THE FIRST ESCAPE
Alina waited until the door clicked shut behind Damian before she finally let out the breath she had been holding. He walked out so coldly, leaving the contract on the small table like a warning. A reminder. A threat.
She stared at the neat stack of papers and felt her stomach twist. A contract? Here? With him?
She wouldn't even survive long enough to face her father again. The man didn't hesitate to sell her. Her stepmother and stepsister probably slept peacefully last night, celebrating the fact she was gone.
If she stayed here—alone, powerless, and owned—she would lose her mind. Or worse.
I need to leave. Today. Right now.
She didn't know where she would run to. She didn't even understand why Damian bought her. But staying wasn't an option.
A soft knock sounded, and two maids walked in with a trolley. One of them gave a small bow.
"Miss, your breakfast."
The scent hit her instantly. Warm. Rich. Fresh. Her stomach growled aggressively, betraying her. She had planned to ask them for a walk before eating—escape while she still had energy. But the moment she saw the food, logic cracked.
She hadn't had a proper meal in days. And who knew when she'd ever taste anything like this again?
Fine. I'll eat first. Then I'll run.
She picked up a spoon and began eating quickly but quietly. The maids said nothing, only lingered near the door.
As she ate, her eyes scanned the room again. Beautiful, yes—but not in a comforting way. Everything was too neat, too expensive, too prepared, as though someone had decided every detail long before she ever arrived.
It didn't feel like a bedroom. It felt like a place designed to keep someone in.
When she finished, the maids stepped forward again.
"We'll take the dishes," one said softly.
Alina nodded, stood, and cleared her throat.
"Um… can I go for a walk outside? Just for a few minutes? The room—" she gestured around, "—it's a bit suffocating. And I'm still recovering from last night's fever."
The maids exchanged looks.
"I won't run," she added quickly, forcing a weak smile. "Where would I even go? I just want some air. Please."
They hesitated. But after a moment, one finally nodded.
"We'll escort you."
Right. There's no freedom here.
Still, being outside meant more chances than being locked in this room.
They led her into the hallway, and Alina nearly stopped walking.
The place was huge. Larger than any house she'd seen in her life. Even the corridor felt endless. There was an elevator in the house. An actual elevator.
He really is… crazy rich.
But she didn't want to know anything about him. The less she knew, the safer she felt.
Outside, she inhaled sharply. Fresh air. Real air. Not the heavy silence of that room.
Bodyguards stood a few meters away, watching her closely. The maids stayed near, talking quietly among themselves.
Alina lowered her gaze and pretended to admire the garden.
She needed a distraction. Something believable. Something that would make them slip.
Then she spotted a small stone path leading to the side of the house.
Perfect.
She pointed suddenly.
"Um—sorry, is that… is that a fountain? The one in the corner?"
One maid turned. "Yes, that's—"
Alina gasped.
"Oh no! I think I dropped the bracelet my mother gave me inside the room! I—I can't lose it. It's the only thing I still have of her."
Her voice cracked, real emotion slipping in. It wasn't entirely a lie—her mother's real keepsake had never been returned to her after her father remarried. But the maids didn't know that.
They stiffened immediately.
"Should we—"
"Yes, please," Alina begged. "Can you check? Please, both of you. I'm terrified someone might accidentally move it."
They shared a quick look.
Then both hurried back inside, leaving only two guards near the gate—farther away, distracted, their attention divided.
Now. Go.
She slowly stepped backward… then turned and sprinted.
Her lungs burned instantly, her legs shaky from fever and exhaustion, but she pushed through. The guards shouted behind her, but she didn't look back. She reached the massive gate and froze.
It had a keypad.
A password.
"A gate needs a password?" she whispered in disbelief.
She tried numbers—birthdays, simple combinations—nothing worked.
Her fingers trembled. Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
Think, Alina. Think. You don't have time.
Voices grew louder behind her.
Panic shoved logic aside.
She grabbed the metal bars and started climbing.
Her foot slipped once, twice, but she forced her body upward, ignoring the sting in her palms.
She almost reached the top.
Just one more step—
Her grip slipped.
She braced herself for the impact of the ground, for pain, for maybe even breaking something—
But instead, strong arms caught her mid-fall.
Her breath stopped.
Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes.
Damian Voss stared down at her.
Calm.
A small smile tugging at his lips.
No anger. Just… amusement.
"Hello," he said casually. "Going somewhere?"
Her stomach twisted painfully.
She pushed off him immediately, stumbling back and brushing dirt off her clothes.
"How… how did you even know I was here?" she managed to whisper.
His smile deepened, but it wasn't warm.
"Of course you'd be curious."
Without warning, he grabbed her wrist—hard—and began dragging her toward the house.
"Let me go!" she yelled, trying to pull back. "You're hurting me—"
He didn't loosen his hold.
"You should've thought of that before climbing my gate like a thief."
The closer they got to the house, the tighter his grip became, as if anger was slowly overtaking the brief calm on his face.
Inside the room, he pushed the door shut with a sharp click.
Then he turned to her.
"Playing nice with you clearly doesn't work," he said in a low voice. "So let me explain something properly."
He pointed around the room.
"I have eyes everywhere on you. Everything you do, everywhere you go—I see it. I don't need to turn my head. I don't need to be in the same room. I know."
Alina swallowed, her throat tight.
"What do you even want from me?"
"What I've said already," he replied. "Sign the papers. Cooperate. Stop trying to run."
Her gaze darted upward, scanning the corners of the room.
She couldn't see any cameras. Nothing obvious. But that made it worse.
He stepped closer, and her heartbeat stuttered.
"Try this again," he warned softly, "and let's see how far your games can really take you."
When he left the room, she finally looked down.
Her wrist was bruised—dark marks already forming where his fingers had been.
Tears blurred her vision.
She tried covering it with her sleeve, embarrassed and angry at the same time.
The door opened again.
Two people walked in—medics or attendants from the house.
They approached her quickly.
"The boss asked us to treat your hand," one said gently.
Alina blinked.
He knew he hurt me. He just didn't want to fix it himself.
Outside the room, Damian stood in the hallway, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched. His secretary stood beside him, holding a tablet.
"Boss," the secretary said quietly, "why don't you just tell her the truth? She keeps misunderstanding you. This isn't helping."
Damian's eyes hardened.
"Do what I said. No questions."
"But—"
"You're not ready to know the answers," he muttered.
Inside the room, Alina winced as antiseptic touched her skin.
She didn't know he was still outside the door.
Pacing.
Restless.
And more conflicted than he'd ever admit.
But she knew one thing.
If she didn't find a better way out soon…
She wouldn't escape him at all.