Page 1 of Gilded Shackles
1
ELLE
Okay, look. I've watched enough movies to know how this is supposed to go. The girl holds her breath, takes off her shoes, and by the time anyone notices she's gone, she's already three drinks deep in a life that actually belongs to her.
That's the plan. Let's see how far I get.
I keep my shoes in my hand as I pad down the marble hallway of our penthouse, quiet as a fucking mouse, because squeaky shoes and a grand escape? Not best friends.
Come on, Elle, you've got this.
A thrill whispers through the air. I might have actually gotten away with it. My heart races, my legs move faster. My eyes dart left and right, but no one's seen me... yet.
Thank God for small mercies, huh?
Just a few more steps and I'll be tucked safe in that gleaming private elevator going down.
I can already smell it. Freedom. Thirty-five floors down and one block over, before the men who watch me realize I'm gone.
Just a quick trip, I tell myself. In and out real fast. They'll never know.
I'm going to be twenty-six years old tomorrow and I'm sneaking out like a teenager. But then, teenagers get more freedom than I do.
They at least get to leave the building.
The button lights up. My stomach flips.
Come on, come on. One more step... that's it... hurry up before...
"Raphaella!" My mother's furious voice slithers down my spine, gluing me in place. I wince and turn, already knowing what I'll see. "Where, exactly, do you think you're going?"
I plaster on an innocent little smile, like I wasn't about to commit a cardinal sin.
"Just... the café on the second floor," I say, too quickly. "They have that new pistachio croissant I've been dying to try."
My mother, with her eagle eyes, never lets me out on the street. But this building? It's my playground, and she lets me have that, at least.
"Without your bodyguard?" Her eyes squint at the shoes in my hand, the tote slung over my shoulder. "Don't lie to me. You're dressed to run."
When she looks at me like that, it's hard to forget that GayleDonovan owns this building, this marble, the very air I breathe... and me.
I am, in fact, dressed to run: black leggings, hoodie, and a tight braid falling over my shoulder. If only it were a rope I could throw out of this tower, but I learned too young that fairy tales aren't real. My mother made sure of that.
Of course, Mother won't be fooled. Not with how I look, when usually I leave my golden-blond hair in a lazy ponytail that brushes past my ass.
Right about now, she looks like she's about to burst into flames.
"I wasn't going to leave-leave," I say, which is obviously a lie. "Just... breathe."
"Breathe." She steps closer. Close enough that I can smell her perfume: cold gardenias, the scent of every locked door in my childhood.
"I was restless," I try to explain.
“Dogs are restless. You are a Donovan. Act like one.”
“It’s the only way I know how to act.”
“I don't know what the hell is going on with you nowadays." My mother crosses her arms. "This is the second time this month I've caught you trying to sneak out."
