Julianna POV:
I pushed open my bedroom door and twisted the lock behind me. The click echoed in the silent room.
For a moment, I just stood there, my back pressed against the wood, the image from the study burned into my mind. Then, a cold fury washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of pain.
Action. I needed action.
I strode into my walk-in closet and yanked two sturdy duffel bags from the top shelf. They landed on the plush carpet with a soft thud. I threw them open on my bed and started pulling drawers open, my movements jerky and efficient.
Passports, a hidden stash of cash I kept for emergencies. My hands trembled as I shoved the bills into a side pocket, a few hundred-dollar notes fluttering to the floor. I ignored them.
I went to the intercom on my nightstand and pressed the button for the staff quarters. "Martha," I said, my voice low and steady, betraying none of the chaos raging inside me. "I need you. Now."
The static hiss of the speaker was the only reply before I released the button.
Seconds later, a frantic knock sounded at my door. I unlocked it, and Martha, my personal maid and the closest thing I had to a friend in this gilded cage, rushed in. Her eyes widened at the sight of clothes strewn across the bed and the open bags.
"My lady, what—"
"No questions," I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Go to the underground garage. Get the black SUV ready. The keys are in the usual spot. Do it quietly."
Martha's face was a canvas of confusion and worry, but loyalty won out. She gave a single, sharp nod and hurried out, her soft-soled shoes making a frantic patter down the hallway.
I turned back to my packing. A few warm sweaters, durable pants. The zipper on one of the bags snagged. Frustration, hot and sharp, flared through me. I yanked it hard. The pull-tab snapped off in my hand.
Cursing under my breath, I abandoned the broken bag and moved to my jewelry box. Not for sentiment. For capital. These were my escape funds.
A different sound from the hall-running footsteps, much clumsier than Martha's. My door burst open without a knock.
It was Chloe, one of the junior maids, her face pale and her chest heaving.
"Miss Julianna," she gasped, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "The guards... they've doubled the patrol in the east wing. And... and Miss Ana's personal maid, she's watching everyone."
A chill, colder than any winter night, snaked up my spine. My hands stilled over a diamond necklace.
I walked to the heavy velvet curtains and pulled them aside just enough to peer down at the manor's rear gate.
The powerful security floodlights illuminated the driveway. Two massive, hulking figures stood there, werewolves from Cameron's personal guard. They were rolling a spiked barrier into place, completely blocking the vehicle exit.
This wasn't just an affair.
This was a coup. Ana hadn't just seduced my mate; she had planned to trap me here.
My breath hitched. I let the curtain fall and moved from my bedroom into the adjoining private study. There had to be another way out. The original architectural plans, they showed service tunnels.
I pulled at the drawer of the antique desk where they were kept. Locked.
I scanned the desk for the key, my eyes frantic. It wasn't there. Panic began to bubble in my throat. I grabbed the heavy brass paperweight, a miniature wolf howling at the moon, and brought it down hard on the lock.
Wood splintered. The lock gave way. I tore the drawer open and rummaged through the files.
The folder labeled 'Blueprints' was there.
But it was empty.
Someone had taken them.
At that exact moment, across the manor, I felt a new wave of agony lance through my chest, ten times sharper than before. It wasn't just rejection anymore. This was a severing.
I doubled over, clutching my heart, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Cameron was doing it. He was actively, formally, trying to break the bond.
Chloe rushed forward. "Miss!"
"Stay back!" I snarled, an unconscious wave of alpha energy pushing her away. She stumbled back and fell onto the sofa, her eyes wide with fear.
I would not collapse. Not now. I gritted my teeth against the waves of spiritual pain, my vision tunneling. I forced myself to stand straight, my spine rigid. From the bottom of the broken drawer, my fingers closed around the cold, familiar hilt of a small dagger, its blade etched with silver runes. The sting of the silver against my skin was a welcome distraction.
My private phone buzzed. A secure message from Martha. SUV compromised. Garage exit blocked. They are waiting.
Every conventional path was cut off. I was a prisoner.
I looked at Chloe, who was trembling on the sofa. "Go back to your room," I commanded, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Lock the door. Do not come out, no matter what you hear."
She scrambled to her feet and fled without a word.
I slipped the silver dagger into the inner pocket of my coat. I took one last look around the room that was supposed to be my sanctuary, now the heart of my prison. With my one small, remaining backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked out of the study.
My only chance was the greenhouse on the west side of the estate. The outer wall was high, but climbable.
I stepped into the hallway.
And all the lights went out.
The corridor was plunged into absolute darkness, thick and suffocating.
From the shadows ahead, I heard a low, guttural growl. Then another, answering it from the other end of the hall.
The hunt had begun.
