Chapter 7

The wine cellar door was locked.

Marcus stood in the basement, pulling hard on the heavy door. He was getting scared. The electronic lock blinked red—it wouldn't open. His hands shook as he typed the code again and again.

"Sir?" A security guard came up behind him with a flashlight. "Is everything okay?"

"The wine cellar won't open. Why?" Marcus sounded angry. He was used to getting what he wanted.

"Oh, that's been closed for repairs since this morning. The building sent letters to everyone last week."

The letter. Ava always read those letters while he did more important things. He never read it.

"Where's my wife?" Marcus asked. He sounded scared now.

The guard looked worried. "I haven't seen Mrs. Moretti since she left in her blue car at 9:30. She seemed to be in a hurry."

9:30. Thirty minutes ago. He had sent her to get wine from a place that was locked.

Marcus felt very cold.

The elevator ride back up felt like forever. Marcus felt sick. His perfect world was falling apart. Sophia and his dinner guests were still laughing and talking in the dining room.

"Marcus!" Sophia came into the hallway wearing a red dress. "Where's Ava with the wine? We're really thirsty!"

"She's... she'll be back," Marcus lied. "Keep everyone happy for a few more minutes."

But Marcus was already walking to their bedroom. Something told him to check if Ava was really gone.

Her jewelry box was missing.

Not just empty—completely gone. The old music box from her grandmother that played music was gone from the dresser. Marcus stared at the empty spot. He looked in the mirror and saw a man who was very scared.

"Marcus?" Sophia came to the door. Her voice was sharp now. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

"Check the closet," he whispered. "See if her clothes are still there."

Sophia walked to the big closet. Her high heels made noise on the floor. They waited.

"Her suitcases are gone," Sophia said quietly. "The good ones. And Marcus... there are empty spaces. Like someone carefully picked what to take and left the rest."

This wasn't a woman running away because she was upset. This was planned.

The airport was busy with people traveling late at night. I sat in a corner seat, holding my ticket to Toronto like it would save me. I watched rain run down the big windows.

Flight 447 to Toronto. Leaving at 1:45 AM. My escape to freedom.

The bright lights made harsh shadows on my face, but I liked being hidden. Here, with hundreds of strangers going to their own places, I was nobody. Not Marcus Moretti's wife. Not Sophia's forgotten sister. Not the fool who spent three years giving everything for love that wasn't real.

Just a woman with a one-way ticket and a future that was all mine.

While I waited, I remembered my grandmother Elena. Her old hands teaching me to braid my hair when I was seven. Her thick Italian accent. The way she watched people with eyes that saw everything.

"Little one," I could hear her voice from years ago, as clear as if she sat next to me. "Always have a way to escape. Don't trust anyone completely."

I could see her clearly—gray hair pulled back tight, sharp cheekbones, and knowing eyes that seemed to hold all women's secrets. She had been teaching me how to survive, hiding lessons in bedtime stories.

"Not even family?" my younger self had asked, sitting next to her in the old rocking chair. I was maybe nine or ten, still believing that family meant safety.

Elena's laugh had been bitter and cold. "Especially not family who treat you badly, child. Family can hurt you worst because they know exactly how."

She had been preparing me even then, hadn't she? For betrayals I couldn't imagine. For a future where people who said they loved me would be the ones who hurt me.

"But Grandma, how do you know who to trust?"

"You trust yourself first, always. Your feelings, your strength, your ability to survive when everyone else leaves you." Her fingers had gently combed through my hair. "And you remember that sometimes the kindest thing you can do for yourself is disappear."

I thought she was being dramatic, the way old women sometimes were. Now I understood she was giving me directions for this exact moment.

The money she left me wasn't just money—it was Elena's final gift. Her way of making sure I could escape when I needed to. She knew, somehow, that I'd need this freedom more than I'd ever need a husband's approval or a sister's love.

"Last call for Flight 447 to Toronto."

I stood up, carrying the small bag that held my entire future. Other people hurried to the gate, but I walked slowly and calmly. Each step took me further from the woman who begged for love and closer to who I was meant to be.

The plane engines started as I sat in my window seat, going to Toronto with no name. As the plane took off, the city lights below got smaller and further away, until they looked like stars against black sky.

Six hours later, I walked through the Toronto airport. Canadian ground was solid under my feet. Morning sun came through the big windows, making everything look gold and full of hope.

Elena's voice followed me into this new world: "Now you start again, little one. This time, the way you want."

Three days passed since the dinner party, and Marcus still couldn't find me.

He called every friend, every relative, everyone we both knew. The wine cellar story fell apart in hours—the building's security cameras showed me walking to the parking garage, not the basement. But by then, I was already gone like a ghost.

"She can't just disappear!" Marcus shouted as he walked back and forth in our apartment like a trapped animal. Sophia sat on our couch, looking less like a sad sister and more like a hunter planning her next kill. "Ava doesn't have the courage for this. She's probably hiding in some cheap hotel, waiting for me to come back with flowers and sorry words."

But he was getting scared. I could almost see it through the security cameras I had someone install weeks ago—tiny, hidden cameras that let me watch my old life fall apart from the safety of my new life.

"Marcus, honey," Sophia's voice was sweet but dangerous, "maybe we should think that she actually got brave. The way she looked at us that night... something was different about her."

"Different how?" Marcus stopped walking, his business mind finally working. "What aren't you telling me?"

Sophia waited too long to answer. "She said she knew about the hotel rooms. The matching necklaces. She seemed to know about... us."

The silence that followed was perfect. Through the camera on my safe laptop, I watched Marcus's face show confusion, understanding, and finally, fear.

"How much could she know?" His voice was almost a whisper.

Before Sophia could answer, the doorbell rang. Marcus went to the intercom like a man who just realized he might be in danger instead of in control.

"Delivery for Marcus Moretti," came the voice from downstairs.

Minutes later, Marcus signed for a package with shaking hands. Inside was one thing: a tablet, already turned on, with a video file ready to play.

My face filled the screen—not the broken, crying woman who ran away three nights ago, but someone new. Someone who looked straight into the camera with eyes that held secrets.

"Hello, Marcus. And hello, Sophia—I know you're watching too."

Through the security cameras, I saw them both freeze.

"By now you probably know I'm not hiding in some hotel room, crying and waiting for you to save me. That woman is gone. She died the night I heard you planning to kill me."

Marcus turned white. "Kill? What is she talking about? I never—"

"Oh, but you did." My recorded voice was calm, almost friendly. "Did you think I didn't hear you talking about the 'accident' you were planning? The insurance money you took out on me? The money you wanted so badly?"

Sophia grabbed Marcus's arm. "How could she know about—"