Chapter Four: Refuse to Break

There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.

And as I stood in front of the window at midnight, using a stolen hairpin to fiddle with the lock like I’d seen in movies, I knew I was toeing that line with both feet.

I didn’t care.

I needed out.

Out of this mansion. Out of this twisted game. Out of the eyes of the four heirs who looked at me like I was a pawn, a liability, or worse—a prize.

Especially after what I saw in that box.

The photo. The scratched-out woman. My father with a gun.

My stomach still hadn’t settled from it. I couldn’t tell what disturbed me more—the act itself… or the awful, haunting sense that I’d seen her face before it was ripped away. Like a shadow lingering in the back of my mind, refusing to step into the light.

But I couldn’t fix that mystery until I had space to think. And breathing the same air as the men who held me captive? Not helping.

The lock finally gave with a quiet click.

I froze.

The sound was small, but in this mansion—where every creak felt magnified—it might as well have been an alarm.

Still, no footsteps. No voices.

I pushed the window open. A crisp breeze rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and something else—freedom.

I hadn’t even bothered to put on shoes. Just socks and a hoodie. I figured if I made it out, blisters were a small price to pay.

I hoisted myself over the ledge, heart pounding, and dropped down into the bushes below.

The cold dirt hit my palms. I didn’t pause.

I ran.

The estate was bigger than I realized. The mansion sat like a sleeping beast in the middle of perfectly landscaped grounds, but beyond the stone fences was forest—dark, tangled, and deep.

I aimed for it like a lifeline.

Branches whipped at my arms. Thorns caught my hoodie. I stumbled more than once but kept going. The adrenaline in my veins was white-hot. I didn’t think about the danger of running blind through unfamiliar woods. I only thought: Go.

I didn’t know how long I ran. Ten minutes? Thirty? Time bent around my panic.

Then I heard it.

A voice.

Low. Calm. Dangerous.

“Going somewhere, little rabbit?”

I skidded to a halt.

Behind me, a dark silhouette stepped from the trees.

Jace.

Of course it was Jace.

“Jesus,” I gasped. “Do you have a damn GPS in my head?”

He smirked. “Did you think we wouldn’t put motion sensors around the perimeter?”

I turned to bolt in the other direction, but he was faster.

He tackled me to the ground in a single move, his body pinning mine into the cold earth. I kicked, twisted, scratched—he didn’t flinch.

“Let me go!”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed against my ear, “but I really hate running through the woods. Especially for people who don’t listen.”

I elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt. “I’m not your pet! Or your prisoner!”

“No,” he said, tightening his grip, “you’re worse. You’re the wild kind. The kind that claws even when she's cornered.”

I growled, actually growled, and kept struggling until he finally sighed and rolled off me.

“Get up,” he said, standing and brushing leaves from his jeans. “I’m not carrying you back like some hostage princess.”

I didn’t move.

He stared down at me, and for once, the cocky grin was gone.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re scared. You’re pissed. But this?” He waved at the woods around us. “This doesn’t end well for you.”

“What do you care?” I snapped.

Something flickered in his eyes. “I don’t.”

He turned and started walking. “But Nik does. And Enzo’s bored enough to do something dramatic. And Kai?” He glanced back over his shoulder. “You don’t want him deciding you’re a problem.”

I stayed on the ground, breathing hard, dirt in my hair, knees scraped, heart cracked wide open.

Then I did something I hadn’t done since I was a kid.

I cried.

Silent, angry tears that spilled down my cheeks as I stared up at the sky and wondered how the hell my life had unraveled this fast.

By the time I got back to the mansion, I was half-frozen, exhausted, and emotionally drained. Jace didn’t say a word as he led me through a side door and up the stairs.

When we reached my room, he didn’t unlock the door.

Instead, he turned to me. “They’re going to find out.”

I wiped my eyes. “Good. Maybe they’ll kill me and put me out of my misery.”

He grabbed my arm—not hard, but firm enough to make me look at him.

“You don’t get to give up,” he said. “Not after making me chase you through a damn forest.”

I stared at him. “Why do you even care?”

He let go and shrugged, eyes dark. “I don’t. But you’re not weak. Don’t start acting like it now.”

He opened the door and shoved it wide.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

I didn’t sleep.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I paced. Thought. Replayed the woods in my mind a thousand times. Wondered how I could outsmart them next time.

And I opened the box again.

The photo.

The note.

The face I couldn’t see.

The phrase on the back of the photo burned into my brain.

“Trust no one. Not even yourself.”

That was the part that haunted me the most.

Not even yourself.

What the hell did that mean?

What had my father done?

What had I done?

Morning came too fast.

When I opened my door, a tray was waiting. Breakfast. Still warm. Fresh juice. Someone was watching me, clearly—but at least they fed their prisoners well.

I picked at the food, stomach too tight to eat much, and was just about to retreat into my bed when a knock sounded again.

I braced myself.

Nik.

He stood there in a crisp navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, calm and unreadable.

“You ran,” he said simply.

“No,” I said. “I flew.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re lucky it was Jace who caught you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why? What would you have done?”

Nik stepped inside, closing the door softly. “I wouldn’t have chased you.”

“So you’d let me go?”

“No.” He looked at me, serious. “I’d have made an example of you.”

My skin chilled.

He didn’t say it like a threat.

He said it like a fact.

“I’m not your enemy,” I said quietly.

He tilted his head. “Aren’t you?”

“I didn’t choose this,” I snapped.

“Neither did we.”

That shut me up.

He walked to the window—the one I’d climbed out of—and ran a finger along the latch. “You’re not the first person to try and run. But most of them don’t get as far as the trees.”

“Gold star for me then,” I muttered.

Nik turned, arms crossed. “You want out? Earn it.”

I stared. “What?”

“You want to be free?” he said slowly. “Prove you’re worth more alive than locked in this room. Because right now, Rory, you’re a risk. And risks? We eliminate those.”

The way he said it—cold, clear, final—left no room for misinterpretation.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

He stared at me like he was weighing the truth in his hands.

Then he said, “We need you to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That woman in the photo,” he said. “You know her. We’re sure of it.”

My chest tightened. “I don’t.”

“You will.”

Nik moved to the door but paused before opening it.

“We’ll be watching you. Closely.”

Then he left.

I sank to the floor again.

Trapped. Hunted. Tested.

And now they wanted my memories?

The thing was—I didn’t know what scared me more.

The idea that I couldn’t remember something important…

Or the quiet, gnawing fear that when I did, everything would be so much worse than I thought.

Later that night, I found a letter under my pillow.

No name. No signature. Just seven words in neat, slanted handwriting:

“She’s not dead. Don’t trust them.”