CHAPTER-3

LENA

Running as fast as my feet could take me, gravel and stones dug into my shoeless soles. "Run, don't stop!" I repeated to myself as I pushed forward. Lena kept running. Sweat dripped from my forehead, and my feet hurt from running. My heartbeat pounded in my ears—a relentless drumbeat of fear. If I stopped, I would collapse. I didn't want to be caught. I couldn't afford to collapse. The dark alley through which I was paving my escape blurred around me, my focus solely on moving forward.

The sounds of footsteps behind me grew louder, the pursuers gaining ground. There was no place to hide, no corners to duck into. Just keep running. The only thing that kept repeating in my head was the desperate plea not to get caught. But why was I running? Who were these people chasing me? Why were they after me? I didn't know the answers.

One thing was clear: I didn't want to disappear after serving as a minor obstacle in someone else's story. No one would come to find me if I vanished. Nobody would be affected by my disappearance. There was no one who would miss me. Would I even have a funeral? These thoughts raced through my mind as I continued to flee.

The sharp crack of gunshots echoed around me, and a searing pain shot through my leg. I stumbled forward, blood trickling from my foot where the bullet had grazed my right thigh. My white dress turned red as the blood spread. Shivers ran down my spine as a cold breeze cut through me like an ice shard.

A shadow loomed over me, and a pair of black shoes came into my vision. I blink away hot tears from my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of my killer's face. My vision swam with pain and fear, but I managed to focus on the figure standing over me. The man was tall, dressed in dark clothes, his face partially obscured by the shadows of the alley. He bent down, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he assessed me. I know him. I don't remember who he is, but my mind kept screaming that I know him.

"Why are you running, Lena?" His voice was calm, almost curious, as if he were asking a casual question. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The pain in my leg was overwhelming, and my mind was a whirl of confusion and terror.

"Please," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible. "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he straightened up and looked down the alley, as if expecting someone. He finally said, his voice emotionless, "You've seen things you shouldn't have."

I tried to remember what he was talking about, but my mind was blank. I had no recollection of any forbidden knowledge or secret information.

He raised his gun, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. The sound of the gunshot was deafening.

My eyes shot open. I woke up, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. I was in bed, the unfamiliar surroundings of my room coming into focus. It was just a dream. A terrible, vivid dream. My body ached as if I had really been running, but I am safe.

I had these types of dreams when Mom died. They continued in my teenage years until I left this place and went away from it all. Maybe yesterday's event triggered them somehow. But this is the first time when I clearly envisioned the pursuer. His dark, cruel eyes and twisted smile. Alarik.

Waking up in an unfamiliar room was disorienting. I shook my head, forgetting the previous night's nightmare I had. What hurt even more was the pain in my chest whenever I thought about what happened with Alarik the previous night. After leaving him at his house, we had to go to the emergency room in his mansion—a symbol of his immense wealth. The fact that he has an emergency room within his home further highlights his luxury and affluence.

Some nurses rushed to attend to me when we got there, ensuring I was not hurt. Though I had no significant injuries, there were a few scrapes on my knees from trampling in the parking lot, and my body was stiff from the stress of racing fast. They offered me sleeping pills, thinking I needed help to rest.

The question that bothers me the most, though, is whether hitting him would make me a horrible wife. Not in my opinion, especially considering that my husband is unaware that I am his wife. The events of last night were far more terrifying than I had anticipated. Their indifference to me caused more emotional damage than any physical harm.

In a strange way, I'm thankful to whoever stabbed him in the stomach. He deserves it. I should be furious with his whole family, not just him. Their brutality and indifference have wounded my spirit. They have no idea who I am. They're not familiar with me—sweet, little me.

They treated me like a total stranger. It was ridiculous. I wasn't just a face in the crowd; I had met many of them at various social gatherings—parties and galas—over the past year since I returned from studying abroad. My appearance is not entirely forgotten. With my distinctive square face shape, beautiful green eyes, and rich black hair, I'm used to getting attention. Back in college, I was constantly complimented on my appearance, especially by guys who couldn't stop talking about my great figure. But here, in this vast estate transformed into a complex family hospital scene, I was treated as if I were a ghost.

The apartment where I am living is nothing compared to this. It is overwhelming to think that actual people live here, and not just people, but his entire family.

What's worse is that his aunt, Mary, was giving me stinky eyes, and her son, Sebastian, was giving me a flirty smile. Technically, we were not properly introduced, so they may not remember me. But she never came to talk to me or visited me once after the marriage. Hell, not even Alarik met me or called. Isn't it customary to invite the new family member to dinner? It is even more ridiculous he forgets about his wife.

Perhaps that explains a lot. They have always been indifferent. His aunt nudged Sebastian to catch his attention and whisper something to him.

"No, aunt, I don't think she is a stripper. I would have known that," Sebastian whispered back, quite audibly to me.

"Look at her clothes," Aunt Mary replied, sending me a side look of grimace, as if she had been constipated for weeks. Do they think I am a stripper? This is worse than I thought. Everyone here thinks I am some kind of whore.

I decided it was best to get out of here and live my life away from their judgment. I coughed loudly to get their attention.

"Look, she heard us," Sebastian whispered again.

"I am not a stripper, for your information. I am a lawyer. And as for my clothes, I can wear whatever I want," I said with a smile. I wanted to scream that I am Alarik's wife, but I held back. I shouldn't stay here for long, or I would lose my sanity.

I stood up from the luxurious sofa, which I couldn't afford despite my father being wealthy enough to own an estate for me. However, his parenting style is different from that of most parents.

"I think I shall take my leave now," I said, taking a step toward the door.

Suddenly, Sebastian blocked my way. He stood in front of me with a sheepish smile.

"I am sorry for the comment; we shouldn't have said that, but Alarik ordered us not to let you go. He wants to talk to you." He rubbed the back of his head to appear less dangerous, but I knew he was not any less psychotic than Alarik. Both cousins were known for their cruelty to their victims in the world. The only difference was that Sebastian was more talkative, outgoing, and a playboy.

What caught my attention was that Alarik wanted to talk to me. Why now? He was being operated on for his wounds. It would take hours for him to be free. It was three in the morning, and I wanted to go home. I wish I had not agreed with Sarah's plan.

"But it's three in the morning, and I want to go home and get some sleep; you can understand, right?" I tried to explain my situation to Sebastian truthfully.

"I can totally understand, but I can't ignore his order. So, I am sorry, but you can rest in one of the guest rooms, and you should have a nurse look at you," Sebastian suggested.

Before I could open my mouth to reject, we suddenly heard the downpour of rain. Damned! Now that it's raining, I cannot drive in the rain.

I was too tired to complain. Taking some medicine and resting sounded nice. I would think of all this tomorrow.

I was really excited to see everyone's expressions tomorrow when I revealed who I was.

Settling into the guest room, I couldn't help but reflect on the events that had led to this moment. My marriage to Alarik was not one of love but of convenience and strategic alliances. His family, cold and calculating, saw me as nothing.

The guest room was lavish. The bed, with its silk sheets and plush pillows, was a stark contrast to the turmoil in my heart. I lay down, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night playing in my mind on a loop. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, slumber took over.