Page 3 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
“Shh,” he cautioned, glancing nervously toward the door. “Not here. We can’t talk about this here. If anyone overhears...” he trailed off. We both knew the repercussions, but I had to try for Roland. “I’ll bring you something, but I’ll come to you.”
“Thank you,” I said again, my mind already racing ahead. There was a chance now, a sliver of hope. And I’d cling to it with everything I had.
The next fewdays dragged on like a nightmare that refused to end. Every creak of the mansion’s floorboards, every hushed conversation echoing through the halls, felt like a conspiracy to reveal my deepest secrets. I couldn’t eat. I hardly dared to breathe. The wait was agony, my battered body tense with the dread that Lucas had betrayed me or reconsidered his offer.
Then, just as my fear threatened to consume me, Lucas found me in the quiet sanctuary of the garden. His approach was silent, respectful, but the tremble in his hands betrayed his terror.
“Mrs. James,” he whispered.
Blood rushed in my ears, and I turned to face him, trying to hide the desperation on my face. “Lucas?”
He glanced around to make sure we were alone before reaching into his pocket. The small, sleek shape of a phone appeared in his palm, and my breathing quickened.
“Here. Take it,” he said, pressing it into my hand. The device felt like something impossible, both heavy and amazingly light. This was more than just the ability to make a call; this was about autonomy.
“Thank you,” I said, hugging it to my chest, anxious that he might reconsider and reclaim it.
“Promise me something,” he said, looking around nervously. “If he catches you, I wasn’t involved. You can’t tell him it was me.”
I nodded fervently. “I promise. He’ll never know it was you. I swear it.”
His relief was palpable, and for a moment, our shared fear connected us. “Be careful, Mrs. James. Good luck.”
“I will, and thank you.”
And with that, he hurried away, leaving me with a glimmer of hope in the face of approaching despair.
With a sigh of relief, I locked myself in the tiny powder room in one of the guest rooms. The phone was an alien objectin my trembling hand. My gaze remained fixed on it, a mixture of disbelief and awe coursing through me as I contemplated its boundless potential to help me break free from these oppressive physical and mental walls. My fingers skated over the screen, my pulse throbbing in my ears.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath, scrolling through an endless sea of apps until I found the one I needed—a gateway to the outside world. Social media. My accounts had been dormant for so long due to George’s paranoia. But now, I hoped it would be my saving grace.
“Heather Crew,” I said as I typed, the name a talisman against my despair. My sister’s face popped up almost instantly, and the fear knotting my stomach loosened a bit at her smile. My thumb hovered over the message button, then I plunged into the abyss.
The words spilled out, unbidden, my fingers tripping over each other in their haste.
Me:Heather, it’s Zoey. I’m sorry for disappearing. I need help. Please. It’s urgent.
Send.
The wait was excruciating. Each second stretched into an eternity of doubt and second-guessing. Had she moved on? Forgotten me? Did she resent me for cutting her off?
Then, the phone vibrated. A notification. My heart leaped into my throat.
Heather:Zoey?! Where are you? Are you okay?
Heather’s concern leapt off the screen. And then, she sent the thing I so desperately needed: a string of digits. Her phone number.
Tears blurred my vision as I typed.
Me:Thank you.I’ll call soon. I promise.
With the number saved, the phone became my secret, my hope, my escape plan. I switched off the vibration, then clutchedit to my chest, allowing myself a moment to breathe. Knowing George’s distaste for feminine hygiene products, I tucked the phone into a nearly empty tampon box.
The next time George left the house, I grabbed it and pressed the phone to my ear, the chill of its surface grounding me as I waited for the call to connect. My heart raced, a wild creature clawing for escape.
“Hello?” Heather’s voice was a balm to my anxious soul. A familiar warmth spread through the cold dread that had taken residence in my body.
“Heather,” I choked out in a hoarse whisper. “It’s Zoey.”
