Chapter 7
The first thing I noticed upon waking was the empty space beside me. No warmth, no heavy presence looming over me—only silence. My eyes fluttered open, and there it was, perched on the pillow like an afterthought: a small sticky note.
Work. Be back.
My lips curved into something between a smirk and a sigh. Was this heaven's way of granting me an escape route?
But then my eyes fell on the black card resting neatly beneath the note. I picked it up, feeling the smooth weight of it against my fingers. A limitless card. My heart skipped. For a moment, it felt as though I had stumbled upon a gold mine. Yet, deep down, an unsettling thought whispered—was I being paid for services rendered?
I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. Not now. What mattered was freedom. As long as I could escape from that unreasonable beast, I didn't care if the heavens themselves mocked me.
I rushed toward his wardrobe, only to be struck with disappointment. Row upon row of identical suits stared back at me. Gray. Black. More gray. More black. Not a single homely outfit among them. Did this man have an obsession with monotony, or was it part of his identity?
My gaze drifted back to the shredded gown I had worn the night before. My chest tightened with a frustrated sigh. In the end, I grabbed a plain shirt, belted it at the waist, and threw a top over it. I didn't care if I looked ridiculous. Freedom mattered more than appearances. Once outside, I could branch into any shopping mall and find something more fitting—something that at least resembled femininity.
It was just one day. His rut would end soon. Once his guards and security returned, escaping would be impossible. My chance was now.
My eyes landed on the cabinet where the marriage certificate lay. My hand reached for it, trembling with a strange mixture of relief and bitterness. Piece by piece, I tore it into shreds, the fragments fluttering like confetti of liberation.
"Single and not searching," I muttered, staring at the funny, ill-fitting outfit I wore. Grabbing the card, I drew in a sharp breath and walked out quickly.
The moment the door shut behind me, the fresh breeze of freedom swept across my face. I inhaled deeply, savoring it like the sweetest wine. What else could I possibly want? I had health, money, and freedom. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.
I looked around the bustling streets, my mind drifting to all the things I had once yearned for but never dared to pursue. This time will be different. I wouldn't just live; I would build myself, create a name, a reputation. Being a nobody was never meant to be my fate.
But first—clothes. Decent clothes.
I walked into the first shopping mall I found. Rows upon rows of dresses greeted me, fabrics of every shade and shimmer cascading under the lights. My head throbbed instantly.
"How the hell do women enjoy this?" I muttered under my breath, glancing at the joy radiating from the other ladies. Their faces lit with excitement as though shopping was the greatest treasure of all.
For me, it was torture. My past life whispered in the back of my mind, dragging me toward the thought of slipping into a cybercafé and losing myself in games. Games had been a boy's dream once, my dream. But now, trapped in this body, I was forced to play the role of someone I never asked to be.
Uninterested, I grabbed the first outfit that caught my eye, changed into it, and dumped Val's clothes without a second thought. The idea of ever returning them to him was laughable. I wanted nothing that would remind him I had ever existed. I wanted to erase myself from his memory entirely.
Now dressed, card swiped, and payment made, I drifted toward the restaurant. My stomach rumbled faintly. Just as I settled into a chair, my phone rang.
The caller ID flashed.
Lora.
I froze. Wasn't today her birthday?
A humorless chuckle slipped from my lips. I could already imagine the sharp words, the scorn, the mockery waiting for me on the other end. The real Hazel had been disowned long ago, but it seemed this family found joy in tormenting her—or me, rather. Did they take delight in cruelty? Did suffering feed their twisted sense of superiority?
I didn't care. Not anymore. If they wanted a show, then why not give them one?
But then reality struck me like a blade. Wouldn't Val find me? Wasn't I supposed to be on the run?
Run? With his card in my hand? The same card sending alerts with every swipe? He knew exactly where I was, what I bought, what I touched. I wasn't escaping. I was playing right into his hands.
A shiver crawled up my spine. The thought of him confronting me later, calmer, clearer-headed, was far more terrifying than his wild rut. He would ask questions, piercing ones, especially about how I had bypassed his passkey and entered his room. Just imagining that conversation sent ice flooding through my veins.
But the truth was bitter—I had nowhere else to go. No safe place, no refuge. So why not face it head-on? Why not honor Hazel's father's invitation and walk into the lion's den with my head held high?
With that thought, I turned back into the store. This time, I didn't just grab blindly. I combed through the racks carefully, searching for something unique, something bold. A gown that would silence their whispers, that would fit the theme of the party yet stand apart, as though it was crafted solely for me.
As my fingers brushed against a fabric that shimmered faintly under the lights, I paused. A strange thrill rippled through me.
I feel like I'm trapped in a novel, I thought bitterly, a weak heroine clawing her way back for a grand comeback.
But this wasn't fiction. It wasn't a neatly written drama. It was my life—and my story would not end with me as the victim.