#4 Escape... not from love but towards it.

The soft click of the washroom door echoed like a crack of thunder in Scarlett’s ears.

She stepped out slowly, barefoot, her heels dangling from one hand, the hem of her gown whispering across the floor like a secret. The bridal room was empty. The silence, so heavy just minutes ago... now felt like a last kindness.

Her eyes flicked to the mirror. She didn’t dare look for long. She wasn’t sure if she’d stop herself if she did.

Instead, she moved.

To the side table, her small purse lay untouched, just as she’d left it.

She opened it with shaking hands.

Her phone, low battery, but still on.

Emergency cash from her elder brother, Garrett, slipped into her palm last week with a rare soft smile and a “just in case.”

Lip balm, she took it. Out of habit, or nerves, she wasn’t sure.

The ruby necklace still clung to her collarbone. It suddenly felt heavier than her entire dress.

She heard the faint thump of music through the walls. Distant laughter. Movement. The world spinning on its axis, utterly unaware that a bride was about to vanish from the script.

Scarlett stood still for one last moment.

She could feel it.

The fear.

It was creeping back again, quiet and suffocating, curling around her ankles like smoke, ready to pull her down and back into everything she never chose.

She could already hear her mother’s voice, could imagine the feel of her father’s unfamiliar arm as he walked her down the aisle. The flashes. The whispers. The glassy smile she’d have to wear.

You can’t do this. You’ll ruin everything.

Her breath caught. For a second, she almost dropped her purse.

But then,

Her hand reached for the vanity drawer.

Inside: a small safety pin she remembered seeing earlier. Her fingers wrapped around it instinctively. She wasn’t sure why.

And she moved.

Past the lace bouquets.

Past the gown box and the untouched champagne.

Past the ruby-red lipstick still waiting beside the mirror.

She didn't look back.

Scarlett opened the side door slowly.

The corridor was empty.

And then, before the fear could scream louder than her footsteps, she moved.

Scarlett stepped into the unfamiliar narrow corridor behind the bridal room, her heels dangling from one hand, the soft train of her wedding gown sweeping the floor behind her. The air felt colder here, smelling faintly of fresh flowers and floor polish. Dimly lit. No windows.

Scarlett paused only long enough to let the door close behind her with a soft, traitorous click.

It wasn’t a hallway meant for brides. It was quiet, almost forgotten, used by staff, not guests.

She started walking, her feet bare and careful. Every small sound made her heart skip. Her gown rustled. A pipe hissed in the ceiling. But no one had seen her yet.

Her heels swung from her fingers as she padded down the hallway, careful not to let the beading on her gown snag on the walls. Her train dragged behind her like a reluctant child.

She reached a fork. Left would take her toward the service elevators. Right toward the side exit through the floral loading dock. She’d noticed it during rehearsals, half-listening while someone mentioned the floral deliveries came through the loading dock on right exit.. It wasn’t part of their wedding plan, which made it perfect.

She chose right.

The hallway opened into a maze of white rose arrangements and folded chairs stacked like skeletons of a celebration. Scarlett passed carts filled with untouched desserts, napkins embroidered with gold thread, and someone’s forgotten clipboard. She crossed them, ignoring the ache in her arms from lifting her dress as well as ignoring the voices echoing somewhere far behind her.

Someone called out, not to her, not yet. Just a florist shouting for more candles.

Scarlett ducked behind a pillar.

Her chest was tight. The kind of tight that meant tears were close.

Don’t stop. Not now.

She clutched her purse tighter, the ruby necklace warm against her throat.

A side door, unlocked. She pushed it open with her shoulder and slipped through.

The air outside hit her.

Morning light spilled across the Ashwood estate, blinding her for a moment. It was bright and too real. Birds were chirping. The sky was blue. The world felt so normal, which somehow made everything harder.

The manicured garden curved out behind the wedding venue, marble statues, trimmed hedges, and in the distance, the soft grey outline of the back farm fence that bordered the estate. Beyond that the highway to the Riverdale town.

But her escape wasn’t poetic.

Because in front of her, parked beneath a canopy of flowering trees, was a lone cab, the one Risa had booked earlier that morning for emergency logistics. Left running. Driver missing.

Scarlett’s breath caught in her throat.

This is it. This is your door.

She stumbled toward it, dress heavy, the train catching thorns and petals, her fingers fumbling with the handle.

But the moment her hand touched it...

The cab sputtered. A choking cough. And then… silence.

Dead.

“No, no, no…”

She tried the handle again. Nothing. The dashboard lights were off. The car was dead.

Scarlett backed away slowly. She could hear faint music from the hall now, louder than before. The wedding was about to begin.

Someone would be looking for her soon.

And so, without another thought, Scarlett ran.

Through the garden.

Past the marble angel statue.

Her feet hit gravel and soft grass. Her dress snagged on a thorn bush, but she kept going, pulling the fabric free without stopping.

Scarlett could hear someone calling in the distance.

“Miss Jonathan?”

She didn’t look back, instead she ran toward the back fence, lifting her gown like a child holding a secret, her veil fluttering like a flag in retreat.

Scarlett reached the iron fence at the edge of the Ashwood estate that towered above her, old, ornate, and laced with thorny vines. She could see the open stretch beyond it. The Freedom.

She looked around and found a narrow gap near the corner, didn't hesitate and squeezed through.

Her fingers gripped the iron bars as she slipped through a narrow gap which scratched her arm yet she didn’t care, tugging her gown after her. The fabric snagged. She yanked it free.

She was almost through when something jerked her back slightly.

Her head turned.

Her veil, the long satin trail attached to her bridal bun had caught on the fence's edge. A twisted thorn had pierced through the lace.

She reached up to grab it.

The wind tugged gently at the fabric, making it flutter like a trapped breath.

For a second, she paused as she recalled her mother’s hands, pinning the veil during fittings, her voice, strict but proud. The mirror. The ruby necklace. Damien’s unreadable expression when he saw her in that gown for the first time.

Scarlett’s throat tightened.

Then, without a word... she let it go.

The veil stayed behind, caught like a ghost on the iron gate, shimmering in the early sun.

Scarlett adjusted the strap of her purse on her one shoulder, caught her breath, and ran quickly, still holding the heavy dress in one hand and her heels in another, still trying not to cry.

She didn’t know where she was going yet.

She just knew she wasn’t going back.

Nor did she need a plan.

She only needed to get far enough away before anyone remembered she was meant to belong to someone else.

The sun was rising higher now, casting a golden hue over the Ashwood estate’s outer fields. Scarlett ran, half-lifting her heavy gown, trying not to trip as she crossed the last stretch of their property line.

The perfectly trimmed edges of the estate gave way to the wild, a mess of soft dirt roads, waist-high grass, and wire fences. Birds scattered at the sound of her footsteps. Her dress was stained at the hem. Her lungs burned. But she kept moving.

There were no cars. No one chasing her. Not yet.

She reached the dirt road leading to the highway, just as the roar of an engine approached from behind.

Scarlett froze.

A small farm truck, paint chipped and open at the back, rumbled past slowly. It carried baskets of produce and smelled faintly of soil and mint. The driver was an older man in a cap, half-distracted by the radio.

Scarlett stepped onto the road without thinking much. Her hand shot up. The truck slowed.

He looked at her, stunned at the sight of a bride in a somewhat torn gown standing alone in the dirt but after a long pause, he nodded.

“You heading to Riverdale?” she asked, out of breath.

The man stared a second longer, then gave a small, wary nod. “Hop in.”

She climbed into the back before he could change his mind, crouching between stacked crates of herbs and vegetables. The truck rattled forward.

The wind tugged at her hair. Her legs ached from running. The smell of rosemary clung to her sleeves.

For the first time in what felt like hours, she breathed slightly relaxed.

And then… her phone buzzed.

She flinched.

Reaching into her purse, Scarlett pulled out her phone with trembling hands.

Low battery.

One notification.