---- Chapter 4 No.4 Clare walked for what felt like miles. Each step on the hard asphalt was a declaration. | am leaving. | am done. An old pickup truck eventually slowed beside her. The driver, a man with a kind, weathered face, leaned across the passenger seat. "You alright, miss? It's a long way to town." She got in without hesitation. He dropped her at a bus station in a small, forgotten town. In the grimy bathroom, she looked at her reflection for the first time. Her face was pale and smudged with dirt, her eyes hollowed out. But they were clear. The fog of her love for Chase had lifted. She had one thing of value left on her. The diamond engagement ring. She walked into the first pawn shop she saw. The man behind the counter eyed her suspiciously, then eyed the ring with greed. He offered her a fraction of its worth. "Fine," she said, sliding it off her finger. It felt like shedding a skin. ---- With a pocket full of cash, she bought a bus ticket. Destination: anywhere but here. And she bought a cheap, disposable phone. There was only one number she could call, a lifeline she'd kept scribbled on a faded piece of paper tucked away in a book for a decade. Her aunt Isolde. Her mother's estranged sister. The black sheep of the family who had run off to California and become some kind of tech mogul. The phone rang three times. Clare's heart hammered against her ribs. What if she didn't answer? What if she hung up? "This is Isolde." The voice was crisp, efficient. "Aunt Isolde?" Clare's voice cracked. "It's... it's Clare. Jennings." There was a pause. Not of confusion, but of recognition. "Clare," Isolde said, her tone softening immediately. "Where are you?" The simple question, the lack of judgment, broke something open inside her. The tears she hadn't shed on the mountain, in the truck, at the pawn shop, they came now. A silent, shuddering wave of grief and relief. "| don't know," she sobbed. "Some town. I... | need help." "Okay," Isolde said, her voice a sudden anchor in Clare's ---- swirling chaos. "Stay right where you are. Send me your location. I'm sending a car. And Clare? Whatever it is, we'll handle it." We. The word was a miracle. While she waited, she made another call. To a clinic. The woman on the other end was gentle, asking questions Clare answered in a monotone. Yes, she was sure. Yes, she understood. The appointment was for the next day. Her burner phone buzzed. A text from a number she didn't recognize. Where are you? Answer me. This isn't a game, Clare. Chase. He must have found the pawn shop. He was tracking her. Another text. Whatever that man paid you for the ring, I'll triple it. Just come home. He thought he could buy her. A third text, this one from Karis. Clare, please. Chase is worried sick. We all are. Don't do ---- something you'll regret. He loves you. The lie was so bald, so audacious, it was almost funny. We. There it was again. The royal we. The united front. Clare stared at the messages, her thumb hovering over the screen. She thought about all the pain, the humiliation. She thought about the life she was about to end, and the life she was about to begin. She typed a single reply, not to Chase, but to Karis. Tell him | said thank you. For everything. Then she powered down the phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash can beside her. The past was a dead thing. A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb. The driver, a man in a sharp suit, got out and held the door open for her. "Ms. Jennings? Ms. Rhodes sent me." Clare got in. The leather was cool against her skin. It was a world away from the dusty bus station. As the car pulled away, she didn't look back. She was already gone.