Heartbreak And Wars

Aloe's POV

The hours between morning and night felt endless.

Every tick of the clock sounded louder than usual, like a countdown marking the seconds I had left in the house that had become a prison. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a threat, taunting me with the possibility that Wakes might return early and catch me halfway through my escape.

I kept my bag tucked under the bed, hidden in the shadows, like a secret I wasn't ready to reveal.

The room around me blurred into something unreal. I went through the motions as if nothing was wrong. But inside, my nerves were frayed raw, and my thoughts kept spiraling back to one place: tonight.

Wakes had texted earlier, his message cold and clipped.

Message;;;

   Contact:MY WAKES

 "Business dinner, I will be back late."

I didn't care to imagine what "business dinner" really meant because by now, I'd learned not to trust his words, just his absences. That was the only reason I'd dared set the pickup for eleven. The later it was, the fewer eyes on the street, the less chance of running into anyone who might report back to him.

By nine, I had double-checked my bag three times. Clothes for a week, nothing too flashy, just simple tops and jeans. My ID, bank cards, a small wad of cash I'd quietly saved over the past few months, and the envelope with my next appointment slip folded carefully on top.

At ten, I sat on the edge of the bed, my phone clutched tight in my hands. My eyes darted to the clock every other minute, the glowing numbers mocking my desperation. My chest felt tight, as my legs restless, the familiar ache of fear settling in my stomach. Every part of me screamed that I was about to do something I could never undo.

By ten-forty, I couldn't sit still anymore. I paced the length of the room slowly, rehearsing every detail in my head. How I'd slip past the security cameras, how I'd avoid the neighbors, how I'd keep my face calm and unreadable when I passed the driver waiting in the dark outside.

At ten-fifty-five, my phone buzzed sharply against the wooden floor.

Message;;;

   Contact: RESCUE TEAM

Driver's outside. Black SUV, don't keep him waiting.

Don't ask me why I saved his contact as Rescue team, because you really don't know who wakes is, that man is a monster.

Immediately after I finished reading the text, my throat went dry. My hand went to my belly automatically, as if I could shield the fragile life inside me from the storm I was stepping into.

It's now or never, I told myself, the words brittle but steady.

The house felt impossibly quiet as I moved down the stairs, my shoes in my hand so they wouldn't click against the marble floor. Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist into something threatening like Wakes could be behind the curtains, ready to pull me back into the cage.

I reached the front door and froze. My fingers hovered over the lock, heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away.

Go. Before you lose the nerve, I echoed to myself. I slipped out, closing the door behind me with slow, and quiet moves, as if quiet could erase the fact that I was leaving for good.

The street was empty except for the black SUV parked just a pool down, its engine humming low in the stillness. The tinted window on the passenger side rolled down a fraction, and a man's voice called softly, "Mrs. Savage?"

My stomach twisted at the sound of my married name. I nodded, swallowing hard, and hurried over.

The driver stepped out, a tall man in a dark jacket and cap pulled low. His face was mostly hidden in shadow, but his eyes flicked over me with quick, assessing precision, like he was trained to notice every detail.

"Bag," he said simply, reaching for it.

I hesitated. "I can carry it."

He didn't argue. Instead, he opened the back door for me. I slid inside, and the door shut behind me with a quiet, final thud that made my heart leap.

The SUV pulled smoothly away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the window as we moved farther and farther from everything I'd known.

"Are you nervous?" the driver asked after a long silence.

I startled slightly, turning toward him. "Wouldn't you be?"

His mouth quivered into the faintest hint of a smile. "He's not going to catch you tonight. I made sure of that."

Something about the confidence in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, part relief, part warning.

"You sound like you've been planning this," I said carefully, eyes still fixed on the dark streets.

"Not me," he replied, "but the man you're going to? Let's just say he's been waiting for an opportunity. And now... he has it."

"Why would he care what happens to me?"

The driver's gaze moved to me in the rearview mirror. His eyes were unreadable, but there was something sharp in them, like a blade hidden beneath calm. "Because helping you hurts Wakes Savage. And that's reason enough."

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter. "Where exactly are we going?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"You'll see when we get there," he said.

I didn't like vague answers, but I wasn't in any position to argue. I pressed my back into the seat, trying to slow my breathing. Every turn we took felt like another thread snapping from the life I'd been bound to.

After twenty minutes, the city lights faded behind us.

Suddenly, the driver's phone buzzed. He answered without hesitation.

"She's with me," he said simply.

A deep male voice came through, low and deliberate. "Good. I'll be waiting."

The line went dead before I could react.

I stared at the back of the driver's head, my heart thudding. "Was that...?"

"Not yet," he said, cutting me off. "You'll meet him soon enough."  And silence filled the rest of the drive.

When we finally slowed, the headlights swept over a gated entrance. The driver leaned out to punch in a code, and the heavy iron gates swung open with a grinding creak.

Beyond them, a long driveway curved toward a building that looked more like an apartment than a mansion. But it is impossible to see inside without stepping past the gates.

The SUV rolled to a stop in front of the entrance. The driver got out, came around, and opened my door. He extended a hand to help me out.

I took it hesitantly, my eyes tilting nervously to the door just ahead. Somewhere behind it was the man I'd called for help, my husband's sworn enemy. The man who, according to the driver, had been waiting for this moment.

"Go on," the driver said, nodding toward the door. "He's inside."

I adjusted my grip on my bag, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the door, but It opened before I could knock.