The Escape
As I stepped onto the plane, supported by my father’s steady hand, I looked back at the mansion behind us. The guard was still there, speaking urgently into his radio. Adrian—my husband—would soon realize I was gone. But by then, it would be too late.
In the private jet’s cabin, I sank into a plush leather seat, exhaustion crashing over me like a wave. My father sat across from me, his eyes softening as he studied my face.
“You did the right thing calling me,” he said quietly. “I told you, that family couldn’t be trusted.”
His words struck a raw chord. I could still hear their voices—the muffled, venomous whispers I had overheard just hours earlier. Adrian’s voice, cold and calculated, and his mother’s, smooth as poison.
“Once the baby’s born,” she had said, “she won’t have any leverage left. The prenup was airtight. You’ll have everything—she’ll have nothing.”
And Adrian had laughed. My husband, the man I thought I loved. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ve got it handled. She’s naive enough to think I still care.”
