Alessandra's hands trembled as she shoved the last of her essentials into the duffel bag. Her fingers moved quickly—unfolding, rolling, zipping—each second a taunt from the ticking clock that echoed in her chest. A low breath escaped her lips as she stood still for a moment, scanning her room for anything she might have missed.
This wasn't just another night at the Ricci estate. It was her last. Or at least, she hoped it would be.
She closed the closet door, yanked the zipper of her bag up fully, and swung it over her shoulder, her muscles tightening from the weight. But just as her hand reached for the doorknob—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She froze.
Not a guard's knock—no shouting, no urgency. Calm. Measured.
Still, dread coiled in her stomach as she opened the door slowly, peering out.
Genevieve Ricci stood on the other side.
Alessandra's older sister—the perfect daughter, the loyal heiress, the one who never questioned orders, who wore the Ricci name like a crown of roses and thorns. The sister who had looked away when Alessandra begged for help all those years ago. The one who had watched her crumble in silence.
Genevieve stepped inside without invitation, her eyes cool and calculating as she shut the door behind her.
Alessandra gripped her bag tighter. "What do you want?"
Genevieve's eyes swept over the packed bag on the bed, the restless pacing, the undone sheets. She didn't speak right away. Instead, she folded her arms and stared.
"I see you're planning your little rebellion," she said finally.
Alessandra opened her mouth, her breath hitching.
"I'm not going to stop you," Genevieve interrupted. "In fact... I'm going to help you."
The silence that followed hit like a thunderclap.
Alessandra blinked, stunned. "You... what?"
Genevieve walked over to the window, brushing aside the heavy drapes. "Don't make me repeat myself. We don't have time."
Alessandra's heart pounded against her ribs. She didn't trust this—couldn't. Not after years of being ignored, dismissed, watched suffer.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why now?"
Genevieve's lips curled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Because you were always the brave one. And because... I'm tired, Alessandra. Tired of pretending. Tired of being their puppet. This is the only help you'll get from me. Ever. So use it well."
Alessandra stared at her, emotions churning. It wasn't forgiveness—not yet—but it was a crack in the stone wall between them. A chance.
Wordlessly, she nodded.
The two sisters moved with quiet urgency. Genevieve grabbed the sheets from the bed while Alessandra double-checked her bag.
Minutes later, they knotted the makeshift rope and dropped it out the window. Alessandra hesitated, staring down at the dizzying distance below.
Genevieve's voice was low but firm. "You don't have a choice anymore."
Alessandra took a deep breath, looped her arm around the sheet, and began to descend. Her heart hammered with every slip, every creak of fabric. The wind bit at her skin, the cold night wrapping around her like a cloak.
She hit the ground hard, twisting her ankle slightly, but she didn't cry out. She didn't stop. She ran—barefoot and breathless—into the shadows.
Above her, Genevieve closed the window. And just like that, Alessandra was alone.
The Ricci estate's surrounding enclave was a heavily-guarded fortress of wealth and secrets. Cameras dotted the corners, men in suits patrolled discreetly behind hedges and black-tinted vehicles.
Alessandra stuck to the underbrush, ducking behind marble fences and creeping through flowerbeds, the cold earth biting into her skin with every step.
Her feet throbbed—cut, scratched, and freezing—but she didn't stop. Couldn't.
She didn't know how she made it past the estate gates, didn't remember the specific moments she slipped by the guards. Only that she ran, breath burning, limbs aching, her body screaming for rest, for safety.
When she finally made it to the outskirts of the district—the elite neighborhood where the Riccis reigned—her knees buckled. Still, she didn't stop. She pushed forward, each step dragging her closer to freedom.
Alessandra arrived at her penthouse apartment just before dawn. Her body was scraped and bruised, her lips cracked from the cold. But she had made it.
She pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of jasmine air freshener and untouched luxury greeted her. For a moment, she leaned against the wall, gasping, crying silently.
This wasn't just an escape.
It was survival.
Within an hour, she had booked the earliest flight to France.
She stared at the confirmation email on her screen, her hand trembling. Departure: 6:30 AM.
She had two hours to get to the airport.
She closed the laptop and looked out the window. The streets below buzzed with early commuters. The Ricci men would be looking for her any moment now. She was a Ricci, and no one left the family without consequence.
"Please," she whispered, "just let me make it through the airport."
Her phone remained off. She couldn't risk it being traced.
She slipped into a long coat, her heart thudding. Then, clutching the bag to her chest like it was her only lifeline, she stepped out once more into the world that wanted her trapped.
But she wasn't going to let it win.
Not this time.