Chapter 4

The fifteenth day. I don't know how I did it. Pure, animalistic instinct. A flicker of an open window, a moment of inattention from my captors. A desperate lunge. I ran. I ran until my lungs burned, until my legs screamed, until the world spun in a dizzying haze of pain and terror. My escape was a blur, a frantic scramble through unfamiliar streets, the taste of blood in my mouth, the echo of screams in my ears. I didn' t know where I was going, only that I had to be anywhere but there.

I ran until my body was a hollow shell, until exhaustion threatened to swallow me whole. Just as I thought I couldn't take another step, a sound reached me. Faint at first, then growing louder. Music. A live band. Laughter. A crowd.

My mind, still fractured by trauma, registered only one thing: people. Safety.

I stumbled towards the sound, driven by a primal need for salvation, oblivious to my tattered clothes, my bleeding wounds, my raw, public humiliation. I just needed to be seen. To be saved.

The music led me to a grand ballroom, bathed in the soft glow of elegant chandeliers. A charity gala. A sea of shimmering gowns and tailored suits. And there, on a brightly lit stage, was Joshua. My fiancé. He was delivering a powerful speech, his voice resonant, charismatic. He was talking about philanthropy, about giving back, about making a difference.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, cut short by a fresh wave of nausea. He had money to host lavish charity events, to fund musical performances, to deliver inspiring speeches. But no money, no time, no interest in saving me. The irony was a punch to the gut.

I stood there, naked except for the few rags clinging to my body, amidst the opulent crowd. My skin, a canvas of bruises, cuts, and cigarette burns, was exposed for all to see. The stench of my own fear and sweat seemed to cling to me, a stark contrast to the perfume and cologne that filled the air.

Every eye in the room turned to me. Every hushed conversation died. The music faltered, then stopped. All the glittering spotlights, meant for Joshua, for his grand charity, swiveled and focused on one single, broken figure. Me.

Joshua' s face, which had been radiating benevolent charm, contorted in an instant. The warmth drained from his eyes, replaced by a cold, hard glare. He didn't see me. He saw a spectacle. A problem.

He didn't rush to me, didn't embrace me, didn't even ask if I was hurt. His first words, delivered in a low, furious hiss, were laced with barely contained rage. "What in God's name are you doing, Haylee? Are you trying to ruin my keynote? Why are you always creating drama?"

Drama. The word struck me harder than any physical blow. Drama? Was this what he thought? The terror, the starvation, the torture, the unimaginable pain-was all of it just "drama" to him? My wounds, my scars, the profound agony I had just endured, were they just an inconvenience, a theatrical display designed to disrupt his perfect evening?

Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging against my raw skin. "Joshua," I sobbed, my voice a ragged whisper, "why didn't you save me? We've known each other since we were children. We were going to get married. Why would you let this happen?"

I tried to tell him, to explain the deeper horror, the life we had almost created. "I was pregnant, Joshua. Our baby-"

He cut me off, his hand raising, not to comfort, but to silence. "Enough, Haylee!" He pushed me away, a harsh shove that sent me stumbling backwards into the horrified crowd. His eyes, though filled with a flicker of something unreadable, were mostly cold, detached.

"You need to be sensible, Haylee," he said, his voice regaining its controlled, public tone. "You need to learn to behave. To be discreet." He glanced around at the gaping faces, the flashing cameras. "This isn't helping anyone. Your recklessness, your... performance... it's just proving my point."

"Performance?" I could barely whisper the word. He thought I was acting. He thought my agony was a show. I stared at him, at the man who was supposed to be my future, and saw a stranger. A monster.

The tears kept coming, an endless, silent river of grief and shock. His eyes remained dry, his expression unwavering. He had no tears for me. No pity. No love.