CHAPTER TWO

“It doesn't matter what I want.” Justin replied.

I stared at him.

Maybe Justin wasn't my enemy. Maybe he was trapped too.

Or maybe-He was simply better at pretending.

Before I could ask another question, my father appeared in the doorway.

“Alicia.”

I turned. His eyes moved toward Justin. Then back to me.

“We'll talk tomorrow.”

It wasn't a suggestion.

Justin looked at me one last time.

“Goodnight, Alicia.”

I didn't answer. I walked past my father and went upstairs. But I could still feel Justin's eyes on me.

*

My father turned up the pressure slowly. Like a tide.

At breakfast: “You need to give Justin a chance.”

At lunch: “You're being unreasonable.”

In the car: “This isn't something you can simply refuse.”  Even his texts carried the same cold, formal tone. Make up your mind. It won't be forever. You'll understand when you're older. I refused every time.

Sometimes, I wondered if refusing was the only thing in my life that actually belonged to me.

I'd only ever dated one person.

James.

We met in high school, back when I was still young enough to believe sneaking around was worth the risk. James wasn't perfect. He wasn't some grand love story waiting to be written. He was simply the first person who made me feel normal. We met during break whenever we could, usually in chess and scrabble room. We'd sit on the floor, sharing cheap snacks and talking about university. About stupid things. About impossible things. About the future.

One afternoon, he took my hand.

“What do you want?”

I looked at him. “What?”

“With your life.”

I laughed. Nobody had ever asked me that before.

“I don't know.”

“Then figure it out.”

I looked down at our hands.

“You don't have to know yet,” he said.

For a while, I believed him. Then my father found out about him. Everything ended.

Quickly.

Questions. Warnings. Restrictions. Doors that had once been open suddenly locked. My father made sure I understood.

Wanting something could be dangerous. Especially if someone else didn't approve of it.

Years later, I still kept one photograph of James in the back of my drawer. Not because I wanted him back. I didn't. Sometimes, I barely remembered his voice. But I remembered who I had been with him. A girl who laughed too loudly. A girl who snuck out. A girl who believed her life belonged to her.

I missed her.

And now they expected me to marry Justin—a man I barely knew. A man whose last name fit perfectly beside mine- Alicia Hayes.  I tried to imagine it.

Walking down the aisle. My father's arm beneath mine. My mother's smile. Justin waiting at the end. Cameras flashing. Guests applauding. The Adams family. The Hayes family. The perfect marriage.

I imagined standing beside Justin in photographs. Smiling. Playing my part.

Then I imagined waking up years later.

Older. Still trapped. Still wondering what would have happened if I had left.

That thought terrified me. Not leaving. Staying.

Then I remembered Kayla. My best friend had moved to Italy four years earlier.

We used to promise each other the world between homework assignments and cups of coffee. Kayla had always been fearless.

She'd send me postcards. Sunlit streets. Tiny cafés. Crowded squares. Messy apartment windows.

Every postcard came with some ridiculous story about something she'd done without thinking twice.

One night, she sent me a postcard with only one sentence written across the back.

If you ever need to run, come.

I'd kept it. For four years, it had been hidden between the pages of an old book inside my desk drawer.

That night, I pulled it out. My fingers traced the edges. The words stared back at me. If you ever need to run, come. I didn't know if she still meant it. I didn't know if she could take me in. I didn't even know if she would answer.

But for the first time— I allowed myself to think about leaving.

The thought felt impossible. Then terrifying. Then necessary. I opened my laptop. My hands trembled slightly as I searched for flights.

Italy. One way. No return. I stared at the screen. My heart hammered against my ribs.

Was I really going to do this? Leave everything? My parents? My home? My entire life?

I reached for my phone. Then stopped. Something moved outside. I froze. The curtains beside my bed shifted slightly.

My eyes moved toward the window. Nothing. I held my breath. The room was silent. Too silent. I slowly stood. One step. Then another. My fingers closed around the curtain. I pulled it back.

 The garden was empty. I let out a breath.

“Get a grip, Alicia.”

I turned away from the window. Then my phone buzzed. I jumped.

For a moment, I didn't move. Then I picked up the phone. It was just a random message.

The garden was still empty.

I let out a heavy sigh, scanned my room for some seconds then began to plan. I picked up my phone and checked my account balance. The money wasn't much. But it was mine.

I booked a one-way flight to Naples for the same weekday my parents were supposed to leave for Germany. For almost five minutes, I stared at the confirmation screen, my finger hovering over the final button.

One tap, and there would be no taking it back. My heart hammered against my ribs as I finally pressed it.

Purchase confirmed.

The words seemed to glow on the screen. My hands began to shake.

I had imagined this moment so many times. I thought I would feel free. Excited, even. Instead, a cold knot twisted in my stomach, and the sudden urge to be sick climbed up my throat.

I had just bought a ticket to Naples, Italy. And, somehow, it felt less like booking a flight and more like declaring war.

*

I didn't tell anyone, not my mother, not my father, not even Kayla.

I was afraid that if I told her, the plan would become real. And if it became real, there would be no pretending afterward.

The rest of the week dragged by painfully slowly.

I kept to myself, moving around the house as though nothing had changed, pretending I hadn't already made a reckless plan to elope.

Friday morning came.

Few minutes before my parents were due to leave for the airport, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

My mother stepped inside. She didn't say anything at first. She simply stood there, staring at me. For one terrifying moment, I wondered if she knew. If somehow, she'd seen straight through me.

“Alicia,” she finally said softly. “Your father wants what's best for you.”

I shook my head. “Then why does it feel like he's deciding my entire life for me?”

“Alicia, this isn't about what you want right now. It's about your future.”

“My future?” I let out a humorless laugh. “How can it be my future when I don't even get to choose it?”

“Your father loves you.”

“Then why doesn't he trust me enough to let me choose who I love?”

My mother sighed. “You think love is enough to build a life on?”

“I think I deserve the chance to find out.”

“Alicia, one day you'll understand why we're doing this.”

“Maybe I will,” I said quietly. “But that doesn't mean I'll forgive you for making the choice for me.”

Silence settled between us.

My mother stared at me for a long moment before her expression softened.

“I just want you to be happy.”

Something inside me cracked.

My lips trembled, and I looked away, but it was too late.

The tears came.

My mother crossed the room and pulled me into her arms, holding me so tightly that for a moment, I wanted to forget everything.

“Be good,” she whispered against my hair. “We'll talk about this when we're back.”

I lifted my head and looked at her.

When we're back.

She had no idea I wouldn't be here when she returned. The thought twisted something inside me.

I followed her downstairs. I told myself I should say goodbye to my father too.

He said nothing. His eyes met mine for a brief, unreadable moment before he turned and got into the car.

Then they were gone. I stood and watched as the car disappeared down the road. Only then did I return to my room and pull my suitcase from beneath the bed.

I began to pack. A couple of dresses. A sweater. Underwear. A toothbrush. My passport. The copy of a book Kayla loved.

 And the photograph of James. I held it for a long time. Then I slipped it into my suit case

By tomorrow, I'll be gone.

My phone buzzed. I froze.

An unknown number.

 Just five words.

Don't leave the house tomorrow.

My fingers went cold. I read the message again. And again.

Someone knew. But who?