The Cost Of Freedom

What to do?… what to do?…

Her phone buzzed softly, dragging her attention back. The battery icon blinked red.

15%.

A sharp wave of panic washed over her.

“Of course,” she muttered bitterly. “Of course.”

She forced herself to breathe, slow and quiet, afraid even the sound of her own breath might betray her. The storeroom felt smaller now, the walls closing in as her thoughts raced wildly.

Think, Sarah. Think.

Her gaze dropped to the phone again—and then something sparked in her memory.

The lounge.

The apartment lounge.

At her apartment complex, the front desk always called residents whenever there was a visitor, a delivery, anything at all. She had received calls from them countless times.

Her fingers moved quickly as she dialed the lounge number from memory. The phone rang once but it was unreachable.

She tried again and again but it was still not going through.

Sarah inhaled and exhaled deeply before she tried again, her hands shaking now.

But the number wasn’t going through.

Her stomach sank. She glanced at the screen—and face scrunched up in realisation.

12:04 a.m.

Midnight had already passed.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. The lounge would be closed. Calls wouldn’t go through until morning.

“Damn it,” she whispered, her throat burning.

She leaned her head back against the cold wall, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the urge to scream.

Her phone vibrated again—another warning.

14%.

Sarah didn’t hesitate this time.

She powered it off.

The screen went black, plunging the storeroom into deeper quietenes.

She lowered her hand slowly, clutching the phone to her chest as if it were something precious, something fragile.

She have to escape tomorrow.

But how?

The thought both steadied and terrified her.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Wendy would be watching her closely now—watching every move, every breath. Her stepmother had always been subtle, always smiling, but Sarah finally saw her clearly. Wendy wasn’t foolish and she  wasn’t kind.

She was calculating and now she was extremely alert.

Sarah pressed her lips together, her jaw tightening.

But no matter how hard they watched her… no matter how tightly they locked her away…

She would not marry that man.

The image of Shawn Carter rose unbidden in her mind—his bloated face, his greedy eyes, the way his gaze had crawled over her skin as if she were already his possession.

Her stomach twisted violently.

“No,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice low but fierce. “I won’t.”

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, grounding herself in the feel of her own body, her own strength.

They could lock her in a storeroom.

They could sign contracts behind her back.

But they did not own her will.

Tomorrow morning, she would find a way out.

Somehow and surely.

And when she did, she would never come back.

At dawn, just as the first pale light seeped through the cracks in the storeroom door, Sarah’s ears caught a soft, familiar voice whispering from the other side.

“Sarah… Sarah, are you there?”

Her heart jolted, making Sarah immediately recover from her drowsiness.

“Nanny?” she called back, her voice barely a breath.

“Yes, child. It’s me—Alice.”

A flood of relief and confusion washed over her. How had Nanny Alice come here? Was it a dream?

There was the faint sound of keys jingling, soft footsteps moving cautiously.

“Hold on. I’ll get you out now.”

The door creaked open slowly, and there she was—Nanny Alice, the elderly woman who had quietly cared for Sarah since she was a child. Always in the background, always watching. The one who never said much but whose presence had been a thin thread of comfort in the cold house.

“T-thank you,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling as she reached for the wrinkled hand extended toward her.

Nanny Alice’s eyes were sharp and kind as she grasped Sarah’s hand firmly. “You must go now, before they wake. I have the spare keys to every lock in this house. The food truck just arrived with the morning delivery—I spoke with the driver. You can hitch a ride out the back gate. Don’t worry.”

Sarah’s cheeks flushed hot with a mix of hope and fear. Leaving like this—running away—would make Nanny the most suspicious person in the household.

“Nanny…” Sarah’s voice faltered. She didn’t know how to say what she felt.

Nanny Alice smiled softly, brushing Sarah’s hair back. “Don’t worry, child. I am old. Wendy won’t touch me. Now go. Be quick.”

Sarah nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She slipped from the storeroom, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

She moved quietly through the hallways, eyes sharp for any sign of danger.

At the back corridor, she spotted a maid approaching. Instinctively, Sarah ducked behind a pillar, holding her breath as the maid passed without a glance.

The back gate was just ahead, standing slightly ajar.

Freedom was within reach.

She crept forward and slipped through the gate, heart hammering as her lungs burning with anticipation.

Then she heard voices she would recognize even in her dreams.

“Mom, we have to make sure that wretched girl doesn’t escape.”

Sarah’s face drained of color. Her hands clenched into tight fists.

It was Matilda.

But she didn’t flinch. Not anymore. She had seen their true faces—cold, cruel, selfish.

She took a step toward the gate, ready to run.

Then another voice, softer but sharper, froze her in place.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Wendy said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “You will benefit from this too. The moment Sarah marries, she inherits the majority of the company shares our mother secretly left her. But a clause in the will says she only gets them if she’s married.”

Sarah’s breath hitched. It was hard to draw air in, her chest tightening painfully.

“Your father plans to marry her off to Mr. Shawn,” Wendy continued, voice cold and hard, “so he can seize control of the shares her wretched mother left behind.”

Matilda scoffed. “Why bother with all that? Father could just force her to sign the shares over.”

Wendy’s smile turned bitter. “That wretched Daniella put in a clause—Sarah must be married first. Didn’t you see the contract your father signed yesterday?”

Matilda nodded.

Wendy leaned closer, voice low and venomous. “Exactly. If that useless girl marries, your father gets eighty percent of the shares, Mr. Shawn gets twenty percent—and the pleasure of marrying her. That old geezer likes soft, virginal girls.”

Her words stabbed like knives.

“Everything will belong to you, darling. You just have to marry Jasper and be the baby girl.”

The truth slammed into Sarah with brutal force.

Her father, her stepmother, Matilda—they were all pieces in a cruel game designed to steal her life, her future, her inheritance.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she swallowed them back hard.

Not now. Not ever.

So that was the real reason her father was selling her—to steal what was hers by right.

She stepped back towards the gate, determination hardening inside her.

They wanted to drain her dry, crush her until nothing was left.

But she would fight.

Without hesitation, she darted out and slipped inside the food truck parked nearby.

The driver glanced at her, eyes sharp but kind.

No words were exchanged. Without wasting a second, the truck rumbled to life and pulled away, carrying Sarah far from the house that had been her prison.

Freedom lay ahead, uncertain and wild.

But would Sarah be able to claim it?