Chapter 35 Escape

Chapter 35 Escape
There was total darkness. Lyara ran down the small corridor of the West Wing, her lungs burning. She didn't slow down despite the sapphire gown's thick silk dragging on her legs like lead. The ballroom behind her was a flurry of yelling voices and shattered glass. The loudest sound was Mikael's, a rough, guttural howl that raised the hair on her neck. He sounded like a man who had lost everything important to him.

Her wrist was seized by a small, solid hand. A familiar face leaned into the dull green glow of an emergency exit sign as Lyara startled and almost tripped over her hem. It was the new maid Eleanor had planted.

"This way. Fast," the maid whispered.

They didn't head for the main doors. Instead, the maid shoved aside a heavy velvet curtain in the service hallway, revealing a small, inconspicuous wooden door used by the cleaning staff. They burst through it into the cool night air. The smell of wet grass and expensive roses hit Lyara’s face, but there was no time to breathe.

A sleek black SUV was waiting in the shadows of the gravel driveway. There was a low, menacing sound coming from its idle state engine. Before they could even get to the back door, it burst open.

"Get in!" a man in a dark suit commanded.

Lyara scrambled into the plush leather interior. The moment her feet left the gravel, she saw a familiar figure huddled in the corner of the seat.

"Mama?" Lyara choked out.

Elena McKinley was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her face pale but her eyes wide and alert. Beside her was a portable oxygen tank, its thin tubes tucked into her nose. She reached out with a trembling hand and gripped Lyara’s arm. Her touch was cold, but the strength in her fingers was real.

With a shaky voice, Elena murmured, "Lyara... what have you done?"

"The lights... the screams..."

"We're leaving, Mama. We're finally leaving," Lyara said, pulling her mother into a tight embrace. She looked out the tinted window. The maid had already disappeared back into the mansion. The door slammed shut, and the SUV lurched forward.

The headlights were not used by the driver. The car disappeared past the well-kept bushes as he used night-vision lenses to navigate the estate's curving driveway. Lyara watched the mansion recede in the distance. The grand windows were dark, but she could see the flashlights of security guards dancing like frantic fireflies on the lawn.

"They’re at the gates!" the driver shouted, glancing at the side mirror.

Lyara looked back. Two sets of headlights had just ignited behind them. The roar of high-performance engines cut through the night. Mikael’s men were fast. They had realized the West Wing exit was the breach.

"They're coming for us," Lyara whispered, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. The baby kicked, a sharp, nervous movement.

"Hold on," the driver said. He floored the accelerator. The SUV swerved onto the main road, the tires screaming against the asphalt.

Behind them, the two security vehicles were gaining ground. They were blacked-out sedans, the kind Mikael used for high-speed intercepts. The distance between them was closing—fifty yards, thirty yards. Lyara could see the silhouette of a guard leaning out of the lead sedan's window, a radio in his hand.

"They'll ram us before we hit the highway," Lyara cried, clutching the seat handle.

"Watch the front," the driver replied, a grim smirk on his face.

As they approached a sharp fork in the road, Lyara saw something that made her heart stop. Emerging from a hidden side path were two more black SUVs, identical to the one they were in. Even the license plates were obscured by the same layer of dark grime.

The three SUVs moved with professional efficiency. A lethal dance of rubber and steel, they swung and turned around one another in a whirl of action. It was hard to identify which car was which for a few seconds. They were three identical car traveling at eighty miles per hour.

At the fork, the three vehicles split.

One SUV veered hard to the left, heading toward the busy downtown district. The second SUV continued straight toward the interstate. Their driver yanked the steering wheel to the right, plunging their vehicle down a narrow, unlit dirt road that cut through a dense forest.

Lyara peered out the rear window. Without hesitation, the security sedans moved forward. As they pursued the SUV on its way to the interstate, they both roared past the gravel road, their sirens now shrieking. They were pursuing the wrong car.

Lyara sighed and leaned back against the seat. "It worked," she said. "The fake worked."

"Eleanor doesn't leave things to chance," the driver muttered, finally switching on the dim fog lights as the trees thickened around them.

The road grew rougher. The SUV bounced and jolted over deep ruts and fallen branches. Elena groaned, her hand tightening on Lyara’s.

"Where are we going, Lyara? This isn't the way to the airport," Elena asked, her breathing shallow.

"The airport is too dangerous, Mama. Mikael owns the private terminals. He’d have the planes grounded before we even cleared security," Lyara clarified. She took the burner phone out of her dress. She had trembling fingers. "We’re going to a secondary location. A place where his money can't reach us."

"He'll find us," Elena whispered, her eyes full of a deep, ingrained fear. "That man... he's not like us. He thinks the world belongs to him."

"He’s losing his world tonight," Lyara said. She thought of Isabella Vanderbilt standing on that stage. She thought of the documents flashing on the screens. By now, the police and the press would be swarming the manor. Mikael would be fighting to save his reputation while his wife and his heir vanished into the night.

The drive lasted for hours. The forest gave way to rolling hills, and the hills gave way to a desolate, rocky coastline. The air grew saltier, the wind whipping against the SUV with a mournful howl. There were no streetlights here, no houses, no signs of life.

The driver slowed down as they approached a small, rusted gate. He stepped out, unlocked it manually, and drove through. The path was barely wide enough for the car, overgrown with weeds that scraped against the doors.
Finally, they reached a small, weathered cottage tucked into the side of a cliff. It was made of gray stone and rotting wood, looking like it had been abandoned for decades. The windows were boarded up, and the roof was missing several shingles.

"We're here," the driver said, stoping the engine.

The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the distant crash of waves against the rocks below and the ticking of the cooling engine.

"Is this it?" Lyara asked, looking at the grim structure.

"It’s an old fishing outpost. It doesn't exist on any modern map. There’s no electricity, no cell towers," the driver said, opening the door. He helped Elena out of the car, lifting her into a specialized wheelchair they had stored in the trunk.

Lyara stepped out. Her sapphire gown was torn at the hem, stained with dirt and grease. She looked at the cottage, then at the vast, dark ocean stretching out into infinity. She felt a strange sensation—not happiness, but a cold, hollow relief.

She walked toward the cottage, her heels sinking into the mud. Inside, the air was musty and cold. A single oil lamp sat on a wooden table, casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls.

The driver set Elena up in a corner, checking her oxygen levels. "I’ll be back in forty-eight hours with supplies and the next set of instructions. Do not leave the house. Do not light a fire during the day. If you see a car on the road, hide in the cellar."

"Wait," Lyara said as the man turned to leave. "What about Mikael? What's happening at the manor?"

The man paused at the door, his silhouette dark against the moonlight. "The news is already breaking. The Vanderbilt girl did her part. The Board is in emergency meetings, and the authorities are questioning everyone. Mikael hasn't been arrested yet, but his assets are being frozen."

He looked at Lyara, his eyes unreadable. "You did it, Lyara. You’re the first person to ever take something from Mikael Roosevelt and get away with it."

He walked out, the heavy wooden door groaning as it shut. The sound of the SUV driving away faded into nothing, leaving Lyara and her mother alone in the dark.

Lyara sat on a dusty wooden crate, her hands cradling her stomach. She looked at her mother, who had fallen into an exhausted, uneasy sleep in the corner.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the burner phone. She wanted to call Jacob. She wanted to hear his voice, to know he was safe, to tell him that she had made it out. But she knew the rules. One signal, one ping, and the fortress of their safety would crumble.

She walked to the window and peered through a crack in the boards. Far off in the distance, she could see the faint glow of a lighthouse. It felt like a different world.

She was free. But as she stood in the cold, silent cottage, she realized that freedom felt a lot like being dead. She had no name, no home, and no future. She was just a nothing in a blue dress, hiding in the shadows of a world that was still looking for her.

And she knew, deep in her soul, that Mikael wasn't done. A man like that didn't just let his world be stolen. He would burn the entire coast to find her.

She turned away from the window and blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness once more.
She would wait. She would hide. And she would hope that the storm she had started was enough to keep him away.