Chapter Six

The tap at the window sent a jolt of adrenaline through Sarah's veins. Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached the glass, peering cautiously into the twilight. Below, the shadowy figure from the previous night stood at the edge of the garden, half-hidden by the towering rose bushes. The fading light cast an eerie glow over the scene, making it feel like a ghostly apparition rather than a flesh-and-blood person.

She couldn't make out the figure's face, but their posture was tense, alert, as if they were as afraid of being caught as she was. For a moment, they stood motionless, staring up at her window. Then, slowly, they lifted a hand and beckoned her down with an urgent wave.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Was this her chance? A way out of the mansion? Or was it another trap, another twisted game in Adrian's sadistic world?

She knew the risks. But the memory of Adrian's cold eyes, his icy grip on her, and the threat that loomed over her father's life drove her to action. She couldn't just sit here, waiting to be consumed by the darkness that surrounded her. If there was even a sliver of hope, she had to take it.

Without giving herself time to overthink, Sarah grabbed her shawl from the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. The mansion was a maze of corridors and locked doors, but she'd memorized the route to the servants' staircase, the one that led directly to the garden.

As she crept through the dimly lit halls, the shadows seemed to stretch and writhe, as if the house itself was alive, watching her every move. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps—too far away to be a threat, but close enough to remind her that she was never truly alone here.

Her heart raced as she finally reached the narrow staircase. She hesitated for a moment, listening for any sound that might signal danger. But all was quiet, the heavy weight of tension pressing down on her.

She descended the stairs quickly, each step bringing her closer to the unknown. By the time she reached the door that led to the garden, her palms were slick with sweat, and her breath came in shallow gasps.

With a shaky hand, she pushed the door open, the cool night air rushing in to greet her. The garden lay before her, bathed in the pale light of the rising moon. The figure was still there, closer now, standing in the shadows of the hedges.

Sarah stepped out into the night, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her across the lawn toward the waiting figure. Every fiber of her being screamed to turn back, to retreat to the relative safety of her prison. But she pressed on, driven by a mixture of fear and desperate hope.

As she neared the figure, she could finally make out more details—a man, dressed in dark clothes, his face partially obscured by a hood. His posture was rigid, yet there was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of her memory.

"Who are you?" Sarah whispered, her voice trembling.

The man lifted his head slightly, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his face. Her breath caught in her throat as recognition dawned. It was Antonio, one of Adrian's lieutenants—a man she had seen only in passing, always at Adrian's side, always silent and observant.

"Antonio," she breathed, her heart sinking. "Why are you here?"

He stepped closer, his expression shadowed and unreadable. "I'm here to help you, Sarah," he said, his voice low and urgent. "But you have to trust me."

Sarah recoiled slightly, her mind racing. Trust him? How could she trust anyone in this place, least of all one of Adrian's own men? But then she remembered the note, the words that had given her a glimmer of hope.

You're not alone.

"Why should I trust you?" she demanded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "You work for him. For Adrian."

Antonio's gaze hardened. "I do what I must to survive. Just like you."

His words hung in the air between them, a stark reminder of the world they both inhabited—a world where survival often meant making impossible choices.

"Time is running out, Sarah," Antonio continued, his tone urgent. "If you want to save your father, if you want to get out of here alive, you need to listen to me."

Sarah's heart pounded in her chest. Was this it? Was this the escape she had been praying for? Or was it all part of a larger trap, a cruel twist in the game Adrian was playing?

Before she could respond, a distant sound broke the tension—the crunch of gravel underfoot. Someone was approaching, fast.

Antonio's eyes widened with alarm. "We need to go. Now." He grabbed Sarah's arm, pulling her deeper into the shadows as the sound of footsteps grew louder, closer, like the relentless approach of doom.