Silent Escape: The Runaway Heiress's Refuge

Silent Escape: The Runaway Heiress's Refuge

Zhen Xiang

5.0
Comment(s)
23
View
150
Chapters

I was summoned home from boarding school for a funeral, thinking my family finally wanted me back. I stood in the pouring rain, watching a mahogany casket disappear into the mud, while the silence in my head felt like it was drowning me. That night, I hid behind a tapestry and listened through a vent to my father's study. He wasn't talking about grief. He was talking about "tissue compatibility" and "near-perfect matches" with the family lawyer. They didn't want a daughter; they wanted a donor. My father's voice was devoid of emotion as he discussed "the harvest." My half-sister was dying, and I was the spare part they had been growing for years. They had even removed the lock from my bedroom door so I could never truly shut them out. The realization shattered me. I was just a biological backup plan, a life deemed less valuable than the one they preferred. How could a father look at his own child and see nothing but a heart to be cut out and transplanted? I didn't wait for them to come for me. I stuffed a backpack, flushed my SIM card, and climbed out the window into a thunderstorm. I caught a bus to the middle of nowhere, ending up in a seat next to a massive, predatory man named Hoyt who looked like he'd killed people for less than a seat preference. He pinned my wrist with a grip like iron and growled, "Who sent you?" I couldn't speak to defend myself, but as we rolled into a dying town called Blackwood Creek, I knew one thing for certain. I would rather take my chances with a stranger with a gun than stay another night with the family that wanted me dead.

Chapter 1 1

Rain mixed with the sweat on her face. She pulled her hood up and started walking, her limp becoming more pronounced with every step. She reached the main road just as a yellow taxi turned the corner, its "Vacant" light glowing like a beacon in the dark.

She raised her hand. The car slowed and pulled over.

Eva opened the door and slid inside. The interior smelled of stale smoke and pine air freshener.

"Where to?" the driver asked, eyeing her soaking wet clothes in the rearview mirror.

Eva pulled a notepad from her pocket and wrote two words: Bus Station.

She showed it to him.

The driver shrugged and hit the meter. "You got it."

As the taxi pulled away, Eva looked back through the rain-streaked window. The Wells estate was a dark silhouette against the sky. She wasn't just running away from home. She was running for her life.

Earlier, the rain had fallen in sheets, turning the world into a blurred watercolor of gray and black. It soaked through the thin fabric of Eva Wells's dress, chilling her skin, but the cold was nothing compared to the numbness spreading through her chest. She stood at the edge of the open grave, her eyes fixed on the mahogany casket being lowered into the wet earth.

The priest's voice was a low drone, a meaningless hum that barely registered over the sound of the rain hitting the umbrellas. Eva didn't hear the prayers. Her ears were ringing with a high-pitched silence that had become her constant companion. She felt like she was underwater, the pressure building against her eardrums, threatening to crush her. It was a psychological deafness, a shield her mind threw up against a world that was too loud, too cruel. But some things always broke through.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Eva flinched. Her body reacted before her mind did, muscles seizing up, breath hitching in her throat. She knew that touch. It was heavy, possessive, and entirely devoid of warmth. The shield of silence shattered, and the world rushed in with terrifying clarity.

"Steady, Eva," Kingsley Wells murmured.

He stood beside her, his custom-made suit dry under the massive black umbrella held by a bodyguard. He didn't look at her. He looked at the grave with a practiced expression of solemnity, the grieving father playing his part for the cameras that were undoubtedly zooming in from the cemetery gates.

"It's time to go home," he whispered. "Family duty."

Eva looked up at him. His jaw was set, his eyes cold behind his designer glasses. There was no grief there. Only calculation. She looked past him to the waiting limousine. Corie, his wife, sat in the back seat, her face a mask of porcelain indifference. Beside her, Juliana, Eva's half-sister, was a pale ghost, coughing weakly into a handkerchief.

Eva felt the trap closing. She had been summoned from her boarding school for the funeral of a distant uncle, but she knew, deep in the hollow of her stomach, that she wouldn't be going back.

The bodyguard ushered her into the black SUV. The door slammed shut with a finality that made her jump. The lock engaged with a heavy thud. It sounded like a prison cell closing.

The drive to the Wells estate was silent. The only sound was Juliana's ragged breathing and the rhythmic swoosh of the windshield wipers. Eva pressed herself against the door, trying to make herself as small as possible. She stared out the window, watching the city fade into the manicured isolation of the wealthy suburbs.

When they arrived, the iron gates swung open and then closed behind them. The house loomed ahead, a sprawling mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home.

"Go to your room, Eva," Kingsley said as they entered the foyer. "We have matters to discuss later."

Eva nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor. She climbed the grand staircase, her legs feeling heavy, like she was wading through molasses. She went to her old room at the end of the hall. She reached for the door handle and paused. The lock had been removed. There was just a hole in the wood where the mechanism used to be.

She walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together, squeezing until her knuckles turned white, trying to stop the tremors.

Hours passed. The house grew quiet. The rain continued to batter the windows, a relentless drumbeat against the glass. Thirst clawed at her throat. She hadn't drunk anything since morning.

She opened her door and crept into the hallway. The carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps. She moved like a shadow, a skill she had perfected over years of trying to be invisible.

Light spilled from the crack under the study door. Instead of pressing her ear to the wood, Eva moved past it, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She knew this house's secrets better than anyone. At the end of the hall, hidden behind a tapestry, was a small, brass grate-a relic from the old heating system. She knelt, her fingers finding the familiar cold metal. The shaft connected directly to the one in the study below. Kingsley's voice drifted up, low and serious.

Eva froze. She pressed her ear against the grate, holding her breath.

"...latest tests are conclusive," Kingsley was saying. "Dr. Aris confirmed the tissue compatibility is a near-perfect match. We got lucky."

"Is she healthy enough?" another voice asked. It sounded like their family lawyer. "She looks... fragile."

"The heart is strong," Kingsley replied. His voice was devoid of emotion, like he was discussing a car part. "That's all that matters. Juliana doesn't have much time left. We need to schedule the harvest as soon as the legal guardianship paperwork is finalized next week."

The harvest.

The word hung in the air, sharp and deadly.

Eva's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream that wouldn't have come out anyway. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape a cage. They weren't bringing her home to be a daughter. They were bringing her home to be a donor. A spare part for Juliana.

She was going to die.

Adrenaline flooded her system, washing away the numbness. She turned and sprinted back to her room, her bare feet silent on the floor. She closed the door and leaned against it, gasping for air.

She couldn't stay. If she stayed, she was dead.

She dropped to her knees and dragged her old, battered backpack from under the bed. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely work the zipper. She stuffed a change of clothes inside-jeans, a hoodie, thick socks. She grabbed her sketchbook, the only thing that truly belonged to her.

She went to the bookshelf and pulled out a hollowed-out dictionary. Inside was a stash of cash she had been saving for years, stealing twenty-dollar bills from Kingsley's wallet whenever she had the chance. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to get away.

She took the small, framed photo of her mother, Amirah, from the nightstand. In the photo, her mother was laughing, standing in front of a rustic wooden sign that read 'Mrs. Rose's Fresh Produce.' Eva tucked it into the front pocket of the bag. It was her only map.

Then she took out her phone. Kingsley could track it. She grabbed a paperclip from the desk drawer, straightened it, and pushed the thin metal into the tiny hole on the side of the phone. The SIM card tray popped out. She removed the SIM card, snapped the thin plastic in half, and walked to the bathroom, flushing the pieces down the toilet. The phone was now a ghost, but it still held the offline maps she'd downloaded months ago, a contingency plan for a day she prayed would never come.

She went to the window and pushed it open. The wind and rain lashed at her face. Below, a wooden trellis covered in ivy ran down the side of the house. It was slick with rain.

Eva didn't hesitate. She threw her backpack out first, watching it land in a soft bush. Then she swung her legs over the sill.

The wood was slippery. Her foot slipped on the first step, and her knee scraped violently against the rough bark. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but she bit her lip and kept moving. She climbed down, hand over hand, her muscles screaming.

Her feet hit the wet grass. She grabbed her bag and ran. It wasn't a sprint; it was a desperate, limping gait, each step sending a jolt of agony up her leg. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright.

She knew where the security cameras were. She had spent her childhood mapping the blind spots. She wove through the garden, sticking to the shadows of the hedges, avoiding the sweeping arcs of the motion sensors.

She reached the perimeter wall. There was a loose stone near the old oak tree. She used it as a foothold and hauled herself up and over.

She landed hard on the sidewalk outside the estate, the impact jarring her bad knee. She stumbled but forced herself upright. The half-mile walk to the main road felt like a marathon. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every rustle of leaves sounded like the footsteps of a bodyguard.

Continue Reading

Other books by Zhen Xiang

More
The Wolf's Gambit: The Heiress's Revenge

The Wolf's Gambit: The Heiress's Revenge

Modern

5.0

It was our fifth anniversary, and I sat alone in a Michelin-starred restaurant, staring at a diamond ring that felt more like an anchor than a promise. I kept telling myself Caleb was just busy, rationalizing the sharp, spasmodic pain in my stomach as mere nerves rather than my body's final warning. But when I went to his penthouse to surprise him, I found the double doors ajar. Through the gap, I watched my fiancé devouring Beatrice Blackwood on the sofa-the woman who had the family backing and confidence I supposedly lacked. He wasn't working; he was celebrating our anniversary by replacing me. The fallout was a calculated humiliation. The tabloids branded me a "pathetic orphan," and my Uncle Richard didn't care about the betrayal. He slammed his hand on his desk, claiming I was having another "psychotic episode" and accusing me of paranoia. He threatened to pull the plug on my mother's life support unless I went to the Hamptons to beg Caleb for forgiveness. My family even tried to force me onto heavy antipsychotics to keep me quiet for the sake of a corporate merger. I was being sold to a man who hated me by the very people who were supposed to protect me. I didn't understand why they wanted me broken, or why a mysterious stranger in an elevator had suddenly paid my mother's astronomical medical bills in full. Everything changed at a dinner where my uncle tried to trade me to a predator for a real estate deal. I didn't cry; I shattered a wine bottle and held the jagged glass to the man's throat. That's when Julian Blackwood, the most feared man on Wall Street, walked in and seized the house, the debt, and me. "I take my contracts seriously, Vanessa," he whispered, pulling me into his armored car as my family was thrown onto the street. I had escaped my uncle's cage, but as I looked into Julian's storm-gray eyes, I realized I had just traded a common bully for a beautiful, deadly king.

Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!

Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!

Modern

5.0

For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice. The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home. My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price. "You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment. I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet. My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them. As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack.

The Vow of Vengeance, The Veil of Love

The Vow of Vengeance, The Veil of Love

Romance

5.0

The air at my welcome-home party was thick with the smell of old money, but I smelled only betrayal. After years building my empire overseas, the last thing I wanted was to play nice with the ghosts of my past. Then I saw her, my ex-girlfriend, leaning into Andrew, my half-brother, the constant reminder of my mother's tragic death. The smile froze on Jen's face when she saw me, a flicker of panic in her eyes, but it was too late. I cut her off, my gaze cold enough to shatter glass, and made it clear: he was nothing, a cheap copy, and she, unworthy. What followed was a brutal, calculated war waged in boardrooms and on national television, where I systematically dismantled Andrew's life, exposing him for the parasite he was. But driven to desperation, he played his final hand, pushing me off a cliff into darkness, leaving me for dead, just as his mother had killed mine. I woke up weeks later in a hospital bed, the world buzzing with the scandal, but it was a single image that consumed me: Gaby Chadwick, the reclusive heiress, a woman I barely knew, praying for me, her silent vigil a public spectacle of devotion. Why? Why would she sacrifice her untouchable anonymity for me? I decided then and there to make her mine, proposing a cold, strategic merger, a union of power and dynasties. She accepted, but then, with unnerving calm, used my own words against me, creating a wall of polite distance, turning our marriage into a corporate contract. I had won the war, yet I was lost, trapped in a loveless arrangement of my own making, desperate to break through her serene facade. Then, hidden away in a journal, I found it: a decade of silent adoration, deep, unwavering love for me, a love that transcended any business deal. I had been blind, a fool. Now, the real story begins.

You'll also like

Secret Baby: The Jilted Wife's Final Goodbye

Secret Baby: The Jilted Wife's Final Goodbye

Cait
5.0

I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book