The Rathore Mansion bloomed under the dim glow of the night sky, its tall iron gates standing like silent guards against the outside world. The estate stretched endlessly, its towering walls meant to protect the powerful family inside.
But for Ira Rathore, those walls weren't built for protection.
They were built for containment.
Her father, Virendra Rathore, ruled this household the same way he ruled his political empire-with an iron fist and an unshakable will. And Ira? She was nothing more than a chess piece, moved according to his wishes.
For twenty-two years, she had been confined to this place, her existence dictated by rules she had no say in. She was given the best education, dressed in the finest silks, and paraded as the perfect daughter of India's most feared politician. But she had never been allowed to live.
Tomorrow morning, she was supposed to become Vikram Mehta's wife. A man who didn't smile-he calculated. A man who had whispered at their engagement dinner, "Once you're my wife, you'll learn obedience."
Ira had never felt real fear before that moment.
But she felt it now.
She felt it in the way her stomach twisted, in the way sweat gathered at the base of her neck despite the cool night air. She felt it in the pounding of her heart, loud enough that she was sure someone would hear it.
Tonight was her last chance.
If she failed-if she was caught-there would be no second attempt.
She took a shaky breath and moved toward her bedroom door, pressing her ear against the wood. Silence.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the handle, slipping into the dimly lit hallway.
THE ESCAPE
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with ancestral portraits that seemed to watch her every move. Each step she took felt deafening against the marble floors. She couldn't afford to make a sound, tonight, she wasn't Ira Bansal, daughter of a political dynasty. Tonight, she was just a woman on the run.
Draped in a plain black hoodie, a cap pulled low over her face, she tiptoed down the marble stairs, clutching the small duffel bag that held her entire life-some cash, forged documents, and a phone she had never dared to use. Her heart pounded against her ribs, so loud she feared it would wake the guards stationed outside.
Her father's study was just a few doors away. If he woke up... if he saw her...
She swallowed down the rising panic and forced her feet to keep moving.
A sudden noise-a distant thud-sent her heart slamming against her ribs.
She froze.
Footsteps.
They were faint but unmistakable. A guard patrolling the hall.
Ira's breath hitched. Run or hide?
She pressed herself into the shadows near an antique cabinet, her hands clutching the duffel bag she carried. The footsteps grew louder, and for a terrifying moment, she was sure she had been seen.
Her nails dug into her palms. Please keep walking.
The footsteps paused... and then moved away.
She exhaled shakily, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. Not yet. Keep going.
By the time she reached the side exit, her pulse was erratic. The heavy wooden doors were locked, but she had stolen a key weeks ago.
Her hands shook as she inserted it into the lock, twisting it slowly.
Click.
The door creaked slightly as it opened, and Ira held her breath.
The night air was cool against her burning skin, but she didn't stop to savor it. She bolted toward the garden, staying low behind the hedges.
Ahead of her, the iron gates loomed. A single guard stood there, cigarette smoke curling around his face as he checked his phone.
She only had ten seconds before he looked up again.
Her entire future depended on these ten seconds.
Run.
She sprinted, her bare feet stinging against the gravel. Each step sent shockwaves through her legs, but she didn't slow down.
Five steps. Four. Three. Two.
She reached the iron gate and pulled herself up, her arms straining against the weight. The cold metal burned her palms, but she gritted her teeth and climbed higher.
Then-a sharp rustling behind her.
Panic flooded her chest. Has someone seen her?
With a desperate push, she threw herself over the top, landing hard on the other side. Pain shot up her ankle, but she bit back a cry. No time. Keep moving.
The roar of an approaching car sent a jolt of fear through her.
Her ride.
A black sedan screeched to a halt a few feet away. The driver-a man she had paid an obscene amount of money to keep quiet-rolled down the window.
"You're late," he muttered.
Ira didn't respond. She yanked the door open and threw herself inside, her entire body trembling.
Drive," she gasped. "Anywhere but here."
The driver-a weary man in his forties-glanced at her through the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing at her rushed tone. But the sight of the thick wad of cash she pressed into his hands had him nodding without question.
As the car pulled away from the estate, Ira forced herself to breathe. The city blurred past, neon lights reflecting in the car window. For the first time in her life, she was free.
Or so she thought.
She checked her phone. A single message blinked on the burner device-a number she didn't recognize.
"You think you can run, little heiress? Let's see how far you get."
Ira's blood turned ice cold.
Someone knew.
And they were coming for her
The mansion grew smaller in the distance, but the fear didn't leave her.
She was free.
But for how long?
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