"No, Seraphina, it's not what you think," I said, trying to defend myself. I took a step toward her, hoping to explain, but she backed away, her expression turning cold.
"You're a whore, Ate," she spat, the words hitting me like a punch to the chest. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, unable to stop them from falling. I had always known that she favored Isabella over me, but I thought it was something I could bear. Seeing her react like this, though, made it clear that she had already chosen sides without even trying to talk to me first or hear my side of the story.
"Amarra," Wayne called out, reaching to touch my shoulder, but I quickly shrugged him off.
"Don't touch me," I snapped, glaring coldly into his eyes before turning and walking away.
I stepped outside, spotting a cab idling nearby. Without a second thought, I flagged it down and told the driver to take me to the airport. I didn't know where I was going, only that I needed to get away—from everyone and everything. Seraphina would undoubtedly tell Isabella about what she'd seen, and I couldn't bear the thought of facing the fallout. I hadn't even had the chance to explain, but then again, I didn't owe anyone an explanation. They were all suffocating me, and leaving felt like the only solution.
The city streets blurred past the window as we sped toward the airport. The familiar sights—buildings, billboards, people—felt like they belonged to someone else's life, not mine. My mind raced, trying to grasp the reality of what I was doing. I was running away. Not just from my family, but from everything that had defined me for so long. The thought brought a strange mix of dread and relief, like the first breath after being underwater for too long.
When we arrived at the airport, the bright lights and bustling activity jarred me from my thoughts. I stepped out of the cab, feeling the cool night air on my skin, and hurried toward the entrance. The automatic doors slid open, welcoming me into the sterile, fluorescent-lit terminal. It was late, but the airport was still alive with travelers, each absorbed in their own journey.
At the ticket counter, I approached a young woman with a polite smile who seemed unfazed by the late hour. "I need a ticket to Canada," I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and after a moment, she asked, "When would you like to depart?"
"The earliest flight you have," I replied, not caring about the details—just the escape.
She found an immediate flight, but the price was steep. I didn't flinch. "I'll take it," I said, pulling out my card. As she processed the payment, she glanced up at me, her curiosity evident. I was standing there in casual clothes, with no luggage, no signs of a planned trip.
"Thank you. Please enjoy your vacation," the staff member said with a forced smile as she handed me my ticket. Her words felt hollow, like she knew I wasn't headed for a vacation but rather an escape.
I found a seat near the gate, away from the other passengers. The terminal was a hive of activity, with travelers moving in every direction, but I felt like I was in a bubble, detached from it all. My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket, but I couldn't bring myself to look at the messages. The thought of reading their words, filled with demands or accusations, made my stomach turn. So I silenced the device and shoved it back into my bag, focusing instead on the soft hum of airport life around me—the announcements, the rolling suitcases, the distant chatter of families and solo travelers alike.
As the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, I stood and made my way to the gate, my heart pounding in my chest. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on the shiny floors, reflecting my solitary figure as I moved toward the boarding line. A staff member, a man with kind eyes and a slightly furrowed brow, took my boarding pass. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to my hands, empty of luggage.
"You don't have any luggage, miss?" he asked, his voice gentle but concerned.
I met his gaze, my eyes tired but resolute. "Do I look like I have any?" I replied, my tone colder than I intended.
He flinched slightly, but recovered quickly, nodding and handing me my boarding pass. "Have a safe flight," he offered, though the words seemed to lack conviction. I didn't reply, instead turning to walk down the jet bridge, my steps echoing in the narrow passageway.
Once inside the plane, I found my seat by the window and sank into it, my body heavy with exhaustion. The interior of the plane was dimly lit, the soft hum of the engines providing a comforting background noise. I buckled my seatbelt and stared out the window, watching as the ground crew moved about with precision, preparing the plane for takeoff.
As the plane began to taxi, my heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination. The runway lights zipped past, and with a final lurch, we lifted off the ground. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching as the city below shrank into a sea of twinkling lights. Each passing second took me further away from the life I was fleeing, yet the weight of what I was leaving behind clung to me like a shadow.
The flight attendants moved quietly through the cabin, offering drinks and snacks, but I waved them off, unable to muster any interest in food. My mind was racing, yet strangely blank. What was I really running from? And what was I running toward? Canada was just a name, a place far enough away to escape the suffocation, but it wasn't a solution—just a pause, a breath of air before I had to face reality again.
As the plane climbed higher, the city lights disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds, leaving only darkness outside the window. I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep, but my thoughts wouldn't quiet. I could still feel Wayne's touch on my hand, the way his fingers had pressed gently into my skin, and the anger and confusion that had surged through me in that moment.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I had made my choice. There was no turning back now.
After a few hours, I finally arrived in Canada. The air was crisp and biting as I stepped out of the airport, a stark contrast to the warmth I had left behind. I quickly hailed a taxi and told the driver to take me to the nearest hotel. As we drove off, the cold seeped through my thin, casual clothing—a nightgown that was hardly suitable for the Canadian chill. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I had as the cityscape of Canada blurred past the windows.
The taxi driver glanced back at me occasionally, perhaps wondering what had brought me here in such an unusual state. But he said nothing, and I was grateful for the silence. The city was alive with lights and activity, yet it felt distant, almost as if I were watching it through a fog. My thoughts were miles away, still tangled in the mess I had left behind.
When we reached the hotel, I hurried inside, eager to escape the cold. The lobby was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the biting wind outside. I approached the front desk, where a friendly clerk greeted me. "I'd like a room, please," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The clerk processed my request quickly, handing me a key card with a polite smile.
"Your room is on the third floor. Please enjoy your stay," he said, but the words barely registered.
I took the elevator up, the soft hum of it providing a brief moment of calm. When I reached my room, I opened the door and stepped inside, immediately closing it behind me as if to shut out the world. The room was small but comfortable, with four walls that seemed to offer the solitude I so desperately craved. It was quiet here, almost unnervingly so, but in that silence, I felt a sense of peace, as if I could finally breathe.
I turned on the heater, feeling the warmth gradually fill the room, and made my way to the bed. The mattress was firm but inviting, and I sank into it, exhausted. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my left arm draped across my forehead. The events of the past few hours played over and over in my mind like a broken record. But now, in the stillness of this foreign place, the chaos seemed distant, and I could finally let my guard down.
The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. I could hear the faint hum of the heater and the distant sounds of the city below, but it was all muted, as if the world outside was a million miles away. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was alone—with my thoughts, my fears, my regrets.
As I lay there, I felt the tension slowly drain from my body. The warmth of the room enveloped me like a comforting embrace, and the bed seemed to cradle me, offering a small reprieve from the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me. I closed my eyes, letting out a long, deep breath, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine that this was a fresh start—a chance to leave everything behind and begin anew.
But deep down, I knew that the peace I found here was temporary. The issues I had fled from would eventually catch up with me, but for now, I was content to let them remain distant. I had crossed an ocean to find this moment of quiet, and I wasn't ready to let it go just yet.
Kaelan's POV
"Damn it, find her immediately!" I shouted into the phone, my voice laced with frustration and desperation. I had tasked someone with locating her, but the longer it took, the more anxious I became. I was driving down a dark, deserted road, the silence only amplifying the pounding of my heart. My mind raced with possibilities, but none of them led me to her. She was nowhere to be found.
I had already called the staff at her condo, hoping she might have gone back home, but they confirmed that she hadn't returned. That left me with nothing but the grim realization that she must have taken a taxi, but where to? I had no idea. The uncertainty gnawed at me, driving me to keep searching, even as the night grew darker and the roads more empty.
My fiancée's calls kept lighting up my phone, but I ignored them all. Right now, I couldn't care less about anything but finding her. Every ring, every vibration, felt like a distraction from what truly mattered. The thought of losing her was unbearable. She was slipping through my fingers, and I couldn't let that happen. Not again.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as I pushed the car faster, searching every shadow, every passing car, hoping for some sign of her. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sounds were the hum of the engine and my own ragged breathing. My mind was a whirlwind of memories and regrets, each one fueling the determination that drove me forward.
"I still have her," I muttered to myself, the words more a desperate mantra than a statement of fact. "I still do." But with every passing minute, the fear that I might be too late grew stronger. I couldn't afford to lose her. I had to find her, no matter what it took. The thought of her out there, alone and vulnerable, spurred me on. I wasn't going to stop until I found her.