The Ruthless Don's Obsession: You Can't Run

Ellie POV

I sat at the far end of the mahogany dining table, a ghost haunting the ruins of my own life.

Dinner wasn't a meal; it was a performance.

Marcus sat at the head, a king on his throne. Chloe sat to his right, the favored consort.

I was miles away, exiled near the door.

I watched them through the haze of candlelight.

Chloe threw her head back and laughed at something Marcus murmured. He didn't smile, but he leaned in, his posture possessive. He poured her wine, his hand brushing hers with a deliberate slowness.

It was a casual intimacy that made my stomach turn.

I sawed at my steak, reducing the meat to tiny, violent shreds.

I am leaving, I repeated in my head. It was no longer just a thought; it was a mantra. A second heartbeat.

Every bite I forced down tasted like sawdust.

When the meal finally ended, I didn't bother with the charade of saying goodnight. I just stood up, turned my back on them, and walked out.

Marcus didn't look up from his wine glass.

Once safely back in the sanctuary of my room, I went straight to the bedside table.

There was a lamp there. An ugly, stained-glass thing my parents had bought me years ago. It used to be the only light I kept on during the thunderstorms that shook the estate walls.

I clicked it off.

Then, with a trembling hand, I unplugged it.

I wrapped the cord tightly around the base and shoved it into the deep back of the closet.

Darkness was safer than false light.

I pulled a cardboard box from under the bed.

It was filled with artifacts. Ticket stubs from the one time Marcus took me to the movies. A dried flower, brittle as bone, from a bouquet he sent for my graduation.

Trinkets of a one-sided affection.

I felt a stinging heat behind my eyelids.

Don't you dare, I told myself.

I picked up a photo album and let it fall open.

There was a picture of me at seven years old. I was perched on Marcus's shoulders. He was younger then, softer. There was a ghost of a genuine smile on his face.

He looked like he would burn the world down just to keep me safe.

A single tear escaped. It hit the plastic cover of the photo with a soft tap.

I slammed the album shut.

I didn't want to remember the protector. I needed to see the monster.

I grabbed a roll of packing tape and sealed the box. Layer after layer of tape, binding it tight. Until it looked like a mummy.

I shoved it next to the lamp.

"Goodbye," I whispered into the dark.

The next morning, the sun was an insult. Bright, cheerful, and mocking.

I walked to the window.

Down in the manicured garden, Marcus and Chloe were walking.

Chloe was clinging to his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

Marcus stopped. He said something low to her. Then he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The gesture was so gentle it made me nauseous.

He used to do that to me.

Chloe looked up. She saw me standing in the window.

She smiled. It wasn't friendly. It was a victory lap.

She waved.

Marcus didn't look up. He just patted Chloe's head-dismissive, possessive. Like she was a well-trained dog.

I stepped back from the window, my chest tight.

A knock sounded on my door.

It was Maria.

"Miss Chloe wants you to go into town with her," Maria said, her eyes fixed on the floorboards. "She needs help picking out... things for the party."

Of course she does.

I could have said no. But the old Ellie, the one trained to please and endure, nodded.

"I'll be down in ten minutes."

The drive to town was suffocatingly silent. I sat in the back of the limo with Chloe.

She filled the air with idle chatter. About flowers. About silk. About how Marcus hated blue so she was choosing red.

He used to love blue, I thought. Or maybe he just told me that because it was the color of my eyes.

We walked into the high-end jeweler.

Chloe pointed at a necklace immediately. Diamonds the size of grapes glittered under the halogen lights.

"Marcus said the budget isn't an issue," she bragged to the clerk, flashing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

I stood by the heavy glass door, waiting.

While she was distracted by her own reflection in the mirror, preening like a peacock, I slipped out.

I walked two doors down to a quiet travel agency.

The bell above the door dinged softly.

"I need a flight to Florence," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my blood. "One way."

The agent typed on her computer, the keys clacking loudly in the silence.

"Earliest I have is next week."

Next week.

That was the day of the engagement party.

"I'll take it," I said.

I paid with the credit card David had given me. Not the one linked to the Thorn family accounts. No paper trail.

I walked back to the jewelry store, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Chloe was holding up a bracelet.

"What do you think, Ellie? Does this scream 'future Mrs. Thorn'?"

I looked at the bracelet. It looked like handcuffs made of gold.

"It's perfect," I said.

She beamed.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

One week.

I just had to survive seven more days of this purgatory.

I touched the receipt hidden deep in my pocket. It was my ticket out of hell.

But as we drove back to the estate, passing the iron gates that looked more like prison bars than an entrance, I felt a sudden chill.

The calm I felt wasn't peace.

It was the terrifying stillness in the eye of the storm.