The safe house suddenly felt too small for all the fear inside it.
Marcel's words still echoed in my head:
"Pack only the essentials. We leave in thirty minutes."
My father immediately grabbed the duffel bags from the closet while Monalisa began sorting files, documents, and anything that shouldn't fall into the wrong hands. The tension in the room was sharp enough to cut skin. No one spoke louder than a whisper. Every sound felt like it could alert danger that lurked beyond the walls.
I stood there for a moment, frozen, watching them rush around me. My life, my real life, had been reduced to three bags, a dead identity, and the faint hope that I might live long enough to reclaim myself.
Marcel stepped close to me, his voice quiet but firm.
"Miranda. You need to pack."
I blinked, my hands shaking as I finally reached for a small suitcase.
"What… what do I even take?" I whispered.
He met my eyes, and there was no pity there, only a solid, grounding certainty.
"Take what reminds you you're human. Everything else can be replaced."
Something about that hit deeper than it should have.
I nodded and began packing my clothes, neutral dresses, a few sweaters, sleepwear. Nothing extravagant. Nothing that looked like the Miranda Albert the world knew. My father had already destroyed every traceable device. Monalisa shredded documents with Miranda Albert's identification. My engagement rings, wedding jewelry, even my favorite perfumes, all of them stayed behind.
Those belonged to the dead version of me.
The air grew heavier with every minute.
My father approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Are you ready, Mira?"
His voice wavered, and for a brief second, I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the fear he had carried since the moment he read the toxic drug report.
"Yes," I forced out. "I'll be fine."
Marcel's voice cut in from behind us. "We move in two minutes."
He was standing at the window, watching the street through a narrow slit in the blinds. The tension in his stance told me everything: he wasn't just protecting me, he was expecting danger.
"Are they looking for me already?" I asked softly.
"They will," he replied. "Sooner than you think."
His words sent a cold shiver down my spine.
Monalisa zipped the last bag. "We should go now, sir."
Marcel nodded once. "Let's move."
We stepped out at the back of the safe house, where a black armored SUV waited with tinted windows. Marcel motioned for me to enter first, and I slipped into the back seat. My father sat beside me, squeezing my hand. Monalisa sat in front with Marcel.
The car started, and with every turn, every bump, every shadow passing by the windows… I felt the ghost of fear pressing on my chest.
Marcel didn't take the usual route.
He took narrow back paths, switched streets twice, and at one point pulled over behind a truck warehouse for five full minutes without speaking.
"What's happening?" I whispered.
He didn't turn. "Just making sure we're not being followed."
The seriousness in his tone made my throat dry.
My father leaned closer to me. "Listen to him, Miranda. He knows what he's doing."
I nodded, even though my heartbeat said otherwise.
After another hour of careful driving, we entered a private, heavily wooded road. It was long, silent, and dark, a path no one would imagine a billionaire heir would use.
"You own this road?" I finally asked.
Marcel replied, "My grandfather bought the land years ago. The estate is hidden behind it."
"And no one knows?"
"No one who matters."
His confidence did something strange to my chest, something tight and warm at the same time.
When the trees finally opened, I saw it, a massive, modern stone estate surrounded by tall, motion-sensor gates. It wasn't flashy, but it looked impenetrable. Safe. Hidden.
The car rolled in.
The moment we entered, floodlights illuminated the compound. A few men in black security uniforms bowed slightly toward the vehicle.
"This place…" I whispered. "It doesn't look like anywhere someone would think to check."
"It won't be found," Marcel replied. "Not unless I want it to."
He got out first, then opened my door himself. His hand extended toward me, steady, warm, grounding.
I hesitated before placing my hand in his.
His grip tightened subtly, as if reminding me:
You're not alone. Not anymore.
My feet touched the stone driveway, and for a moment, I felt like I was stepping into someone else's life.
Father exhaled deeply once he got out. "This place is… heavily secured."
Marcel nodded. "You'll sleep easier here. All three of you will."
We entered through the main door. The interior was stunning, high ceilings, warm lighting, minimalist décor. Not cold, but contained. Quiet. Controlled.
"This is the east wing," Marcel explained. "No one uses this part of the house but me. You'll stay here."
He pointed to a hallway.
"Miranda, your room is the first on the right. Your father and Monalisa are in the adjoining suite. No one gets to this wing without passing my security."
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until it escaped me all at once.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He turned to me, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he smiled. A small one. Soft, almost reluctant.
"You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "I didn't save you. I just helped you save yourself."
My breath caught.
Something inside me shifted.
Something warm. Something dangerous.
Something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
My room was beautiful, cream walls, thick carpets, a king-sized bed, soft lamps that filled the space with warm light. A strange mix of comfort and overwhelming newness.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands.
My life as Miranda Albert was gone.
My name… gone.
My husband… a murderer.
My home… now controlled by strangers.
My identity… stolen by someone else.
Who was I now?
A knock sounded.
Marcel stepped inside.
"Is the room okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I whispered.
He hesitated, something I wasn't used to seeing in such a confident man. Then he walked closer, stopping just a foot away from me.
"You're safe here, Miranda. You can breathe."
I laughed weakly. "I don't even know how to anymore."
His eyes softened.
"You will," he said. "And when you're ready… we'll start planning the next step."
"We?" I echoed.
"Yes."
His voice dropped to something gentle but unbreakable.
"You're not fighting this alone."
A strange warmth touched my skin, like sunlight after a long winter.
"Marcel…" I whispered, not knowing what I wanted to say.
He turned to leave but paused at the door.
"And Miranda… one more thing."
I looked up.
His eyes held mine, steady, unwavering, filled with a promise I wasn't ready for.
"No matter what happens next, I'm not letting anyone hurt you again."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time since the hell began, the fear didn't silence me completely.
There was something else now.
Hope.
Dangerous hope…
wrapped in the voice of a man who had no reason to protect me,
yet did.
And that, more than anything, terrified me.