Chapter 1 - The Servant’s Staircase
"Get out of my house," Renata hissed, her finger hovering over the intercom button.
I looked at the flashing red light on the panel. Security was already on their way. In less than two minutes, large men in dark suits would burst through those doors. They wouldn’t listen to me. They were paid by Grant Callahan, and Renata was about to be Mrs. Callahan.
If I stayed, I would be arrested.
If I was arrested, Lily would be left alone with the monster currently smoothing her silk robe.
I didn't have minutes. I had seconds.
I tightened my grip on Lily. She felt impossibly small in my arms, her face still buried in my collarbone, her tears soaking through my cotton shirt.
"I'm leaving," I said, my voice eerily calm. "But she’s coming with me."
Renata’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her perfectly contoured face. "You can't be serious. That's kidnapping. Grant will have you buried under a prison for the rest of your pathetic life!"
"Move."
I didn't wait for her to step aside. I barreled forward, using my shoulder to shove past her. Renata stumbled again, shrieking something foul, but I was already through the bathroom doors.
I didn't take the grand marble staircase in the foyer. That’s where security would be rushing up. Instead, I sprinted down the hallway toward the east wing, ducking behind a heavy mahogany door that led to the servant's staircase. It was narrow, uncarpeted, and pitch black, but I knew every step by heart.
"Hold on tight, sweetie," I whispered, practically sliding down the spiral steps.
I could hear heavy boots thundering on the marble floors above us. Walkie-talkies crackled with static, echoing through the cavernous estate.
We hit the ground floor kitchen. The catering staff was in a frenzy, prepping trays of caviar and champagne for the gala. They barely glanced up as I blew past them, out the side door, and into the cool evening air.
My beat-up 2012 Honda Civic was parked near the dumpsters, hidden from the pristine circular driveway. I fumbled for my keys, my hands shaking so badly I dropped them twice.
Click.
I threw the passenger door open, buckled Lily in, and sprinted to the driver’s side. As the engine sputtered to life, the side door of the mansion burst open. Two security guards stepped out, their flashlights cutting through the dusk.
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I slammed my foot on the gas. The tires squealed against the gravel, kicking up dust as I tore out of the service exit, merging onto the winding mountain road just as the first wail of police sirens echoed in the distance.
I was officially a fugitive. And I had a billionaire's daughter in my passenger seat.
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