The press conference erupted into chaos. People shouted, cameras flashed wildly, and security scrambled to contain the situation. Before I could even process what had just happened, Harrison grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the exit.
"We’re leaving. Now," he hissed through gritted teeth.
I barely had time to react as he pulled me through the panicked crowd. My heart pounded violently in my chest. The accusations still rang in my ears—Harrison killed his first wife. Was it true?
We rushed outside, where a black car was already waiting. Harrison shoved me inside, slamming the door behind him. The vehicle sped off, leaving behind the chaos we had caused.
As soon as we were far enough, I reached for my phone, my hands trembling. I dialed Kristoph’s number the moment I could.
He answered on the first ring. "Willary, what the hell is happening?!"
"That’s what I want to know!" I whispered, glancing at Harrison, who sat beside me, his jaw clenched, his fingers drumming impatiently against his thigh. "Why did the people you hired say that? Why accuse him of murder?"
Kristoph hesitated before responding, his voice turning grave. "Because it’s true."
The air was sucked from my lungs.
"You need to run," he continued urgently. "Now. Those people I hired… they used to work for him. They told me everything. Harrison planned his wife’s death himself."
The blood drained from my face. My stomach twisted in horror. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could, a cold breath ghosted against my ear.
"Who are you talking to?"
My entire body froze.
Slowly, I turned my head, my breath hitching. Harrison was staring at me, his eyes dark with suspicion.
My heart dropped. He heard everything.
Before I could react, he grabbed the phone from my hand, pressing it against his ear. "Kristoph," he greeted in a dangerously low tone.
I heard Kristoph curse on the other end before the call ended abruptly.
Harrison turned back to me, his expression unreadable. But then, his face twisted into something terrifying—pure, unfiltered rage.
"You set me up," he growled. "You planned all of this."
My throat went dry. "Harrison, I—"
"After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?" He was shouting now, his voice echoing in the confined space of the car. "I gave you everything, Willary! Everything! And you dared to humiliate me in front of the world?!"
I shrank back against the seat, but there was nowhere to go.
That night, he locked me inside a massive bedroom.
Days passed. I wasn’t allowed to leave. I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone. My only companion was my growing belly, a cruel reminder that I was trapped.
I should have been thankful that Harrison never laid a hand on me. Maybe it was because I was pregnant, or maybe it was because he still had some twisted attachment to me. Either way, I knew my time was running out.
Then, one morning, someone new entered my prison.
A woman in a crisp white uniform stepped inside. She was tall, poised, with sharp eyes that barely glanced in my direction.
"I’m Missy," she said curtly. "I’ll be taking care of you from now on."
I should have been relieved, but there was something cold about her, something distant. It didn’t take long for me to realize she was here under Harrison’s orders. She wasn’t my ally—she was my warden.
For days, she barely spoke to me beyond basic instructions. I knew I had to act fast.
And then, an opportunity came.
Harrison left for a business trip. It was now or never.
The next morning, I pressed a hand against my stomach and groaned in pain, doubling over on the bed. Missy’s eyes widened slightly, but she kept her distance.
"I… I think something’s wrong," I gasped. "Please. I need a doctor."
Missy hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she pulled out her phone and made the call.
An hour later, I was rushed to the hospital.
As soon as I was inside a private room, a doctor entered to check on me. She was young, with sharp but kind eyes, her ID reading Dr. Scott.
Missy stood by the door, arms crossed.
I took a shaky breath and turned to the doctor. "Please," I whispered desperately. "I need to talk to you alone."
Dr. Scott frowned.
"The patient needs privacy," she finally said.
Missy hesitated before finally stepping out of the room.
As soon as the door shut, I grabbed Dr. Scott’s hand. "Help me escape," I pleaded. "Please, I beg you."
She inhaled sharply. "You don’t know what you’re asking."
"I do," I whispered. "And I will do whatever it takes to protect you from Harrison’s wrath. Please."
She hesitated, her eyes searching mine. Then, after a long, agonizing moment, she nodded.
"We need to act fast."
We devised a plan.
Dr. Scott faked an emergency. She called the nurses, claiming I needed immediate transfer to another room. In the chaos, she smuggled me into the delivery room.
Hours passed. The tension was suffocating.
Then, she made the call.
"Missy," she said, her voice steady, "fetch Mr. Del Fuego immediately. His wife is in critical condition."
Missy obeyed without question.
The moment she was gone, Dr. Scott pulled me toward the fire exit.
"Go," she urged. "Run and don’t look back."
I met her gaze, my throat tight. "I promise, no one will know you helped me."
Without another word, I bolted.
The cold night air hit my skin as I sprinted into the darkness. I didn’t stop until I reached a small, run-down apartment at the edge of the city. There, I hid for an entire week, too afraid to make a move.
I tried calling Kristoph every day. No answer.
And then, one night, my phone rang. My hands trembled as I picked up.
"Kristoph?" I breathed.
But instead of his voice, a deep chuckle echoed through the line.
My blood turned to ice.
"My dear wife," Harrison’s voice purred, sending chills down my spine. "Where are you?"
I covered my mouth, my body shaking.
"Will you come back here," he continued, his tone dark and dangerous, "or shall I torture Kristoph to death?"
The line went dead.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I clutched the phone to my chest.
I had made my escape…
But Harrison was already hunting me down.
HE HAD KRISTOPH!
