Cecilia’s pov
After walking for a while, we could hear footsteps again--faint, but coming from both directions.
My heart kicked into overdrive.
I glanced at the rooms lining the corridor, spaced every few yards.
A desperate plan snapped into place.
We were out of time. We had nothing to lose.
As the women ahead passed one of the doors, I grabbed the handle.
To my surprise, it turned. Without hesitation, I pulled Harper inside.
Yvonne and Luna Dora followed immediately.
The Real VIP hesitated in the hallway, frozen.
I looked at her--but didn’t wait.
I moved to shut the door.
If she couldn’t decide whether to trust me by now, that wasn’t my problem.
"Wait--!" she cried.
At the last second, she lunged forward and stumbled through the doorway.
I slammed the door behind her and locked it.
Harper and Yvonne didn’t need instructions--they dragged a velvet sofa across the floor and wedged it up against the door.
Outside, voices erupted.
"What happened?"
"Are you in there?"
"Open up!"
The Real VIP stood near the door, trembling. Her gaze darted between the others and me, her whole body tense with nervousness.
I caught the unease in her eyes and narrowed mine.
"If you don’t trust me," I said flatly, "you shouldn’t have followed me."
"I..." she started, voice unsteady.
"She’s not going to hurt you," Luna Dora cut in, arms crossed. "If she wanted to, she’d have done it hours ago."
Despite Luna Dora’s usual venom, she wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t here to hurt anyone.
The Real VIP nodded quickly, almost too quickly.
I didn’t have time to babysit her emotions.
I turned and scanned the room. It was a guest suite--sofa, table, bed, bathroom. No windows in the main space.
"Bathroom," Harper called. "There’s a window."
Perfect.
I moved quickly. "You go first," I said, guiding The Real VIP toward the bathroom.
She balked slightly.
"Run once you’re out. Call the police. Doesn’t matter where you end up--just get far and keep moving. Hide if you have to."
She nodded. Her fingers were shaking as she grabbed the windowsill.
Her legs didn’t look like they were going to cooperate, but she forced herself up.
Just before she slipped out, she turned back toward me, wide-eyed.
"What’s your name?" she whispered. "Please."
I stared at her.
"Not now," I said sharply, and gave her a nudge. "Go."
The edge in my voice did the trick.
She startled and disappeared without another word.
Author’s pov
As the Real VIP slipped through the bathroom window, Tang was breaking in through another--entering the ballroom just as the chaos inside reached full bloom.
He paused at the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning the masked chaos with military precision.
His jaw tightened. This wasn’t just a party gone wrong--it was a trap with chandeliers.
He grabbed the nearest guest, a startled woman in a velvet mask.
"Who’s hosting this?" Tang asked, voice low but firm.
The woman blinked. "Uh--Mrs. Dahlia. She’s... over there, by the marble columns. Directing everyone out."
Then Tang strode toward Mrs. Dahlia, his presence cutting through the crowd like a scalpel.
Just as he approached, a security guard burst through one of the side doors, panting.
"That woman--she went into one of the rooms and--AH!"
Before he could finish, Tang had him by the collar, yanking him close.
"Was it the woman in the green dress?" he hissed.
--
Outside the mansion, Sebastian had just arrived with a small team--black SUVs rolling up like a private strike force.
At the main glass doors, a cluster of masked women stood in elegant dresses, their nervous glances flicking between the locked exit and the approaching men.
"Get the door open," Sebastian ordered.
"Yes, Alpha."
A few men moved forward, preparing to force it open--until the locks clicked and the doors swung open on their own.
The women flinched, startled. Then, like pigeons scattered by thunder, they bolted--heels clacking across the stone as they fled.
Sebastian stepped inside without a word.
His eyes swept the space like a sniper lining up targets.
"Find the signal jammers," he said. "Destroy them. I’m heading to the ballroom."
--
Back near the bathroom, the banging on the door had grown more desperate by the second.
Luna Dora had already climbed out.
She didn’t say a word. Didn’t look back.
Just ran--like someone escaping a burning building with no time for goodbyes.
She had recognized Cecilia. That much was clear.
But she hadn’t exposed her, and Cecilia wasn’t about to call her back.
"Yvonne, go!" Cecilia urged, giving her a push toward the window.
Yvonne didn’t hesitate. With a firm grip on the sill and surprising agility, she hitched up her dress and swung herself through--as if this weren’t her first escape through a high-society bathroom window.
Once outside, she turned and helped Harper scramble through, skirts and heels tangling in the frame.
Cecilia was last.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, all three women kicked off their heels and crouched low, sprinting barefoot across the manicured grass toward the flower beds.
This side of the mansion bordered the parking lot. If they could reach it, Tang might be able to extract them.
But it wouldn’t be easy.
Behind them--
BANG!
The bathroom door exploded open.
"Ladies, I’ve come to--" Tang burst into the room, half-shouting--
Only to find it empty.
He froze for a half-second, eyes scanning the ransacked space, then spotted the open window.
No hesitation. Three strides. One leap. Gone.
Outside, the mansion’s sprawling gardens stretched out like a maze--flower-covered walls, rose-draped trellises, high hedges thick with shadows.
Perfect for wedding photos. Or ambushes.
The women ducked behind a tall clematis-covered wall, breath sharp in their throats.
Harper fumbled for her phone, dialing Tang.
Cecilia glanced around, then quickly tapped out a message to Sebastian.
Somewhere deeper in the garden, footsteps stirred the gravel.
Time was running out.
Cecilia nodded, relieved. "Yes. Do it."
Because Yvonne was right.
Why were they tucked into shrubbery like forgotten props in someone else’s drama?
They weren’t helpless. They weren’t supporting characters.
And clearly--whatever Sebastian was dealing with had taken priority.
That realization settled over Cecilia like a cold weight.
It stung more than she wanted to admit.