Freedom
ARIANA’S POV
The moment the lock clicked into place, I waited.
Waited until I couldn’t hear Garry’s footsteps anymore. Until the sound of his grumbling faded down the hall, leaving nothing but the brittle hum of that bare bulb above me and the ringing silence it cast in its wake.
Then I moved.
The pipe behind me had already begun to shred the outer strands of the knot around my wrists. Hours—maybe days—of subtle grinding, twisting, contorting my body in unnatural ways until something gave. Until I found the angle. Until I created a weakness in the rope.
Now I drove into it.
Hard.
I twisted my wrists until the raw skin felt like it might split open, and I pushed my weight back again, then again, biting down on a scream as the fibers scraped against exposed flesh.
Tighter.
Again.
Tighter.
I gasped as the knot gave—just slightly, just enough for slack to shift under my fingers. Hope surged up like a matchstrike in dry grass. My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might alert the entire damn house.
Don’t stop.
My fingers, numb and trembling, worked at the loosened rope. My joints ached from the strain, my knuckles were cracked, bleeding—but I didn’t stop. Not even as tears stung my eyes from the pain. Not even when a wave of dizziness nearly knocked me unconscious.
This was my window.
This was my only shot.
And I wouldn’t waste it.
One final twist—one last yank—and the rope slid free from my wrists with a slick, wet snap. I hissed as the blood rushed back into my hands, the pins and needles like fire dancing up my arms.
Then my legs.
He’d tied them too tight. The circulation had been cut off for who knows how long, and now my limbs felt like heavy sacks of stone.
But I didn’t have the luxury of recovery.
I forced my fingers to work through the knot, clawing at it with bitten nails and torn skin until that rope, too, gave in to desperation.
I was free.
Well—physically.
Because freedom didn’t mean safety yet. Not when I was still trapped in their hellhole. Not when I didn’t know where the exits were or if someone was posted outside the door waiting for me to try something stupid.
But I didn’t care.
I had nothing left to lose. And if I died trying to escape, at least I died fighting.
With a grunt, I pushed myself up.
My knees buckled instantly.
The world tilted. My stomach turned. My head pulsed in warning. But I clutched the wall for balance and held on.
Stand up.
Stand the hell up, Ariana.
I dug my nails into the bricks and pulled myself upright, one breath at a time. My legs were jelly. My body screamed. My stomach—empty and gnawing—twisted painfully beneath my ribs.
Garry had treated me like I was an animal. Bread crusts thrown on the floor like I was a dog.
I crept toward the door, every step a war against gravity. The bulb above me cast sharp shadows that danced like specters on the walls. My breath came out in shallow, trembling bursts.
Don’t think. Just move.
The doorknob glinted in the light.
I reached for it slowly, praying it wouldn’t creak, wouldn’t jam, wouldn’t betray me.
It turned.
I froze.
No footsteps. No shout.
I cracked it open a hair, just enough to peek through.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the orange glow of a single lamp on a distant table. The floor was old wood—narrow planks, stained and warped. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper that peeled at the corners like skin.
Every shadow looked like a trap. Every corner like a death sentence.
But I moved.
Silently.
One foot after the other, careful to step near the edges of the floorboards where the wood was less likely to creak. I held my breath every time something shifted, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
I didn’t know where I was—an old farmhouse, maybe, or some rundown estate tucked away in the woods.
But I did know this: I had to find a way out before they noticed I was gone.
A door.
I spotted one down the hall, a thick metal frame at the end of the corridor. Not the front entrance—too obvious—but maybe a basement door? A utility exit?
I took a step toward it—then froze.
Voices.
Raised. Sharp. Exploding behind one of the closed doors to my left.
“I’m warning you, William,” Garry barked. “You try to cut me out, and I swear to God—”
“You swear what?” William snapped back. “You’ll send another empty threat? Kidnap someone else? How’s that working out for you so far?”
“You think you’re so clever,” Garry hissed. “But you don’t know these people. You don’t know how far they’ll go for revenge.”
“I am these people!” William shouted. “I’m a Miller! You were just the help. A pathetic, bitter little man living in someone else’s shadow—”
“Say that again, you smug little bastard.”
“I will run that company,” William growled. “With or without your cooperation.”
The tension between them was a live wire sparking down the hallway.
I didn’t wait to hear more.
If they were fighting, they weren’t watching.
Now.
I sprinted.
Or tried to.
My legs protested, shaking beneath me with every step, but I forced them to move. Every ounce of adrenaline I had left surged into my muscles as I reached the door, threw it open—
—And ran.
Outside.
The cold air hit me like a slap.
I didn’t stop.
Trees blurred past on either side, the forest dense and unforgiving, but I didn’t care. I ran like the devil himself was behind me.
I ran harder.
Branches slashed my arms. My bare feet tore on rocks and roots. My lungs burned. My vision blurred from exhaustion and tears and fear—
But I kept going.
Because I wasn’t just running from them.
I was running toward something.
Freedom.
Survival.
Justice.
And if I had to crawl through hell to get it?
Then so be it.
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