The Billionaire's Substitute: Her Final Escape

Elease's spine was pressed painfully against the hot metal door of the G63. Trapped beneath Antwan's crushing weight, she stared desperately over his shoulder at the black Maybach idling across the avenue. The rear passenger window of the Maybach was rolled down halfway. Brogan was sitting in the shadows of the backseat. His sharp, cold eyes cut straight through the chaotic New York traffic, locked directly onto Elease. A sudden, desperate surge of hope flared in Elease's chest. She stopped fighting Antwan's grip. She looked at Brogan, her eyes wide, silently begging him for help. Antwan felt her body go still. He followed her line of sight across the street. When he saw Brogan sitting in the Maybach, Antwan let out a loud, mocking whistle. Antwan deliberately lowered his head, burying his face into the curve of Elease's neck. He pressed his body closer, creating an illusion of extreme, consensual intimacy for Brogan to witness. Elease gagged. She twisted her neck violently to get away from Antwan's mouth, her eyes still glued to the Maybach. Get out of the car, she prayed silently. Please, Brogan. Just get out of the car. Across the noisy, crowded street, Brogan's face was a mask of pure ice. He watched Elease writhing in his worst enemy's arms. A flash of profound disgust twisted his features. Under Elease's desperate, pleading gaze, Brogan didn't reach for the door handle. Instead, Brogan slowly raised his hand and pressed the button on his armrest. The thick, black tinted glass of the Maybach began to rise. It moved up smoothly, a cold, mechanical guillotine severing Elease's last thread of hope. The Maybach smoothly pulled away from the curb, merging into the traffic without a single second of hesitation. The moment the black window sealed shut, something inside Elease's chest physically snapped. The agonizing pain in her heart was eclipsed by the total, shattering destruction of her soul. A massive surge of adrenaline flooded her trembling body. Her hand slid down to her coat pocket. With a blind, desperate flick of her thumb, she rapidly clicked the power button on her phone five times, triggering the silent emergency SOS ping directly to Brianna's phone. Catching Antwan completely off guard, Elease lunged her head forward and sank her teeth viciously into the exposed flesh of his wrist. Antwan let out a harsh grunt of pain. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second as he instinctively recoiled from the sharp bite. Elease didn't hesitate. She shoved him away, spun around, and sprinted toward the crowded subway entrance like a hunted animal. Antwan didn't chase her. He leaned against the door of his G63, rubbing his bleeding wrist. He watched her disappear down the concrete stairs, the dark obsession in his eyes burning hotter than before. He snapped his fingers. The driver's side window rolled down. Mark O'Connell, Antwan's personal fixer, looked out. "Find out exactly where that bitch is sleeping tonight," Antwan ordered, his voice low and lethal. "I'm taking her." Elease ran down the subway stairs, her lungs burning like they were filled with acid. She swiped her card and pushed through the turnstile, finally collapsing against the cold tile wall of the platform. The bruises on her wrists from Antwan's grip were already turning a sickening shade of purple. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a bird trapped in a cage, slamming against her ribs. Her legs gave out. She slid down the wall and hit the dirty floor. Her hands shook violently as she dug the pill bottle out of her bag. She dry-swallowed three pills, choking on the bitter chalk. People walking by gave her weird looks, but she didn't care. As the medication slowly forced her heart rate down, Elease pulled out her phone. She stared at Brogan's name in her blocked list. Tears finally spilled over her eyelashes, running silently down her cheeks. She wasn't crying because he left her. She was crying because she had wasted five years of her life loving a man who would watch her get assaulted in broad daylight and roll his window up. Elease wiped her face aggressively. She stood up, her eyes completely dead, and boarded the train to Brooklyn. When she unlocked the door to Brianna's apartment, it was empty. Brianna had left a sticky note on the counter saying she was pulled in for a double night shift at the hospital. Elease locked the deadbolt. She walked through the tiny apartment and pulled every single curtain shut, sealing herself inside the dark box. She stripped off the expensive corporate clothes and put on an oversized, faded t-shirt. She curled up on the sofa, pulling a thin blanket over her head. By nightfall, the intense psychosomatic symptoms of her trauma triggered a low-grade fever. The Brooklyn streets outside grew loud and chaotic. Sirens wailed in the distance, mixing with the barking of stray dogs. Elease lay shivering violently under the blanket, drifting in and out of a painful, feverish delirium, groaning softly as her chest ached. At 11:00 PM, an unmarked black sedan pulled up to the curb outside the apartment building. Mark sat in the driver's seat, looking up at the dark window on the third floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed. "I have the address," Mark reported. On the other end of the line, Antwan let out a low, sadistic laugh.