Chapter 1 — Breaking the Chains

Verena

The night pressed heavy and still, its silence broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the manicured trees surrounding the mansion. My crouched form melted into the shadows of the estate’s high hedges, auburn strands of hair clinging to my damp temple as I struggled to quiet my breath. My pulse hammered in my ears like a relentless drumbeat. My fingers tightened over the small bag slung across my chest—its meager contents a testament to my desperation. A change of clothes, a handful of euros stolen from my father’s desk, and the locket pressed like a lifeline against my ribs. Its cool metal seemed to steady me, its familiar weight anchoring me to something real.

*Keep moving, Verena. Don’t stop.*

The sharp, jarring bark of the dogs cut through the stillness, closer now. My stomach clenched. They’d caught my scent. My body screamed at me to run, but I forced myself still, crouching lower behind the hedges. I couldn’t falter—not now, not when I was so close.

I had spent weeks planning this escape, mapping out each step in the precious moments when no one was watching. The old servant’s gate was my only way out. Rusted, unassuming, and perpetually overlooked during the estate’s endless renovations, it was the weakest link in my father’s otherwise impenetrable fortress. I’d tested its latch days ago, feigning an aimless stroll through the garden while my heart raced in anticipation. Tonight, everything came down to that one fragile chance.

The mansion loomed behind me, sprawling and gilded, its cold opulence a mockery of the life it imprisoned. Marble columns and glittering chandeliers cloaked rot and control. My father’s voice echoed in my head, smooth and venomous. *You’re nothing without me. A child playing at rebellion.*

But even as my chest tightened, anger flickered, hot and defiant, beneath the fear. Tonight, I wasn’t his pawn. I wasn’t some perfectly dressed doll meant to smile for his guests and obey his every whim. Tonight, I belonged to myself.

The edge of the garden was just ahead, a stone fountain standing sentinel as headlights swept across the driveway. A guard’s car idled near the gate, its engine a low, rumbling growl against the quiet. Through the windshield, I could see the guard’s silhouette—his head tipped back, his posture slack. Sleeping, or close to it.

My legs ached from crouching, but I pushed forward, darting along the shadows that clung to the driveway’s edge. The far corner of the estate came into view, and with it, the old servant’s gate. I sent up a silent prayer that the lock hadn’t been repaired.

My trembling hands found the cold metal latch. I tugged, but it didn’t budge. Panic clawed at me, the imagined voices of my captors blooming vivid in my mind: the guards dragging me back to my father’s study, Heath’s chilling smile as he taunted me with quiet promises of pain disguised as care. The faint scars along my arms and ribs seemed to burn, a cruel reminder of what waited if I failed.

I bit down on my fear. *Focus. Think.* The latch squealed faintly as I jiggled it, my fingers slick with sweat. A flash of memory surfaced—my mother’s hands guiding mine as she taught me to thread a delicate necklace clasp. “Slowly, patiently,” she had said, her voice gentle but firm. I forced my shaking hands to mimic that precision now, and at last, the latch gave way with a soft *click*.

The gate groaned as I eased it open, the sound slicing through the still air. Heart pounding, I slipped out into the dark, the world beyond the estate sprawling like a labyrinth of shadows and faint streetlights.

My boots hit cracked pavement as I sprinted into the city, its shifting anonymity both a refuge and a threat. The oppressive quiet of the estate gave way to a faint hum of distant traffic, the occasional flicker of neon casting eerie halos on abandoned storefronts. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

The streets narrowed into an alley as I veered further away, graffiti-streaked walls and shattered glass underfoot marking the city’s decay. Here, the air reeked of damp garbage and faint traces of engine oil—a stark contrast to the antiseptic sterility of the mansion. I slowed, pressing my back against the rough brick as I crouched low.

My hand found the chain around my neck, pulling the locket free. Its bent clasp caught the dim light, the tarnished silver a quiet defiance against the darkness. My thumb brushed over the floral engravings as I twisted it open, revealing the faded photograph inside. My mother’s face, framed by auburn curls like mine. Her arms wrapped around a younger version of me, her smile filled with warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “For us.”

The image blurred as tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away. My mother had spent her life trapped in the same gilded cage I was running from, her quiet defiance crushed under my father’s relentless control. I wouldn’t let her sacrifices be for nothing.

*One day, Verena, you’ll find your strength.* Her voice echoed faintly in my mind, soft but firm.

“One day,” I breathed, the mantra grounding me.

The sound of footsteps shattered the fragile bubble of safety. My head snapped up, my muscles tensing. The steps were slow, deliberate, closing in on the mouth of the alley.

The figure emerged from the shadows, his sharp profile catching the dim light. My heart sank into my stomach.

Heath Calloway.

His tailored suit was immaculate, his slicked-back blond hair gleaming like spun gold under the faint glow of a distant streetlamp. But it was his eyes that froze me—a glacial blue, piercing and devoid of humanity. His lips curved into a smile, sharp and cold.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and unhurried, like a cat playing with its prey. “Running away, darling? Did you really think you could hide from me?”

My hands tightened around the locket, its edges biting into my skin. I forced myself to rise, meeting his gaze even as my knees threatened to buckle. “I’m not your darling.”

Heath tilted his head, his smile widening. “Still so stubborn.” He took a step forward, his movements too composed, too calculated. I backed away instinctively, my shoulder blades pressing against the damp brick wall behind me.

“I’ll give you credit, though,” he continued, his tone laced with mockery. “You’ve got nerve. I almost admire it. But you know how this ends, Verena. You’ll come back with me, one way or another.”

The distant sound of barking erupted again, louder this time. The guards were closing in. My stomach twisted as adrenaline surged, drowning out the fear with the primal need to survive.

Heath’s gaze flicked toward the sound, and I seized the moment. My body moved before my mind could catch up, darting to the side and slipping past him.

“Verena!” His snarl echoed down the alley, his footsteps pounding after me.

My bag slammed against my hip as I ran, weaving through the maze of alleys with frantic precision. My lungs screamed for air, my legs threatening to buckle, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

A flickering neon light cut through the gloom ahead—a diner sign, its buzzing letters promising a brief reprieve. I stumbled toward it, my vision swimming. The door creaked as I pushed inside, the smell of grease and stale coffee wrapping around me like a cocoon.

Inside, a waitress behind the counter and a lone patron glanced up, their expressions shifting from curiosity to disinterest in the span of a second. I slid into the nearest booth, my back to the wall, my chest heaving.

For the first time that night, I allowed myself to exhale. The danger wasn’t gone—Heath was still out there, lurking, waiting. But for now, I had a moment to breathe.

Pulling the locket from my neck, I pressed it once more to my lips. The road ahead stretched dark and uncertain, but it was mine to walk. And I wouldn’t stop until I found the light.