Prologue: The Betrayal and Escape

Anastasia Greene Johnson

  The night was cold as stone. Somehow, it felt colder still with a frightened, sobbing three-year-old in my arms. My son’s cries climbed higher as lightning struck the nearest power pole, making even me flinch and shrink into the corner of the telephone box. But I couldn’t stay there forever.

  It was one of those nights when London decided to throw its toys out of the pram. When I’d left home, the weather had been perfectly pleasant. Now the rain was coming down in sheets, and, naturally, I didn’t have an umbrella.

  Only now did I truly understand what that vile bitch had meant—and what it was like to be completely powerless. ‘He’ had been adamant that I never work, insisting I use ‘his’ card even for the most insignificant purchases. He never let me leave the house without bodyguards, never allowed me to speak freely to anyone, never let me form new relationships unless ‘he’ approved. . . Because that was precisely what ‘he’ wanted: to make me so utterly dependent on ‘him’ that I couldn’t function without ‘him’. So that when a moment like this came, I wouldn’t have the means to escape.

  And yet here I was, running away with a child in the middle of a storm-lashed night.

  Because the man I’d loved with every scrap of myself, the man I’d handed everything to, had shattered me so completely that fleeing with nothing felt safer than staying. I had never depended on anyone the way I’d depended on ‘him’. ‘He’ had pulled me from the darkest corners of my life time and time again. . . until somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten that the same person who could lift me up could also be the one to throw me away.

  Still, it was fine.

  I could rebuild my life without ‘him’. I’d been someone before ‘him’. After Dad passed, I’d had no one to lean on; I’d looked after Mom and my brother on my own. I could do it again. Better this time—

  But that was the adrenaline talking.

  As the anger and desperation ebbed, reality crept in and settled like a weight on my chest. A woman alone with a crying child on the streets this late at night was hardly a recipe for safety. Anything could happen. Most possibilities weren’t exactly comforting.

  Tears slipped down my cheeks as I tried to soothe my son, whispering soft nonsense into his ear even though I knew I was living through hell with a heartbeat.

  Just as I was on the verge of completely falling apart, a sleek BMW pulled up outside the booth. A man dressed in black stepped out first, umbrella in hand, and opened the rear door.

  I immediately shrank further into the corner, trying—and failing—to make myself invisible.

  Please, God. . . don’t let it be ‘him’. Or one of ‘his’ men.

  Then a pair of expensive heels appeared beneath the umbrella. A tall, strikingly beautiful young woman emerged from the car.

  The moment I recognised her face, relief rushed through me. She approached the booth with concern and confusion written across her features.

“Cutie pie? ¿Estás bien? (Are you okay?)” she asked anxiously, peering inside.

  Then her expression crumpled when she spotted the blood on my forehead.

“Jesus! What happened to you? How did you get hurt?”

  She stepped inside without hesitation and shut the door behind her, examining the wound.

“God. . . this looks awful. How did this happen?”

  That was all it took. Whatever remained of my composure snapped like a frayed thread, and I collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t realise how desperately I needed a shoulder to cry on until now.

“It’s okay. Please, calm down,” she murmured soothingly. “Tell me what happened. Why would you call me from a telephone booth in the middle of the night?”

  My sobs stole my breath, and my son began crying even harder when he saw me. The woman gently took him from my arms and tried to settle him herself.

  Thankfully, he eventually quietened.

“That’s right. No need to cry. Look, Auntie’s here,” she cooed in a childish voice.

  To my surprise, he giggled and wrapped his little arms around her neck.

  Eventually, I managed to pull myself together and rested against the glass wall of the booth.

“Come on. Let’s get into the car and talk, shall we? The weather’s dreadful,” she suggested.

  Given the circumstances, I couldn’t see any reason to refuse her help.

“So, what happened? Why are you here? Where’s Mano (brother)? Is everything alright?” Questions tumbled from her the moment we settled into the car, worry etched into every line of her face. “Did you two have a fight?”

  I laid my son beside me. Thankfully, he’d already drifted back to sleep.

  At my silence, my sister-in-law’s frown deepened. She released a weary sigh.

“Ay, Dios (Oh, God). . . I know you two haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye these past few weeks. But it can’t be so bad that you’d leave in the middle of the night.” Her gaze shifted towards my son. “And you took Ruslan with you? Really, Ana? Does Mano know? He’d never have let you leave like this if he knew.”

  She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out her phone.

“Let me call him—”

“NO!”

  I snatched the phone from her with the desperation of a drowning woman grabbing for a lifeline.

“You will not call ‘him’, Natalie! You will not tell ‘him’ anything!” I snapped.

  My sister-in-law stared at me as though I’d completely lost my mind. Perhaps I had, after all the rage, grief and sheer desperation.

  But one thing remained crystal clear — I was never going back to ‘him’.

“Ana,” she said slowly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because ‘he’ wouldn’t care.”

  Her brows knitted together.

“There’s no way in this world that he, of all people, wouldn’t care, Ana. Not even if he were furious with you. He’d tear the whole damn city apart if he knew you—”

“‘He’ came home drunk. With ‘his’ mistress.” The words finally escaped me. “‘He’s probably in bed with her right now. Why would ‘he’ care, Nats?”

  Natalie fell silent, struggling to process what I’d just said.

“What?”

“‘His’ childhood betrothed,” I whispered, my throat tightening around the words.

  Her lips parted.

  Then closed.

  Then opened again.

“Valerie?”

  My jaw tightened at the name, anger burning so fiercely it blurred the edges of everything.

“Who else? Did ‘he’ have another woman before or after her? If ‘he’ did, just tell me. It’ll only give me one more reason to leave.”

  Natalie stared at me for several seconds before scoffing. “Right. Enough with the jokes. Now tell me what really happened—”

  I threw the photographs onto her lap.

  She picked them up without a word. One by one, she looked through them. And with every photograph, the colour drained from her face.

“Ana. . . this is. . . There’s no way. He would never do this.” She shook her head, as though refusing to let the evidence settle.

  I gave a bitter laugh, my heart already in pieces because the photographs needed no explanation. My husband and that vile woman were tangled together in bed.

  Seven years together since high school. Three years married. A child we’d raised together.

  And this was what I’d been handed in return.

  Betrayal. The cruelest kind.

“‘He’ wouldn’t?” My voice cracked. “But ‘he’ did, Nats. Can’t you see the photos?”

“They’re fake! Photoshopped! Don’t you know how madly he loves you? Why would he—”

“This isn’t the only thing ‘he’ did, Nats!” The words tore out of me. “‘He’ killed our children!”

  Natalie went rigid. Horror spread across her face.

“That’s right,” I breathed. “The miscarriage I had a few months ago? It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t because I was too weak to carry my babies. ‘He’ arranged it with Dr. Owen. He poisoned my food with prescribed pills to kill them because ‘he’ didn’t want another one of ‘his’ children born from me.”

  Tears poured down my face as I gripped her shoulders.

“Because I’m nothing but a filthy country-bum to ‘him’! Your brother is a heartless murderer, Natalie! A friggin’ murderer!”

  Natalie stared at me in stunned silence, then looked down at the photographs again. This time, she didn’t question them. It was as though the truth had finally found its way through every wall she’d built against it.

“Are you still going to defend ‘him’ simply because ‘he’s your brother?” I asked shakily.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me—broken, helpless and barely holding myself together. Then she pulled me into her arms.

“I. . . I’m sorry, Ana,” she whispered, stroking my back. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he did this to you. . . I thought he would be better than our father. That he’d be better. But no. Seems he became just like him after all. I hate saying this because he’s my brother, but he’s a monster for doing this. A complete monster.”

  For a long time, I sobbed against her until there was nothing left inside me to cry.

  Eventually, Natalie ran her fingers carefully over the cut on my forehead. Anger simmered beneath her gaze.

“Did he hit you?”

  I sniffed. “No. She did. She’s the one who sent me the photographs and the voice recording of ‘him’ talking to Dr. Owen about the miscarriage.”

  My hands curled into fists.

“She even made me listen to the recording of them while they were. . . fucking. ‘He’ told her he loved her, Natalie. Not me. He kept apologising to her for ignoring her for years.”

  Natalie shut her eyes in disgust, her hand continuing to rub my back. “Ana, I promise I won’t let this go simply because he’s my brother. I’ll confront him myself—”

“Don’t,” I shook my head firmly. “Don’t tell ‘him’ anything. Not until I’m gone with Ruslan. Please.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I need your help, Nats.”

  I seized her hands, desperation clawing at my voice.

“‘He’s probably asleep now, or fucking that homewrecking bitch. So ‘he’ won’t notice I’m gone yet. This is the only chance I’ll get. I have to run with Ruslan before ‘he’ comes after us and kills us too. ‘He’ won’t let me live if he thinks I’ll tell the world what ‘he’s done. I have to disappear, Nats. You need to—”

“Ana, calm down!”

  Natalie caught my shoulders and gently dabbed my face with her handkerchief.

“I understand what you’re feeling, but running away like this won’t solve anything. You have to face him so that—”

“I don’t want to, Natalie! I don’t care!”

  I broke down again.

“I don’t want to punish ‘him’. I don’t want legal battles. I know none of it will matter. ‘He’s rich, powerful—the CEO of Johnson Global Tech. ‘He’ could buy justice or make evidence disappear! You know that better than anyone, Natalie. ‘He’s a friggin’ psychopath! No matter where I go afterwards, ‘he’ll find me. He’ll make my life and Ruslan’s unbearable. I can’t let that happen!”

  I dragged in a shaky breath, trying to force down the lump lodged in my throat, then clasped her hands once more.

“So please. . . help me disappear. That’s all I’m asking. You can let your brother live happily ever after with ‘his’ mistress. Just help me get away from ‘him’. Because if you don’t, I’ll have to spend the rest of my life trapped in this misery. Do you want that? Didn’t you call me your sister when I first started dating ‘him’? Won’t you help your sister now?”

  She stared at me for a long moment, sorrow slowly breaking through her expression.

  Then she sighed.

“Fine. Tell me where you want to go. I’ll book you a flight.”

“No! Nothing official. No paperwork, no online trail. ‘He’ will track me. You know what ‘he’s like, Nats. I can’t take a normal flight.”

“Then how are you planning to leave?” she asked, bewildered.

  I didn’t know. I only knew I had to run.

  Then an idea struck me.

“A disguise. I need to disguise myself. Make a fake ID, then board a flight.”

“But that’ll take ages.”

“Not if you help me,” I pleaded. “Come on, Nats. I know how much money and influence the Johnsons have. That’s why I came to you. You have to help me and Ruslan get fake IDs and passports before dawn—before ‘he’ wakes up. Please!”

  She stared at me, utterly stunned.

“But, Ana, it’s incredibly risky. You can’t just—”

“I’m not afraid of risks anymore. I’m afraid of living with a monster.” My voice hardened. “Please, Nats. I’m begging you.”

  I squeezed her hands. She studied me for a moment before finally exhaling.

“Fine.”

  Then she turned towards the driver.

“Take us to Newham. And drive fast. We haven’t got much time.”

  And just like that, we were gone.

  True to my request, Natalie somehow secured fake passports for Ruslan and me before dawn and took us towards Heathrow. A direct flight anywhere would have been too easy to trace, so I’d planned to split the journey into two legs—Canada first, then the United States.

  Before we boarded, Natalie pressed a wad of cash into my hands, along with whatever else she had on her. I refused to take a card. Card transactions were far too easy for ‘him’ to trace.

“Be safe,” she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.

  She kissed Ruslan’s head.

“I know you don’t want to risk getting caught, but please call me at least once when you reach wherever you’re going. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re both safe.”

  I nodded and hugged her one last time before heading towards the boarding area.

  And as I walked away, I made myself a promise — I would never face ‘him’ again. Even if I had to crawl my way through life to survive, I would never turn back.

  Because once a love is lost, it simply cannot be found again.

• • •