CHAPTER 8: The Great Escape

(Helen’s POV)

The drive back to the neighborhood where my family’s estate was located took a little over an hour. My thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind. I knew that house was only a temporary rental for the wedding; as soon as the transition was complete, my father intended to move my sisters far away from Chicago, all the way down to Texas. I had to act today, or I would never see my girls again.

I was wearing simple but high-quality clothes I found in the penthouse closet: tight black leggings that allowed me to move easily, and a looser, oversized hoodie over it.

When the armored car pulled up in front of the house, Damian’s two burly security guards climbed out first. They scanned the surroundings suspiciously before opening the door for me.

"We’ll be waiting right out here, Mrs. Vance. Don't be long," one of them warned, crossing his arms.

"I'm just going to grab my books and say goodbye to my sisters," I replied, keeping my voice steady as I walked inside.

The moment I crossed the threshold, Sienna and Bianca ran toward me, their eyes red from crying. I pulled them into a tight embrace, choking back the lump that threatened to close off my throat.

"Helen... what did he do to you?" Sienna whispered, staring at my lower lip, which was still slightly swollen.

"I'm fine, truly. Listen to me, I don't have much time," I spoke quietly, glancing toward the window to ensure Damian’s men weren't listening. "I’m going to find a way out of this. I promise I’ll come back for both of you when it's all over. Don't lose hope."

I rushed up to my old bedroom. I went straight to the back of the closet, where there was a loose floorboard. Hidden beneath it was my small pouch containing a lifetime of savings and my real identification papers. I pulled the cash out and shoved it deep between my breasts, adjusting my sports bra. The volume was perfectly concealed beneath the oversized hoodie. I grabbed a small backpack, tossed three random literature books inside just to create bulk, and headed back down.

I said goodbye to my sisters with one more painful embrace and walked back to the armored car. The guards took my backpack, tossed it into the trunk, and we climbed into the vehicle, beginning the trek back to downtown Chicago.

My hands were sweating cold. The cash felt warm against my skin, and the adrenaline sent my pulse skyrocketing. I needed an opportunity. I looked out the window and spotted a massive chain pharmacy on a bustling corner, packed with pedestrians and heavy traffic. This was my only shot.

"I need you to pull over right there," I said, pointing toward the pharmacy.

The guard in the passenger seat turned around, his brow furrowing.

"Master Damian ordered us to drive straight to the penthouse, ma'am."

"It's a women's emergency," I shot back, injecting the sharpest, most authoritative tone I could muster. "I need to buy tampons and some personal hygiene products. Are you going to forbid me from taking care of my basic needs, or are you going to give me five minutes?"

The two men exchanged a glance, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. None of the syndicate's heavy-handed henchmen wanted to argue about female intimacy.

"Fine. But we are going inside with you," the driver conceded, pulling the car up to the curb.

"Do whatever you want, but stay away from the feminine hygiene aisle. I don't want two brutes looming over me while I choose my products," I retorted, throwing the car door open the second the vehicle came to a stop.

We entered the brightly lit, crowded pharmacy. As agreed, the two guards stationed themselves near the main entrance, watching the crowd with their hands concealed beneath their jackets, where they were clearly carrying their weapons.

I walked at a brisk pace toward the back of the store, pretending to look for the correct aisle. My eyes, however, scanned every sign in the place. I passed the medication shelves and, right next to the pharmacist's counter, I spotted a grey door with a glowing green sign: Emergency Exit.

I glanced back. The two guards were distracted for a split second, watching a customer who had just walked in smoking.

I didn't think twice. I slammed my body against the emergency door’s push bar. To my absolute relief, the door didn't trigger a loud audible alarm; it simply gave way, opening directly into a narrow, bustling Chicago alleyway.

The city’s freezing air slapped my face. I didn't look back. I started running with every ounce of strength my legs possessed, immediately melting into the crowd of pedestrians walking along the main avenue. My heart was hammering so violently it felt like it would shatter my ribs.

I sprinted down the sidewalk as if the demons of hell were snapping at my heels. I needed distance. I needed time.

I ran for three, four blocks, until my lungs felt like they were on fire. My eyes scanned everything, searching for a place to hide. I spotted a large, heavily wooded park a few streets over. It was my temporary refuge.

I strode into the park, trying to control my ragged breathing so I wouldn't look like a fugitive. I walked toward a denser area, thick with trees and bushes. Finding a bench hidden in the shadows, I threw myself onto it, curling my body tight. I pressed my head against my knees, my heart beating so loudly I was certain it could be heard from the outside.

The cash was still warm against my skin, nestled between my breasts. My mind worked desperately, trying to sketch out the next move. I needed a bus terminal, a ticket to anywhere far away from Chicago, somewhere Damian Vance could never reach me. But I didn't know the city; I had no idea where I was. The sheer panic of being hunted was beginning to paralyze me all over again.

I sat there, hidden, for what felt like an eternity. The silence of the park was broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of traffic. I had to move. Sitting still was signing my own death warrant.

Summoning my courage, I left my hiding spot and walked back toward the busy avenue. I needed to find a bus stop, a cab, anything to get me out of there. Night was already falling, and the city lights were beginning to flicker to life.

I spotted a bus stop on the opposite corner. I ran toward it, darting across the street without looking both ways, my desperation blinding my rationality.

The deafening screech of brakes sliced through the air.

I felt a violent impact against my left side. My body was launched into the air, crashing hard against the damp asphalt. Pain exploded in my head, and a cold darkness began to swallow me whole.

I tried to move, but my limbs refused to obey. I lay in the street, dizzy, unable to breathe. The noise of the city sounded distant, muffled.

Then, I felt a large, firm hand grip my shoulder. A harsh, arrogant voice echoed in my ear, sounding as though it were coming from a deep tunnel.

"Mrs. Vance? We warned you not to be long."

I forced my eyes open with agonizing difficulty. The faces of Damian’s two burly guards loomed above me, their expressions filled with pure fury and contempt. One of them held a gun, looking around suspiciously. The other pinned me down with force, ensuring I couldn't crawl away.

The panic roared back with full force. I tried to wrench myself free, but the pain in my head was unbearable. I was dizzy, weak, and the darkness was pulling me back under.

"Master Damian is not going to be happy about this," the other guard whispered.

My vision began to blur. The world spun. The last thing I heard before slipping away was:

"Sir? It's Vance. We have a problem."