Ann didn't remember falling asleep on the floor, but when she woke, the sun was high and brutal through the tall windows. Her body ached. Her lips still stung where Daniel's teeth had grazed them, her wrist still tender from where he'd held her.
She pushed herself up, bracing against the couch. For a heartbeat, she let her eyes drift to the hallway that led to his study. The door was shut. No sound leaked from behind it — not the shuffle of his steps, not his voice giving quiet orders to men who'd kill for him without blinking.
She wondered if he was asleep at his desk, or if he sat there watching the city, planning how to bind her tighter now that she'd tasted rebellion.
She showered with the door locked. She scrubbed her skin until it stung, as if she could wash away the way he'd touched her, the way his voice still echoed in her head: Say it again. Say you hate me.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around her, she knew she couldn't stay here. Not another hour. Not another heartbeat.
She packed a small bag — cash she'd hidden in a coat pocket for months, an old ID he didn't know she still had, and the burner phone Victor had slipped her under the café table.
She wrote Daniel a note — not because she thought he'd care, but because she wanted him to read her words instead of hearing her silence:
You can't protect me from the truth anymore.
You can't protect me from you.
She left the note on his pillow — the same pillow where he whispered promises she used to believe.
The building's service elevator was old, creaking like an animal in pain as it carried her down to the underground level. She knew the guards would be distracted at this hour — Daniel's routines were a cage, but they were predictable. She'd learned every latch and every blind spot.
The black sedan Victor promised was waiting by the loading dock — engine purring, windows tinted. The driver was a stranger, an older man with kind eyes and a scar above his collarbone. He didn't look at her when she slid into the back seat.
He simply murmured, "Hold on tight, Mrs. King."
She flinched at the name — a title that felt like a shackle around her throat. But she didn't correct him.
They drove for hours, weaving through side streets, changing cars twice. She kept her eyes on the rear window, waiting for black SUVs, for the flash of headlights that meant Daniel had found her already.
But the city fell away behind her, replaced by the sprawl of smaller towns, gas stations, abandoned factories. Her heartbeat never slowed.
Victor called just before dusk. His voice was tense but warm. "You did it. You're almost clear. There's a safe house. Stay there tonight. I'll come at dawn. We'll get you out of the country if we have to."
Her throat tightened. "He'll find me, Victor. He always finds me."
Victor's exhale crackled through the line. "Not this time. I promise."
The safe house was an old farmhouse an hour from the city. The driver stopped at the edge of a gravel drive, headlights sweeping over peeling paint and dead leaves.
"Stay inside," he told her gently. "Don't open the door for anyone but Victor."
Ann nodded. She stepped out into the crisp night air. She didn't look back as the car disappeared down the winding road.
Inside, the farmhouse smelled of old wood and dust. The electricity worked, barely. There was a bed, a small kitchen stocked with cans and bottled water.
She sat on the floor, back pressed to the wall, bag still clutched in her lap like a lifeline.
The first knock came just before midnight.
Three sharp raps. Then silence.
Her heart slammed into her ribs. Victor said dawn. He wouldn't come now. He wouldn't knock like that — no voice, no name.
She crept to the door, barefoot, heartbeat a drum in her ears. She didn't speak. She didn't breathe.
Another knock. Softer this time. A whisper slipped under the door — a voice that made her knees give out when she heard it: "Ann. Open the door."
Daniel's voice. Low. Calm. Too calm.
She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from crying out. No. No, no, no.
She backed away, step by step, until her shoulders hit the opposite wall. She sank to the floor, curled in on herself. The whisper came again:
"Ann. Please."
He didn't pound the door down. He didn't threaten. He just waited — the king at her gate, patient as the grave.
She didn't remember falling asleep. When she woke, the first gray streaks of dawn leaked through the dirty windows. The house was silent.
For a heartbeat, she let herself hope it had been a nightmare. That Daniel hadn't come. That she still had time to run.
She crawled to the door, heart in her throat. She cracked it open just an inch — enough to see the gravel drive. Empty. No car. No shadow waiting to devour her.
She stepped outside. Cold air slapped her awake. She forced her feet down the steps, gravel crunching under her soles.
Then she saw it.
The hood of a black SUV, half-hidden behind the trees at the edge of the drive. The door cracked open — empty.
A fresh panic roared through her. She turned back to the house — too late.
A hand clamped around her wrist. Another covered her mouth. Warm breath against her ear: "Shh. Don't scream."
Daniel's scent hit her first — expensive cologne and cold air and something darker, something that smelled like her nights tangled in his sheets.
He didn't drag her. He didn't shout. He just held her there, back pressed to his chest, his voice an apology and a threat all at once.
"Ann. You don't get to run. Not from me."
She bit his palm. Hard. She tasted blood. He hissed but didn't let go.
"I will always find you," he whispered. His breath trembled like a confession. "Because you're mine."
Victor's car skidded up the drive — too late. Daniel turned just enough for her to see Victor's shocked, furious face through the window.
Then Daniel pressed his lips to her ear — soft, final. "Say goodbye, Ann."
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her again was Victor's mouth forming her name — and the gun Daniel's men pressed to his head.
When she woke, she was moving. Warm leather under her cheek. The low hum of an engine. Strong arms around her — arms that could cage her or comfort her or break her.
Daniel's lips brushed her temple. His voice was soft as sin. "Next time you think of leaving, sweetheart… remember this. You have nowhere to run."