Page 107 of Dangerous Beginnings

But now, here I am, hiding away in the woods with a man I chose to be with. The man who gave me what I thought I would never get: freedom from my stepfather. But I also realize I will never be free of him in return.

I’ve lied to everyone. To my mother, to Alexia, to anyone who could possibly care. I’ve kept the truth buried, wrapped up in a thousand different excuses. I told them I was going away to focus on my mental health, that I needed time to find myself, to get away from the chaos of everything. But the truth is far darker. One excuse after the other.

Tonight, though, the pull to reach out is stronger than usual. I know it’s a lie, but I can’t help myself. I need to send something, to let her know I’m alive—even if it’s not the whole truth. I type out the words, choosing them carefully.

I’m okay, Mom. I’ve needed some time to myself, away from everything. I’m not coming back yet. I just need space to figure some things out. Please don’t worry about me.

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over thesendbutton. It feels wrong, but what else can I say? I can’t tell her the truth—she would never understand, not in a million years. And I can’t risk her finding out that I’ve walked away from everything, from her, and into the arms of a man like Aslanov.

The blinking cursor taunts me, and I feel the weight of it pressing down on me, suffocating me.What would she say if she knew?I wonder. Would she blame herself? Would she be angry? Would she even be able to look at me the same way again?

I push the questions aside, knowing that I can’t deal with them now. I can’t deal with anything.

Finally, with a deep breath, I hitsend. The message flies away, disappearing into the ether, leaving behind nothing but the hollow ache in my chest. It’s a lie. A thin veil over the truth, but it’s all I can offer.

I slip the phone back into my pocket, turning my gaze back to the fire. He will come home soon.

Chapter 57

Shattered Walls

Isabella

The soft crackling of the fire is the only sound that fills the silence of the cabin.

He said he’d be back for dinner.

It’s not like him to be late. Aslanov’s always punctual, always in control, and I can feel the lingering weight of the day’s frustrations still hovering in the air. I look at the clock on the wall—it’s 7:00 p.m. Another minute passes. And then another. I stir the pot on the stove absently, hoping to distract myself from the nagging feeling starting to take root in my chest.

By 8:00 p.m., my stomach is twisted in knots, but I tell myself it’s nothing. Maybe there was a delay with business—one of his countless meetings or a problem that needed solving. He’s always doing something, dealing with someone. I tell myself not to worry, that it’s just the way he works, the unpredictability of his world.

But still, the silence settles over me like a weight I can’t shake off.

By 9:00 p.m., I can’t sit still anymore. I pace the floor, the ticking of the clock louder now, reminding me of every minute that’s slipping by. I grab my phone again, scrolling through my contacts.

I don’t want to text him. I don’t want to feel like I’m nagging, like I’m being impatient. But something inside me, something I can’t quite explain, tells me this is different.

I send him a message, the words feeling fragile, like I’m testing the waters.

Hey, are you okay? It’s getting late.

No response. My thumb hovers over the screen, waiting for the little three dots to appear, waiting for him to reply. But nothing happens.

I wait for another few minutes, feeling the anxiety rise in my chest, gripping me tighter with each passing second. I tell myself I’m overreacting. This isn’t unusual, not for him. He’s probably tied up with something.

But I can’t ignore it. The knot in my stomach tightens, twisting with each unanswered second.

I dial his number. It rings. And rings. And rings.

Nothing.

A cold wave of panic sweeps over me. He’s always answered.

This is different. This feels different.

I stand up, walking toward the window, pulling back the curtains slightly to look outside. The dark forest stretches out before me, still and silent. The night air is cold, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. I want to believe everything’s fine. I want to believe he’s just running late.

But something inside me is telling me otherwise.

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