The clock was a little past three in the morning when Isabella pushed open the window of her room. The night was silent, the air cold, the sky still dark. She lowered her suitcase carefully onto the grass below. Her heart was pounding, but her hands didn't shake. The fear was too real to allow weakness.
When she jumped, she landed on her knees, but she stood up immediately. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see the house that was suffocating her.
She walked fast down the road, praying no one looked out their window. Once she reached the main street, she raised her hand, and surprisingly, a taxi stopped almost instantly. The driver was sleepy and didn't ask questions. That suited her.
"Airport," she whispered. Her voice barely existed.
The ride was long. Silent. Every time she glanced at the rear-view mirror, she expected to see a black car. But there was none. Her heart slowly began to loosen, but not fully.
The moment the airport lights came into view, she felt something close to relief. Real relief. Like this was the moment the nightmare ended. Like she was waking up.
She paid, grabbed her suitcase, and ran.
"Next flight to Milan. The earliest one. Anything," she said to the woman behind the counter, her voice thin.
The attendant nodded politely, typed a few things, and said,"Of course, miss. Please follow me."
Isabella slowed a little. Not enough to think. Just enough to move. She walked through a private terminal. No crowds. No noise. Just silence. Too much silence.
When the doors opened, she stopped.
There was no commercial plane. Just a sleek, polished private jet.
"Is this… correct?" Isabella asked, but her voice didn't carry any strength.
The attendant simply smiled. "This is your aircraft."
Her hands turned cold. Still, she climbed the stairs. The door closed behind her.
She was alone.On the plane.No one else.
The seats were soft. The lights dim. Her heartbeat too loud.
The jet took off.Too fast.Without questions.Without passport checks.
She sat in silence for nearly the entire flight. A hollow feeling in her stomach. A knot in her chest. The longer it went on, the more certain she became that she was not flying away.
She was flying back.
When the wheels touched the ground, her breath caught in her throat. The same forest. The same quiet. The same world she'd tried to escape.
The door opened.
She stepped down.
Cold morning air. Damp ground. The faint smell of pine.
And a few meters away stood Elijah.
Dressed in black. Hands in his pockets. His hair slightly tousled, as if he hadn't slept either. His gaze fixed on her. No softness in his face. Only controlled, simmering anger.
Isabella stood still at the bottom of the stairs. Suitcase in hand. Heart lodged somewhere high in her throat.
Elijah took a step forward. Not fast. Not loud. Just enough to force her to look at him.
"Interesting," he said quietly."That you believed I would let you go."
Isabella couldn't find her voice. She just stood there.
He kept walking, calm, deliberate.
"You thought you could run."It wasn't a question.
When he was close enough, he lowered his head slightly so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"Isabella," he murmured, voice low, dangerously calm,"I do not lose things that are mine."