Chapter One
The cell walls pressed in on me, cold and suffocating, but I had learned to ignore it. Days, weeks, months—time blurred into a monotony that I endured for one purpose. Every second had been preparation, every breath spent calculating, waiting. My escape had to be flawless. No mistakes. This wasn’t about freedom for me—it was about Sarah. Everything, every step, every choice was for her.
My pulse remained steady as the guard passed by, his footsteps echoing in the silent corridor. He was predictable, like all of them. His arrogance made him believe he was the one in control. But tonight, I’d show him what real control was.
When he turned the corner, I moved. Swift, silent, exact. The makeshift blade slid into his throat with the precision of a surgeon’s hand. His eyes widened, confusion clouding them as his blood pooled into my hands. There was no terror, just the dawning realisation that he’d never held the power he thought he did. He’d never understood control. Not like I did.
I held his gaze until the light left his eyes. I knelt down and laid his body gently to the floor, as if it were a kindness. In a way, it was. Control—it’s always been about that. Power. The final say over life and death.
The warmth of his blood coating my hands felt familiar, a sensation I’d longed for. I hadn’t felt that in far too long. The rush, the calm. I smiled to myself, savoring the moment.
The escape came easier than I expected. Everything had fallen into place just as I had planned. Chaos erupted in the prison as the alarms blared. Guards scattered, inmates screamed, but I moved like a ghost—untouchable, unnoticed. I left a trail of bodies behind me. Not out of necessity, but as a reminder. I was still in control. Every life I took was a choice, a decision made deliberately. But there was no thrill in these deaths. They weren’t like the others.
They weren’t like her.
When I held Sarah’s life in my hands—when I watched her face pale, her lips turning blue—that was power. That was real control. I had saved her then, because I needed her to live. I needed her to know that I was the one who decided. These men? They meant nothing. They were just part of the plan.
The cold air hit me as I slipped into the night. Freedom. I breathed it in, but it tasted empty. It wasn’t enough just to be free. I needed Sarah.
In prison, she had been with me every second. Every thought, every moment revolved around her. I knew she thought she’d escaped me, that she’d moved on with her life. But she was wrong. She was never free. She would always be mine. I had saved her once, and I would do it again. This time, I wouldn’t let her slip away.
I moved through the city’s dark streets, my mind racing with the thought of her. Did she still think about me? Did she dream of the night I saved her? Did she ever wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t? She had to know, deep down, that we were connected. In ways no one else could ever understand.
Blood still stained my hands, a reminder of what I was capable of. I would do anything to get her back. And anyone who stood in my way would meet the same fate as those guards.
The first night of freedom was too quiet. The city slept, but I couldn’t. I found an old, abandoned building on the outskirts, a temporary shelter. It wasn’t much, but it would do for now. I wasn’t concerned about being caught. They’d be looking for me soon, but I was already two steps ahead. And I had something they didn’t.
I had Sarah.
In my mind, she was already with me. I could feel her presence—her fear, her confusion. She didn’t know it yet, but she needed me. She always had. Even when she thought she was free, even when she was with him.
The thought of her with someone else made my blood boil. I had heard about him, whispers filtering through the prison walls. She had moved on. Found someone new. But that was a lie. She couldn’t love him. Not after what we had. Not after what I had done for her.
My hands clenched into fists. The thought of her laughing, touching someone else was unbearable. But it wouldn’t last. I would make sure of that.
As I lay on the cold floor, staring up at the cracked ceiling, my mind wandered back to that night. The night I had saved her. The night I had held her life in my hands.
“Do you remember the accident?” Her voice echoed in my mind, soft, vulnerable.
Of course, I remembered. I remembered everything. She thought I had saved her out of love, but that wasn’t the whole truth. That night, I had hesitated. I had felt the pull—the same pull I had felt with every victim before her. I had held her life in my hands, and for a moment, I had wondered what it would feel like to let her go. To watch her life slip away. But I didn’t. I saved her. Not out of love, but out of need. She belonged to me.
I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me. The sound of her shallow breaths, the way her chest barely rose. I had pressed down, forcing life back into her. I had felt her heart stutter beneath my palms, felt her body respond. I had brought her back because I needed her.
And now, I was going to make her remember. She would see that she had never been free. She would understand.
Because I was coming for her.
