Chapter 9

Her hand latched to the cold metal of the knob, half expecting resistance when she turned it, but it gave away without pause. The door opened slowly with a lazy creaky sound that almost sent her shutting it back immediately. She froze, her pulse jumping in her throat, eyes darting down the long, shadowed hallway.

Goosebumps pricked her skin and she waited for a voice to yell at her or a barrel of gun to meet with her forehead. But when none of it came she moved forward, stepping out of the room for the second time that day.

Despite her strong resolve, she was trembling inside. The light from the huge window across the hallway made her feel exposed than she already was and she briskly turned back to it, heading to the opposite direction of where she knew the staircase was.

She wasn’t going to risk him finding her, or risk bumping into the men that may still be in the house so she treaded carefully along the wall line, her breath hitching with every door that she passed.

The house was quite huge, it was easily discernible from them little she had seen and if it was a little like her father house, then there ought to be an another back door leading downstairs.

She almost leaped with joy when she sighted a large door ant the opposite end of the hallway made her but as she mindlessly moved to cross over to it, the door right before it opened.

She froze, her heart nearly slamming out of her chest as the door swung wide. Two men, both tall and broad-shouldered in their dark suits, stepped into the hallway. They were deep in conversation, their voices low and rough in a language she didn't fully grasp.

Elara pressed herself back into the shadows of a recessed archway, her fingers digging into the cold stone of the wall. She held her breath until her lungs burned, praying the sunlight from the window wouldn't cast her shadow to the other side of the hall.

The men paused just a few feet from her. One of them reached into his jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. The flick of his lighter sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hall. She watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling, her eyes wide, her body trembling so hard she was sure the floorboards would vibrate.

"Lorenzo non molla. Non sfidarlo," one of them muttered, side eyeing the one next to him

She had no idea what his words meant but heaved as sigh of relief as they finally began to walk away, not for once glancing at the wall she was pressed against .

She waited until the sound of their feet faded completely before she dared to move. Her legs felt like water, but she forced herself toward the large door at the end of the hall.

She reached for the handle, her palm slick with sweat. It turned.

Instead of a staircase like she had expected, she found herself on a narrow, sun-drenched balcony. Below her, the estate stretched out in a blur of green and white. The garden or what seems we like a garden was massive, a maze of stone paths and tall, manicured hedges.

She scanned the grounds, making sure the place was really as empty as it seems but her view was blocked by the roof of the tall trees.

Her gaze shifted to the perimeter. A high stone wall circled the entire property, topped with iron spikes that glinted in the light. But near the far east corner, a heavy oak door sat nestled under a thick canopy of ivy.

A service gate.

She looked back at the balcony railing. It was wrapped in thick, old vines that snaked down toward a lower terrace. There was no staircase leading downstairs but….

She didn't let herself think about the height. She gripped the stone railing so tight her knuckles went white, and swung her legs over the edge.

The stone was hot under her palms. The fabric of her dress hitched up her thighs as she found a foothold in the twisted vines. Her bare toes stung as they scraped against the rough wall, but she kept moving, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps.

Halfway down, a vine snapped.

She let out a choked sound, her fingers clawing at the wall until she found a new grip. She hung there for a second, her chest heaving, looking down at the drop.

She swallowed. She’d surely break more than bone if she fell from here.

Keep moving, she told herself. Don't look at the ground, Just keep moving.

She reached the terrace and dropped the last few feet, her knees buckling as she hit the stone. She didn't wait to recover. She stayed low, using the large terracotta pots and stone benches as cover, creeping toward the line of hedges.

The grass was cool and damp under her feet as she left the stone behind. She reached the hedges and ducked inside the greenery, the branches scratching at her arms. She moved like a ghost, she felt sleek and unseen like one until a voice broke through her delusion.

‘You should’ve taken the stairs’.