"You’ll be my wife in a week," Rafael whispers, pressing a possessive kiss to Elena's collarbone, his lips lingering on her skin.
Elena freezes at the words, her body tensing, heart racing. Every part of her wants to push him away, but she knows she can't—not yet. Not when she's so close to finding a way out.
The sound of Rafael’s steady breath against her neck makes her shiver. The possessiveness in his voice makes her skin crawl, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before he’ll expect more than just kisses like these. He wants all of her. And that’s a part of her she isn’t willing to give.
“I… I know,” Elena replies softly, her voice shaking, her eyes locked on the window. She avoids looking at him. She can’t let him see the fear in her eyes, or the desperation. It’s getting harder and harder to hide it.
"You’re not nervous, are you?" Rafael asks, pulling away slightly to gaze down at her, his hand sliding from her collarbone to her waist. His touch is firm, like he’s marking her, staking his claim. “You should be excited. We’re getting married soon. Just think of what’s waiting for us, Elena."
She swallows hard, the knot in her throat growing. She can’t afford to show him how much she’s dreading this. How much she’s planning to get away before the wedding. She has to hold it together, to keep him from realizing she’s already made her mind up.
“I’m just… thinking,” she murmurs, trying to sound calm.
Rafael smiles, his fingers brushing against her arm. “It’s normal to be nervous before the big day. But I’m here, Elena. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
Inside, Elena feels a storm building up. His words should comfort her, but all they do is feed her growing sense of dread. She doesn’t want perfection. She wants freedom. She wants to escape this prison he’s built around her, brick by brick.
But how?
Her thoughts spiral, focusing on the one thing she can still control—the one thing that might still help her escape.
The plan with Alexander.
Her heart skips a beat as she thinks of him. He’s her last hope.
Hours later, Elena sneaks out of the room and makes her way down the long, dimly lit hall. She’s careful to avoid the servants, making sure no one notices her slip through the doors of the study. The study has always been off-limits, but she knows Rafael keeps things in here—things that might help her. Things that might give her the answers she needs.
Her hand shakes as she touches the cold brass doorknob. She breathes out slowly and pushes it open.
The study is dark, with only a sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains. Bookshelves line the walls, and a desk is piled with papers. There’s an old leather chair by the window, its back turned toward her. She quietly moves toward the desk, her eyes scanning the cluttered surface.
She knows exactly what she’s looking for.
A drawer. A drawer she’s never been able to open.
With a deep breath, Elena reaches for it. Her fingers graze the cold metal. She knows it’s locked. She’s tried before, but Rafael’s been careful with his keys. She’s going to have to get creative.
The sound of a soft click echoes in the room, and she freezes. Her heart races as the drawer slides open. Inside, her fingers brush over papers, photographs, and… a small black box. She pulls it out, her stomach flipping. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but her gut tells her this isn’t just any ordinary box.
She hesitates, then opens it. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees what’s inside. A series of old photographs. But it’s not just any photos. It’s a collection of images—images of her. From when she was younger. From years ago. Photos she’s never seen before.