Dangerously Beautiful Scars

21. The game was over

Ashely had planned it carefully, every detail burned into his mind during the long, sleepless nights inside the mansion. He had been patient, biding his time, waiting for Vincent to grow complacent, to believe that his control had worked so thoroughly that Ashely no longer harbored thoughts of escape. But Vincent had underestimated him.

It was during their second outing, just three days ago, when the opportunity presented itself. They had been walking through the park again, a routine that had become almost comforting. The security guards were there, as always, but Ashely had noticed their patterns—how they would occasionally drift further behind when they thought Ashely was fully compliant.

On the third day, when Vincent turned his attention to a phone call and the guards momentarily relaxed their focus, Ashely had acted. He ran. He hadn't looked back, sprinting through the park, weaving through the crowds, the sounds of the city blending into a deafening roar in his ears. His heart hammered in his chest as he bolted down side streets, disappearing into the maze of alleyways and unfamiliar faces.

For three days, Ashely had tasted freedom. Three days of endless walking, hiding, and sleepless nights in cold corners of forgotten buildings. His body was exhausted, but the fire in his chest kept him moving. The fear of being found by Vincent haunted him at every turn, but each step forward had been a victory. Every minute away from the mansion was a reminder that he was more than Vincent's possession.

He had tried to keep his head down, blending in with the city's life, but deep down, Ashely knew the truth. Vincent would come for him. He had too many resources, too much obsession driving him to ever let Ashely go. But even knowing that, Ashely had needed to try. He had needed to believe that escape was possible, that his life didn't have to be dictated by Vincent's whims.

It wasn't until the third night, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, that Ashely's world came crashing down.

He had been sitting in a small, hidden park in the quiet part of the city, thinking he might finally be safe. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Ashely had begun to let himself believe that he had a chance—that he might really be free.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw them.

Two men, dressed in plain clothes, but their gaze was unmistakable. They were Vincent's men.

Ashely's stomach twisted in terror. He leapt up, running before they could even react, his legs burning with the effort. But the moment he turned the corner, he skidded to a halt.

Vincent was standing there, waiting for him.

The world seemed to narrow in that instant, Ashely's breath catching in his throat. Vincent's face was calm, his usual composed mask firmly in place, but Ashely could see the dangerous glint in his eyes—the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

"Ashely," Vincent said softly, almost too softly. "Did you really think you could run from me?"

Ashely's chest heaved, panic surging through him, but he knew it was over. His legs were trembling, the exhaustion from days of running weighing him down. He took a step back, but there was nowhere left to go.

Vincent approached slowly, his movements deliberate, predatory. He raised a hand, gently brushing Ashely's cheek as if he hadn't just spent the last three days hunting him down like prey. "You're tired," Vincent said, his voice sickeningly soothing. "Let's go home."

Home. The word hit Ashely like a punch to the gut. That mansion was not his home. It was a prison, a nightmare he had desperately tried to escape. But now, with Vincent standing in front of him, there was no escape.