Semua Bab BILLIONAIRE'S LIES: Bab 161 - Bab 170

Benedict sat at the kitchen table, running his fingers over the rim of his coffee cup as steam curled up into the air and vanished into the morning light. The sun spat out rays that tenderly bathed the room, but the warmth did little to thaw the cold thoughts that gripped him. Clara transferring to the mental health facility had been unforeseen, but Benedict knew her too well. She was always on the next corner, always making the long play. It had already been years that they had last seen each other, but time and again every time he thought of getting out and away from her, she invented a new twist to bring him back. The soft sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see Sabrina entering the room. The presence of her was like a balm to his soul. Her eyes were filled with quiet concern, soothing the harsh edges of his thoughts. Her steps were light, almost whispering in the air, as she walked toward him. "What's wrong, Benedict?" she asked with her soft but a

Clara sat on her cot, her shoulders curved forward in what might have been exhaustion or deep thought. Her hair fell softly around her face as she gently rocked, humming to herself - perhaps finding comfort in the rhythm and melody that made sense to her, even if others couldn't follow its pattern. Her eyes moved across the room, taking in her surroundings in a way that suggested she was processing her environment, even if differently than others might. While the staff saw behaviors they needed to document, there was a person there - Clara - experiencing this moment in her own way.Inside, though, Clara was far from lost. She was calculating. Her plan was working out nicely. The staff, kind-hearted and wanting to aid her, were starting to accommodate her: let her walk outside for longer, take her in the recreation room, and conduct private therapy with her. All these concessions edged her closer to the freedom she wanted—and revenge she had envisioned. "Good morning, Clara," Nurse Ele

Clara waited patiently in the dimly lit corridors of the mental health facility. The guardians were distracted by some new minor commotion in another wing. The hall outside her room became unguarded. She was sitting calmly on her cot, imagining things. Tonight was the night for her escape. She had planned everything very carefully - each and every step of the escape.The nurse went around making rounds and stopped at Clara's door, knocking gently before entering."Clara? How're we doing tonight?" the nurse asked as she entered in a calm professional voice.Clara smiled faintly, her face curiously innocent. When the nurse turned her back to adjust the chart on the bedside table, Clara moved swiftly. She reached for the metal pitcher on the nightstand and brought it down upon the nurse's head over the back of her head with enough force to knock her unconscious.The nurse collapsed onto the floor, her clipboard clattering loudly against the tiles. Clara ducked down and ensured she was no

Clara did not know, but a person sitting not too far from the center of the car had noticed odd behavior from Clara. A male in his early thirties, wearing a leather jacket and sporting a worn backpack, kept looking her way. He had gotten on at the same station and could remember seeing her pause by the platform, her movements furtive.She's hiding something, he thought to himself, instincts honed over years working as a private investigator.He shot a discreet photo of Clara. Her face was masked, and her entire body seemed tensed. He brought up his local news app to scan through headlines for the past several days.It didn't take long to find the article: "Convicted Criminal Escapes Mental Health Facility." The grainy photo of Clara accompanying the article was unmistakable.The man's heart was racing as he glanced back toward her. She was staring out the window now, seemingly lost in thought. Should I report this? Or follow her and see where she's going?He thought for a moment befor

Clara opened her eyes and looked out at the darkened countryside, the lights of the small town fading into the distance. Her smirk returned as she thought about the news reports and the manhunt. The media could paint her as a dangerous criminal all they wanted. In her mind, this was no escape—it was a reclamation of power. They thought they had her caged, their rules and walls capable of holding her. But Clara knew better. She always had a way out."They think they're hunting me," she whispered to herself, the words muffled by the soft hum of the train. She trailed a finger along the edge of her seat, her mind tallying up what she needed to do next. "But they're the ones being played."But it wasn't just freedom. It was proof she could outsmart them all—doctors, guards, boys in boots. Even Benedict. Her lips were clamped shut at the thought of that smirk on his face. Benedict Thompson. The man who thought he was better than she, who'd stolen her power and sent her to rot in a cold, st