The Desperate Escape

Sylvie did not notice Julian walking away, nor did she spot Giselle hiding in the shadows observing her nightmare. All she felt was a deep, suffocating distress as Clive’s massive hand gripped her arm, dragging her relentlessly across the polished floor of the clubhouse.

Her mind raced through the bitter tragedy of her life. When she was born, a fortune teller declared she would bring bad luck to her entire family. Believing the ridiculous prophecy, her biological parents abandoned her without a second thought. The couple who eventually adopted her only did so for the financial subsidies. Sylvie had grown up as a tool for making money, never once experiencing the genuine warmth of a family.

And now, she had been set up and trapped in this hellish situation.

She knew exactly what kind of monster Clive Garrick was. The dark rumors surrounding him were not just gossip. Word was that he had tortured several of his past wives to death behind closed doors. He possessed twisted, violent fetishes that made people shudder. If she were forced to marry him, Sylvie knew she wouldn’t survive a month. Worse yet, she was terrified for Aria. What if her precious daughter fell into the hands of this sick man?

No. She had to escape. She had to protect herself and Aria.

She struggled desperately, digging her heels into the floor. "You fatty! Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against his vice-like grip.

Clive had desired Sylvie for a long time, his lust brewing since the moment he laid eyes on her. Now that she was finally in his grasp, he gripped her even tighter.

"You dare to scold me?" Clive sneered, his foul breath hitting her face. "You are already the mother of a child, so why are you acting so reserved? You are actually a minx, aren’t you? Otherwise, why would you have had a baby at nineteen? Just stay home obediently after you marry me, and I won't hold it against you."

He yanked her forward. "Let's go. I'm taking you upstairs."

He reached out to lift her, preparing to carry her up the steps. Panic seized Sylvie’s chest. The drugs in her system were making her limbs feel heavy, but she knew that if he carried her upstairs, she was out of time. Her life would be over.

As Clive’s thick arms wrapped around her waist, Sylvie dug her fingernails hard into her own leg. She pinched her thigh with every ounce of strength she could muster, twisting the flesh until a dark purple bruise blossomed. The sharp, agonizing burst of pain shot up her spine, piercing through the chemical fog in her brain.

The pain restored a sudden trace of sanity and physical power.

Gritting her teeth, Sylvie planted her standing foot, drew her other leg back, and kicked him as hard as she could directly between his legs.

"Ahh!"

A shrill scream, exactly like a slaughtered pig, ripped out of Clive’s throat. His grip released instantly. He grabbed his groin, his flushed face distorted in agony as he folded in half.

Sylvie used the momentum to shove his heavy frame away. She stumbled back, glaring at the gasping man. "Clive Garrick, it’s none of your business that I gave birth at nineteen," she spat, her voice trembling with adrenaline and rage. "The three top virtues of submissive women now are never being gentle, never being reasonable, and never showing any mercy! You better not let me see you again!"

Without waiting for a response, she turned and fled into the night.

Behind her, Clive staggered. The pain was blinding, but his fury was worse. Veins popped on his sweaty forehead, turning his face a dangerous shade of purple. "You little bitch! You better come back now!" he roared, clutching his throbbing crotch. "I'm going to make you beg for mercy!"

He took a shaky step forward, giving chase.

Terrified that his massive hands would grab her again, Sylvie ran blindly. She staggered out of the luxurious clubhouse doors, her vision spinning from the lingering effects of the drug. She didn't look left or right. She just rushed forward, stumbling off the curb and into the open road, desperate to put distance between herself and the monster.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The rapid blare of a horn cut sharply through the night air.

Sylvie snapped her head to the side. A red, limited-edition Ferrari was hurtling down the street toward her at a terrifying speed. The blinding headlights washed over her pale face.

Before she could even register the danger or step back, the sports car closed the distance.

Boom!

The violent impact sent Sylvie flying backward. She crashed heavily onto the hard pavement, sliding against the asphalt. A crushing wave of dizziness hit her all at once. The world spun out of control, and darkness instantly claimed her as she lost consciousness.

Tires screeched as the Ferrari swerved and slammed to a halt.

"Damn it! I've hit someone!"

Inside the luxurious interior of the sports car, Lucian sat behind the wheel. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he cursed under his breath. He immediately turned around in his leather seat to check on the young passenger in the back.

A cool, three-year-old boy sat back there, dressed impeccably in a tiny black suit.

"Hayes, did you get injured?" Lucian asked, panic bleeding into his tone. "Uncle did not mean to do that."

This was his first time picking Hayes up on his boss's behalf. Lucian had originally wanted to show off his superb driving skills on the empty night roads. Instead, he had driven straight into a disaster.

Hayes remained silent. The little boy merely rolled his eyes at the frantic man. His cold, deadpan gaze dripped with judgment, silently screaming that if he had known Lucian's driving was this terrible, he would have walked from the airport.

Lucian swallowed his pride. His glorious image was shattered.

"It's an accident. It's just an accident," Lucian muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Stay in the car obediently, and uncle will go and take a look at the situation."

He pushed the heavy car door open and stepped out into the cool night air. A few late-night onlookers were already gathering by the side of the road, pointing at the scene. Lucian jogged toward the front of his car, his heart pounding against his ribs.

The woman lay motionless on the ground, her clothes ragged and dusty from the crash.

Lucian hurried over to inspect the victim and check her vitals. But as he crouched down and the streetlights illuminated her exposed, pale face, he froze. The air vanished from his lungs. His breath caught in his throat.

Oh my god.

Gi...Giselle!

Why was she the one lying here?!