Ramona ran.
She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she might see them. The shadows lurking in the penthouse, the monsters she was sure were watching her every move, waiting for her to falter.
Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as she sprinted through the dim corridors, her bare feet barely making a sound against the marble floors. Her mind screamed at her to move faster. She was running on nothing but desperation, her body weak, her thoughts frantic.
She reached the stairwell and hesitated for only a second before launching herself down the steps, skipping two at a time. She didn't trust the elevators. Those would be monitored, tracked. But the stairs—maybe, just maybe, she could slip away before anyone realized she was missing.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally reached the ground floor. The air was colder here, filled with the distant scent of damp earth. The exit was close—so close.
And then she saw it.
The door.
A simple steel door that stood between her and freedom.
She didn't hesitate.
She shoved it open, bursting outside into the open air.
The relief was instant. It hit her in the chest, in her lungs, in her very bones. She had done it. She was outside.
But she wasn't safe. Not yet.
Her feet pounded against the pavement as she ran, her gaze darting frantically around. She had hoped—prayed—that she'd find a street, a busy road, something, anything that would help her disappear.
Instead, she found herself in the middle of nowhere.
The entire building—Killian's stronghold—was secluded, hidden away from the world. The road leading away from it was narrow and winding, swallowed by dense forest on either side.
She was alone.
No people. No houses. No chance of flagging down a car for help.
But she wouldn't stop.
She couldn't stop.
Ramona pushed forward, ignoring the ache in her legs, the burn in her lungs. She had to keep moving. She had to find a way out before they realized she was gone.
Because if Killian caught her—
No.
She wouldn't let that happen.
She clenched her jaw and ran faster, disappearing into the dark.
_________________________________
Killian arrived home at exactly 4:00 p.m.
He had been gone since morning, handling business—buying, selling, solidifying his empire. But the moment he stepped inside his penthouse, he knew something was wrong.
The air was too still.
The housekeeper stood near the entrance, her head bowed, hands trembling.
Killian narrowed his eyes. Something happened.
Before he could ask, a voice cut through the silence.
"She's gone."
Fiksina.
She stepped out from the shadows of his study, her arms crossed, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders. She was leaning against the doorframe, but there was nothing relaxed about her posture.
His blood ran cold.
"What?" His voice was quiet, but the danger in it was unmistakable.
The housekeeper flinched.
Fiksina didn't. She met his gaze with something close to amusement, though he knew better. She was wary. She had every right to be.
"Your little human," she said, tilting her head. "She escaped."
Silence.
Then—
Killian moved.
The glass on the nearest table shattered as his fist crashed into it, sending shards flying. The housekeeper let out a soft gasp, but Fiksina simply watched, unbothered.
"You let her fucking escape?" His voice was a low growl, dangerous, lethal.
The housekeeper opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her face was pale, her hands shaking.
Fixina sighed. "She's been gone since 11 this morning."
His entire body stiffened. Five hours. She had been missing for five fucking hours, and they were only telling him now?
Killian's hands curled into fists. He inhaled deeply, forcing his rage into something cold. Calculated.
"She won't get far," he said finally.
Fixina arched a brow. "You sound sure of that."
"I am sure." His voice was steel.
He had spent years building his empire, years ensuring that nothing escaped his grasp. If she thought she could outrun him, she was a fool.
But even as he said it, something gnawed at him.
Fixina was powerful. Stronger than most. If anyone could track Ramona down, it was her.
And yet—
"You are a powerful witch," he said slowly, his voice dark, dangerous, "and you couldn't find one woman?"
Fixina exhaled sharply. "I tried, Killian. But there's something about her—I couldn't get a perfect location."
Killian's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
The witch hesitated. For the first time, something flickered across her face. Uncertainty.
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's like… something is blocking me. I can sense that she's out there, but I can't pinpoint exactly where. And the worst part?" She spread her hands. "I don't have anything that belongs to her. Without that, my tracking spells are useless."
A muscle ticked in Killian's jaw.
This wasn't a coincidence.
There was something about Ramona that wasn't normal.
And he hated not knowing what it was.
His fury burned colder. More lethal.
He turned to Fixina, then to the housekeeper. His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made the air feel suffocating.
"If I do not find her," he said, each word dripping with promise, "I will have your necks."
The housekeeper paled.
Fixina only smirked. "Better start hunting, then."
Killian's eyes darkened.
Oh, he would.
And when he found her—
She would never escape him again.