private security—would approach from the main hallway. He would pause at the threshold, exchange two low, muttered words with the outer door guard, and hand over the keycard and shift log. During those forty seconds of transition, the guard's attention would be divided, his back turned to the primary panel.

And because Victoria had fled in a wave of suppressed panic, the heavy manual steel slide-latch at the top of the outer frame remained completely disengaged. The door was held closed by nothing more than a single low-voltage electronic solenoid bolt.

I stood up slowly from the chair, careful not to make a sound on the thick Persian rug. Keeping my body angled so my shadow masked my movements from the surveillance dome overhead, I drew the metal wedge from my waistband.

My fingers were steady. I stepped silently toward the doorframe where the electronic strike plate met the wall. The low-voltage sensor panel sat embedded behind a thin plastic housing right beside the frame—a standard fail-safe design meant to detect physical tampering or structural heat.

I took a quiet, deep breath, resting my left hand lightly against my lower abdomen.
Just stay with me,I prayed silently to the life growing inside me. We are walking out of here today.
Heavy boots creaked against the hardwood in the corridor outside.

"Shift change," Marcus's thick, gravelly voice muttered through the heavy wood. "Anything from inside?"
"Quiet," the second guard replied. "Mrs Lancaster left an hour ago. Captive hasn't moved from the chair."
Now.

I shoved the sharp, jagged point of the steel bracket straight into the tiny, unshielded gap between the electronic strike plate and the doorframe wiring.

I didn't hesitate. I jammed the metal deep into the housing, grinding the steel against the primary copper terminal leads to create a direct electrical ground.
A sharp snap of blue sparks hissed inside the wall.
Instantly, the low-voltage sensor panel short-circuited. The internal relay, sensing a critical power fault, executed its built-in emergency fire protocol.

A high-pitched, piercing electronic alert beeped frantic three-second intervals from the panel.
"What the hell was that?" Marcus barked from the hallway.

"The sensor panel on the door just threw an electrical short fault!" the guard shouted back. "The solenoid lock is cycling!"

I pulled the steel bracket free, slipped it back into my waistband, and turned in one fluid motion. I gripped the heavy, solid brass lamp from the bedside nightstand with both hands. The lamp was ancient, reinforced with a heavy cast-iron base, weighing at least eight pounds.

I retreated two steps into the shadow of the door hinge, lifting the lamp high over my right shoulder, my knuckles turning stark white against the brass.
The mechanical deadbolt retracted with a sharp, pneumatic clack.

The door was shoved inward with violent force. The secondary guard—a broad-shouldered man in a tactical vest—lunged into the room, his right hand resting on the holster at his hip, his eyes darting frantically toward the smoking sensor panel on the wall.

"Hey! Don't move—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
As he stepped past the threshold, his eyes scanning the empty armchair, I swung the brass lamp with every ounce of strength left in my body.

The heavy cast-iron base struck him flush across the side of his jaw with a sickening, metallic crack.
The guard let out a choked groan, his knees buckling instantly as the force of the blow snapped his head sideways. He hit the hardwood floor like a sack of lead, his tactical helmet clattering loudly against the baseboards.

"Hey! What's going on in there?!" Marcus’s voice bellowed from down the corridor.

I didn't waste a millisecond looking at the unconscious man at my feet. I stepped over his splayed legs, hit the doorframe, and burst out into the upper corridor.
Marcus was thirty feet away near the top of the grand staircase, his radio raised to his mouth. When he saw me emerge from the room—dress torn, hair wild, holding the steel wedge in my bloodied right hand—his eyes widened in absolute shock.

"Stop right there!" he roared, unclipping his stun baton as he charged toward me.
I turned on my heel and bolted in the opposite direction, down the narrow, dimly lit West wing corridor.

I knew this layout. I had spent three days staring at the architectural blueprints Wes probably forgot was in the room before he kept me there.

This wing didn't lead to the main foyer; it led to the narrow, concealed service stairwell used by the estate’s maintenance staff.

Marcus’s heavy boots slammed against the floorboards behind me, his raspy breathing closing in fast. "You're not getting out of here, Lena!"
I reached the end of the hall, slammed my shoulder against the heavy metal crash-bar of the service door, and threw myself into the dark, damp concrete stairwell.

The air in the stairwell was freezing, carrying the sharp, pungent scent of pine and wet stone.
I took the concrete steps three at a time, my hand sliding along the cold iron handrail to keep from falling. My heart was hammering violently against my ribs, my lungs burning with every gasping breath.

Behind me, the service door slammed open at the top of the landing.
"She's in the west stairwell!" Marcus screamed into his radio, his voice echoing off the bare concrete walls. "Lock down the lower perimeter! Shut the main gates!"
I reached the bottom landing, threw my weight against the emergency exit bar, and burst out into the torrential mountain rain.

The icy deluge hit me like a physical wall, instantly soaking my hair, my dress, and my skin. The cold was blinding, but the sensation of open air—of raw, unconfined space—sent a wave of electric adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I was on the northern service pad behind the estate's sprawling garage. Fifty yards to my left, two private security guards were sprinting around the corner of the building, shouting into their lapel mics.

"There she is! Secure the perimeter fence!"
They hadn't drawn weapons—Wes had clearly ordered them to take me alive—but they were closing the gap fast.

I didn't run toward the main wrought-iron driveway gates. That was a death trap. Instead, I veered sharply to the right, sprinting across the slick, muddy gravel toward the dense, black treeline of the surrounding pine forest.

The mud pulled at my shoes, heavy and treacherous. Halfway across the yard, my foot slipped on a patch of wet slate, and I went down hard on my knees.
Pain shot through my leg, cold mud coating my arms and dress. For a fraction of a second, panic flared in my chest as I heard the guards' boots skidding across the gravel behind me.

Get up! I screamed at myself internally. Get up right now!
I shoved myself up off the icy ground, cradling my stomach protectively with one arm, and lunged forward into the treeline just as a hand snagged the wet fabric of my sleeve.

I yanked myself free with a desperate, wild tear, plunging headfirst into the darkness of the mountain woods.

The forest swallowed me instantly.
The canopy of massive, ancient pines blocked out what little daylight remained, turning the afternoon into a dark, bruised twilight. Rain poured through the needles in heavy, freezing sheets, transforming the forest floor into a steep incline of slick mud, exposed roots, and jagged granite rocks.

I ran blindly, driven by pure survival instinct.
Branches slapped across my face, tearing at my skin and catching on my soaked dress, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't. Behind me, the muffled shouts of guards and the harsh beams of tactical flashlights swept through the rain-soaked trees.

"Search the ravine!" a voice echoed through the dark. "She can't have gone far on foot!"
I ducked beneath a massive, fallen cedar tree, sliding down a muddy slope into a narrow, rocky creek bed. The freezing water ran ankle-deep, numbing my feet instantly, but I kept moving downstream. The running water would hide my footprints and confuse any tracking effort.

I kept my left hand pressed firmly against my abdomen, shielding my belly from the rough branches and loose stones as I scrambled down the slippery rocks.

"We are going to make it," I gasped aloud, my voice lost beneath the roar of the rain and the wind whipping through the pines. "I'm getting you to your father."
I climbed out of the creek bed on the far side, scrambling up a steep, pine-needle embankment until the shouts of the security team began to fade into the distance.

Above the sound of the storm, high up on the mountain ridge behind me, a loud, piercing sound suddenly tore through the air.

WAAAAAAL. WAAAAAAL. WAAAAAAL.
The estate’s heavy perimeter security sirens had activated. The blaring, mechanical wail echoed off the surrounding peaks, signaling to every guard on the property—and to Wes wherever he was—that I had escaped.

The alarm was out. Wes is probably already aware.
My heart seized with a fresh, terrifying dread, but I didn't stop. I turned my back on the distant sirens, pressing deeper into the dark, rain-drenched woods, desperately pushing toward the mountain highway down below.