Claudia slammed her foot on the brake. The SUV screeched across the asphalt wet with early morning dew, stopping just a few meters from the motionless figure of Eleanor.
Eleanor Hawthorne stood in the middle of the road, dressed in a midnight-blue silk travel suit that looked absurdly out of place for an ambush at 2:30 a.m. She wore white gloves, and in her hand, she held not a weapon, but a cell phone with the speakerphone on. A glacial smile, full of terrifying satisfaction, curved her lips.
—What a disappointment, Mario —Eleanor said, her voice echoing through the forest via the car speaker—. You thought you could run from me. And with the nurse? How cliché, even for you.
Claudia felt bile rise in her throat. Her heart pounded so hard she thought Mario could hear it.
—Get out of the car, Claudia. And leave my husband. This ends here —ordered Eleanor, her voice dripping with venomous contempt.
Mario, who had remained silent in the back seat, finally spoke, his voice calm and powerful, cutting through the air like a steel blade.
—We're not going anywhere, Eleanor. And you have no jurisdiction here.
—Oh, really? —Eleanor waved the phone—. I called the local police five minutes ago. I told them my husband, who has a severe disability, has been kidnapped by a ruthless nurse trying to steal confidential documents. In ten minutes, this road will be filled with sirens.
Eleanor smiled even wider. —And yes, I have proof of your betrayal, darling. Your little fling in the suite was recorded. I don't know why you bothered erasing the cameras in my study if you didn't delete the mirror server for the microphones. I have your voice, your moans, and the word "bitch" in HD audio. The Forbidden File is mine.
Terror seized Claudia. Her face turned pale. Mario, however, remained impassive, like a general facing defeat, holding an ace up his sleeve.
—Enough theatrics, Eleanor —said Mario, extending his hand and pulling the leather briefcase from beneath his feet. He opened it and displayed the stack of documents proving Eleanor's financial fraud—. This isn't about my penis or your wounded ego. This is about embezzlement, fund diversion, and tax fraud. Documents with your signature, Eleanor. Remember the 30 million in the Zurich account?
Eleanor's face lost its color. Her smile vanished, replaced by a mask of rage and fear.
—How do you have that? That was before the accident! —she hissed, her impeccable composure cracking.
—I'm Mario, Eleanor. I've always been two steps ahead. This briefcase is encrypted and will be sent to the Federal Prosecutor if I don't receive a security signal in two hours. My lawyer has everything. If I call the police, I'll be arrested for kidnapping. If you call, you'll be arrested for fraud that could cost you twenty years in a minimum-security federal prison. What do you prefer? A divorce for adultery, or a conviction for white-collar crime?
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of the SUV engine. Eleanor trembled, her white gloves gripping the phone. Mario's threat was real, absolute. He had anticipated her game and prepared his countermeasure, turning the erotic game into a financial chess match.
—You… won't get away with this —Eleanor ground her teeth.
—I already have. The divorce will be clean and quick. I won't fight over money. But you will see not a single cent of my marital assets. And if you ever try to use that "Forbidden File" against Claudia, your file will be delivered. The choice is yours.
Eleanor froze for a moment, weighing her options. She knew Mario wasn't lying. Her ambition and greed outweighed her desire for revenge. With a stifled scream of rage, Eleanor hurled the phone to the ground, shattering it.
—Leave! And never come back! —she shouted, retreating and clearing the path.
Feeling the tension release, Claudia didn't wait. She pressed the accelerator; the SUV roared forward, leaving Eleanor a small defeated figure in the rearview mirror.
The race to the private airstrip was frantic. Adrenaline still coursed through them, now mingled with terror and euphoria.
—You did it, Mario. You're incredible —Claudia said, her voice trembling as she drove along the back roads.
—We did it, Claudia. It was our conspiracy. Now, the only file that matters is ours.
They reached the private hangar. The jet was ready and waiting. A professional pilot, hired through Mario's network, was at the door. He approached as soon as he saw them.
—Mr. Hawthorne, the runway is clear. We depart at 3:00 a.m.
Claudia made the final transfer, the most significant one: she lifted Mario from the SUV and placed him in the jet's lightweight wheelchair. The final touch was an act of absolute devotion. They climbed the ramp.
Once aboard, while the pilot prepared the aircraft, Claudia sat beside Mario. The cabin was luxurious, yet it was a vehicle of their freedom. She turned to him, out of uniform, dressed in the clothes she had hidden in the car: jeans and a leather jacket. This was the Claudia she had always dreamed of being.
—Mario, I don't know where we're going. I have nothing with me but this jacket and the clothes I'm wearing.
Mario looked at her, his eyes filled with a light she hadn't seen since the accident. His strong, living hand took hers.
—We're going somewhere I can feel. Somewhere where the only silent heartbeat will be mine, now yours —he said, before kissing her.
It wasn't the furtive kiss of a caretaker, nor the desperation of a traitor. It was the kiss of two people who had just won their right to exist. Desire wasn't a forbidden game, but a fulfilled promise. Claudia leaned over him, ignoring the pilot's seatbelt warning.
The plane slid along the runway, gaining speed. Through the window, the sky shifted from velvet black to deep blue, promising dawn.
Claudia watched the Hawthorne mansion shrink in the distance, a golden point of pain and lust. Mario held her hand.
—Look, Claudia. Behind us lies the prison —he whispered.
She leaned against him, feeling his warmth, the final touch of their consummation. The jet rose, crossing the horizon line just as the orange sun burst over the world. They were free. The game had ended, but the true file of their pleasures was only beginning.
The pilot leaned into the cockpit. "Mr. Hawthorne, we've changed the flight plan. We're heading to southern France. However, the radio just reported that the coastal police have issued a search order. Not for kidnapping, but for corporate property theft. Someone else is after the briefcase. Eleanor is not alone." Claudia and Mario exchanged glances. Freedom had arrived, but with it, a new and relentless hunter.
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