Hidden Secrets (editing and improving the story)

Chapter 31 - Prison Break

Elektra's pov:

Eight months had passed since my father was imprisoned, and yet nothing had changed. Our appeal was rejected by the Supreme Court, leaving no hope to free him. The news shattered me, but my father seemed unaffected. He kept reassuring me that everything would be alright, urging me not to worry about him.

I couldn't understand him. What was wrong with him? Didn't he realize he was facing a lifetime behind bars? Didn't that terrify him? How could he be so calm, so detached?

At least things within the pack were improving. My reforms were accepted by the majority, even though some resisted the new status and role of the omega. In the end, they relented, and order was restored—though it was a dull, predictable order.

I saw Alexander at several meetings. He tried to talk to me, but I made sure to avoid him, making it clear I wouldn't be the third wheel. I couldn't fathom his persistence in wanting both of us. It felt irrational. He'd found his mate; he should be devoted to her alone—not chasing after me.

"Maybe he truly loves you," Frostie whispered in my mind.

"Don't be ridiculous," I shot back. "If he really loved me, he'd have rejected his mate and stayed with me. But he didn't. He rushed to bring her back to his pack."

"He tries to talk to you whenever he can. That means something."

"I don't care. He already has a partner, but he's so selfish and arrogant that he wants everything. He can't have his cake and eat it too."

"Maybe she's not with him anymore. Maybe that's what he's trying to tell you every time he approaches... Have you thought about that?"

"I don't care about his reasons. Please stop. I really don't care about him or his feelings."

"Yeah, right... like I believe you," Frostie teased before slipping back into the recesses of my mind.

Bartholomew's pov:

Everything was set for my escape. I had studied the guards' routines endlessly—every shift change, every habit, every weak point. All I needed now was luck, and for everything to unfold exactly as planned. Through all these months in prison, one thought had kept me alive and focused: revenge on Alexander, the Alpha of the Silver Dawn Pack. He would pay—for everything.

Prison conditions were harsh, as expected. Many enemies wanted to settle scores for putting them behind bars, but none had succeeded. I was too careful, too ruthless. I made it clear from the start: anyone who crossed me would meet a grim fate.

They assumed my age made me an easy target. They were wrong. I gave no one the chance to break me. I eliminated threats before they could even emerge. That's how I earned respect—and fear—from the other inmates. I built a loyal team of the most dangerous prisoners, who followed my lead and did favors in return... if you catch my drift.

It was Saturday night—the guards were relaxed, off-guard, and ready to party. My one and only chance to escape. I had arranged for their indulgences: drinks, food, and beautiful women to keep them distracted, oblivious to what was about to happen.

I had also recruited two co-prisoners skilled with electronics, willing to help me hack the security systems—on the condition they came with me once we were free. Naturally, I planned to deal with them later. No loose ends.

The plan was simple but perilous. One wrong move, one slip, and it would be over for us. Once the guards were occupied by their distractions, my accomplices would disable the electronic locks holding us captive. Then, we'd slip out of our cells and make our way to the kitchen.

From there, an access point led to the food supply area. Around 3 a.m. every Sunday, a truck arrived with provisions. Our escape route was to hide in the truck and disappear at the next stop.

The countdown had begun. Everything had to go perfectly.

Around two in the morning, the party was at its peak. The guards were distracted, and my accomplices had successfully hacked the security system—the doors to our cells clicked open. We slipped out cautiously, moving down the dimly lit corridors, careful not to wake anyone.

When we reached the kitchen door, my first attempt to kick it open was useless. Jason, one of my partners in crime, pulled out his laptop and worked his magic. After a tense few minutes, the lock disengaged. We slipped inside and hid behind the benches, waiting for the truck to arrive.

An hour passed in near silence. Our nerves were stretched tight, every creak amplified in the quiet. Then, suddenly, the door swung open—but it wasn't the truck's arrival. A guard staggered in, clearly intoxicated. I signaled my companions to freeze. He rummaged noisily through the cupboards, searching for something. I tensed, ready to strike if necessary.

After what felt like an eternity, he found two bottles of wine, grabbed them, and staggered back out. I exhaled slowly, relief washing over me as we remained hidden.

Then the waiting resumed. Half an hour crawled by, each second heavier than the last. Doubt gnawed at me—was the truck even coming tonight? If it didn't, the chefs might discover us, and that would be the end. Prison punishment meant six months in solitary confinement—and for a werewolf, that was a nightmare. The wolf inside me would scream for release, threatening to drive me insane.

Another thirty minutes dragged on. Desperation crept in. I refused to surrender, not after coming this far, but reality forced my hand. I stood and motioned for the others to prepare to move back toward our cells.

Just then, noises sounded outside the door. We froze. Two men entered carrying large boxes. The delivery truck had finally arrived—albeit an hour late.

We waited for the perfect moment, then slipped into the truck unnoticed. After an agonizing hour, the truck door shut behind us. I was free.

Now, the real game begins.