Her Escape, His Eternal Loss

Her Escape, His Eternal Loss

Ellene Millstein

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The familiar ache pulsed behind my eyes, a constant companion in the sterile white room where sheets matched my pale, bruised skin. They had given me electric shock therapy again, leaving my mind a fog of agony. A key turned, and in walked Ethan Miller, the man I was supposed to marry, his face handsome but cold, etched with pity and disgust. "Still acting like this, Chloe?" he snapped, accusing me of hurting a nurse-a lie I was too broken to fight. Then Liam Thorne, my half-brother, joined him, an insincere mask of concern plastered on his face. "See, Ethan? She' s completely gone," Liam purred, blaming my supposed violent tendencies on the stress of his "illness." Ethan, my savior turned accomplice, instantly sided with Liam, his trust absolute. But then Mark Evans, a childhood friend turned doctor, assessed my condition, his voice serious as he unveiled the severe trauma and abuse they' d inflicted on me. Liam quickly deflected, accusing me of self-harm, a narrative Ethan chillingly affirmed. Liam then proposed transferring me to a private institution, the 'Thorne Wellness Center' -a name that sent a jolt of terror through me, a prison designed just for me. Desperate, I pleaded with Ethan, "Please, don' t take me there. I' ll do anything." He hesitated, a flicker of the old Ethan visible, and agreed to take me home. But Liam intervened, whispering manipulations, leading me back into the trap. I screamed as orderlies grabbed me, but it was too late. They injected the sedative, and I went limp, my savior watching as he condemned me. The torture at Thorne Wellness Center was worse than I could have imagined, leaving my mind fractured, my body starved. When Ethan finally came to pick me up, he was horrified by the skeletal, lifeless woman I had become. In that moment, a plan formed in my fragmented mind. I had to escape, even if it meant jumping from a second-story window. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped from my gilded cage, running, barefoot and silent, into the night.

Introduction

The familiar ache pulsed behind my eyes, a constant companion in the sterile white room where sheets matched my pale, bruised skin.

They had given me electric shock therapy again, leaving my mind a fog of agony.

A key turned, and in walked Ethan Miller, the man I was supposed to marry, his face handsome but cold, etched with pity and disgust.

"Still acting like this, Chloe?" he snapped, accusing me of hurting a nurse-a lie I was too broken to fight.

Then Liam Thorne, my half-brother, joined him, an insincere mask of concern plastered on his face.

"See, Ethan? She' s completely gone," Liam purred, blaming my supposed violent tendencies on the stress of his "illness."

Ethan, my savior turned accomplice, instantly sided with Liam, his trust absolute.

But then Mark Evans, a childhood friend turned doctor, assessed my condition, his voice serious as he unveiled the severe trauma and abuse they' d inflicted on me.

Liam quickly deflected, accusing me of self-harm, a narrative Ethan chillingly affirmed.

Liam then proposed transferring me to a private institution, the 'Thorne Wellness Center' -a name that sent a jolt of terror through me, a prison designed just for me.

Desperate, I pleaded with Ethan, "Please, don' t take me there. I' ll do anything."

He hesitated, a flicker of the old Ethan visible, and agreed to take me home.

But Liam intervened, whispering manipulations, leading me back into the trap.

I screamed as orderlies grabbed me, but it was too late.

They injected the sedative, and I went limp, my savior watching as he condemned me.

The torture at Thorne Wellness Center was worse than I could have imagined, leaving my mind fractured, my body starved.

When Ethan finally came to pick me up, he was horrified by the skeletal, lifeless woman I had become.

In that moment, a plan formed in my fragmented mind.

I had to escape, even if it meant jumping from a second-story window.

Under the cover of darkness, I slipped from my gilded cage, running, barefoot and silent, into the night.

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"I'm resigning." The words felt heavy on my tongue, the crisp white envelope a symbol of escape. My HR director, bless her kind heart, urged me to reconsider, yet I walked away, my steps measured, a desperate fight against the urge to shatter the office's perfect silence. Instead of going down, I went up-to Mark Johnson' s office. Tech mogul. My sister Emily's ex-fiancé. The man who owned my life. I whispered, "I can' t do this anymore." His mocking reply: "Did you forget the debt you owe?" He revealed the horrifying depths of his revenge, convinced my father murdered Emily and that I, Chloe, must atone for it. He called me a "substitute," a "punishment," claiming Emily was his songbird, caged by him. Now, I was his new bird, and this time, "the cage has no door." Humiliation after humiliation, I became his personal maid, scrubbing his pristine apartment while he spoke to a new woman, happily planning a future that should have been Emily' s. Then came the bridal shop, Jessica Carrington, Mark's radiant fiancée, a diamond sparkling on her finger. "I said yes," she declared, and Mark's triumphant gaze met mine over her shoulder. Jessica, eyes cold and sharp, warned me to disappear, claiming Mark was burdened by me. She also revealed a chilling truth: "He has a tracker on your phone." Trapped, I endured endless nights of servitude, my dignity eroding, until one night, in the back of his town car, Mark kissed me-a furious, violating act-then abandoned me in the pouring rain. A dream of Emily, calling to me to be free, sparked a fragile hope. I walked into his office, ready to break free, but his knowing smirk and a chilling whisper reminded me, "The cage has no door." Then, at the bridal shop, Jessica's staged fall led to Mark's hand flying across my face, a slap that shattered everything inside me. The last shred of my misplaced loyalty, my fear, my shame-it all broke. I walked out, pulling the tracker-laden phone from my purse, and threw it into the nearest trash can. I was free.

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