The night was suffocating — a tight, breathless cage made of wh!te lace, satin, and all the expectations piled onto my shoulders. I was running. Running in heels, in a wedding dress that dragged behind me like a heavy reminder of promises I no longer wanted to keep. My heartbeat hammered against my ribs like a war drum, echoing every fear, every moment I had ignored until it was too late.

Behind me, his voice rang out, sharp and demanding. “Scarlet! Stop!” The anger in his tone wasn’t new, but tonight it felt like a thunderclap.

I turned sharply into the nearest hallway, my footing unsure on the polished floor. I slipped — the searing pain in my left foot reminded me that I hadn’t escaped unscathed. I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when the walls of that grand hotel seemed to close in on me.

Corridors stretched endlessly, a labyrinth designed to tr@p me. Desperately, I pushed forward until I burst into a dimly lit lobby, nearly collapsing behind a massive, ornate column. My breath came in ragged gasps, and the pounding in my chest felt like it might rupture my skin.

“Turn around and talk to me like a normal person!” came the familiar command.

Normal. The word twisted like a knife in my mind. The “normal” where his hands grabbed my wrist with bruising force. Where his words cut deeper than any knife.

I rolled my sleeves up, exposing the fresh purple bruises I had hidden. I was a soldier in a war no one else saw.

My eyes darted toward the exit marked “Fire Exit.” Without hesitation, I shoved the door open and tumbled down the stairs. I didn’t care where I ended up. Anywhere but with him.

The first door I found, I pounded on it like my life depended on it. Because it did.

It opened.

A man stood there — jeans sagging casually, bare chest, hair dripping wet from the shower. He looked like he had no place expecting a runaway bride to crash his evening.

He gave me a smirk, the kind of smirk that suggested trouble.

“Um… I didn’t order a bride tonight. But hey, I love a good discount.”

I gasped for breath. “Please… I’ll explain later. Just let me hide. For a minute.”

He nodded with a chuckle. “Alright. Come in, before you become the next true crime headline.”

Inside, my heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it. The man picked up a towel, drying his hair, his eyes flicking over me with amused curiosity.

“I can’t stay long,” I said, voice trembling. “But… could you lend me some clothes? Something casual? I promise I’ll return them.”

He grinned. “I trust you more than my eBay buyers. Hang tight.”

A few moments later, he emerged from his closet with a hoodie, jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses.

“Unisex, one-size-fits-all, and certified drama-proof,” he said, introducing himself. “I’m Arthur. Though you don’t exactly look like you’re in the mood for meet-cutes.”

I slipped off my dress, the fabric whispering away from me like a ghost.

Arthur stepped forward, reaching for my forearm gently.

I jerked back.

“What are you doing?!”

“Relax,” he said. “You’re not my type. And these bruises? They don’t suit you.”

His smile faded, replaced with something softer. “It’s a long story, huh?”

I nodded, pulling the hoodie over my head. “That’s why you ran?”

Silence stretched between us — only the rustle of fabric filled the space as I adjusted the cap and hid behind sunglasses. In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself — a shadow of a person trying to disappear.

“Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered.

“Right. And you are?”

“Scarlet. But better forget that.”

Arthur tilted his head but didn’t press further.

“If you change your mind, the door’s open. Just don’t bring your drama here — my neighbors already think I’m running a cult.”

And just like that, I escaped.

From the nightmare, from the cage, from a future I’d never chosen.

But little did I know — the nightmare was far from over.

Because the hardest part isn’t running away.

The hardest part is trusting the wrong person.

I crouched behind my sister’s fence for what felt like hours. Darkness weighed heavy, the night thick and suffocating like the fear coiling in my chest. My bruises throbbed under my sleeves, but I dared not press. I dared not move.

Jessica — my sister — was the only family I could think of. But we were strangers more than sisters. Different fathers, different lives, different hearts.

She was the only person who never judged me. And tonight, she was my last hope.

When the hallway light flicked off, I knocked.

The door swung open.

Jessica, barefoot and wrapped in an oversized T-shirt, looked at me with eyes wide, brimming with quiet alarm.

“Scarlet? Is that really you? You look like you ran from a fire.”

I managed a shaky smile. “From my own wedding, actually. Can I come in?”

“This might not be a great idea,” she said hesitantly. “I won’t be alone for long…”

“I’m begging you.”

She stepped aside.

Her house was pristine and strange — a polished mask hiding something I didn’t know how to trust.

She poured me a glass of water, her hands trembling.

I poured out my story — the lies, the betrayal, the bruises.

“I didn’t want to cause trouble,” I said. “Just… let me stay. Tonight. I won’t be here in the morning.”

She nodded.

But then she warned me — her boyfriend was coming. “He doesn’t like surprises.”

“I don’t want to see anyone either.”

She led me to the guest room, draping me with a threadbare blanket and whispering promises of safety.

When the door shut, I let the tears come.

But the safety was an illusion.

Later, I crept to the kitchen, desperate for water.

Then voices.

Jessica’s voice, uneasy, pleading.

Duller’s voice — sharp, possessive.

The name h!t me like a p:u:nch.

He was here.

I pressed my ear against the door.

“Stop. She’ll be gone by morning,” Jessica pleaded.

“No way. I’ve invested too much. I need to break her down. She’ll marry me, one way or another.”

Her voice dropped. Bitter.

“I told Mom the house should go to the man. To me. To our family.”

The tr@p unfolded.

They wanted me tr@pped, powerless — a pawn in their cr:u:el game.

My hands trembled. I pulled out my phone, h!t record.

But fate betrayed me. The phone slipped from my fingers — the crash shattered the silence.

The door burst open.

“Scarlet?”

I stood frozen. Duller advanced with rage burning in his eyes.

Jessica tried to shield me.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension.

“Hey!”

Arthur.

The man who saved me earlier, standing tall, phone in hand.

“I came to your wedding,” he said, voice firm. “Found a runaway bride. Caught every word.”

Duller lunged for the phone — it smashed against the wall.

Arthur didn’t flinch.

“You chose this.”

He draped his jacket over me. “Come on. You’re not staying here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I walked away. Without looking back.

We found refuge in a quiet café, night wrapping around us.

Arthur offered tea. I clutched the warm cup like a lifeline.

“I don’t have a plan,” I said. “Mom thinks he’s perfect. Jessica too.”

Arthur nodded.

“I told your mom everything. Sent her the recording and the address. She’s coming.”

I felt warmth for the first time.

Arthur smiled. “When you knocked on my door… I thought it was a coincidence. Now it’s my fight.”

My heart clenched.

“That house… it was my dad’s. We planted an apple tree there when I was seven. It’s yours.”

The doorbell chimed softly.

My mother appeared, eyes swollen.

“I’m sorry. I was blind,” she said. “I’ll call the lawyer. The house is yours.”

We hugged.

Arthur stepped outside, giving us space.

A week later, I returned to the house. The apple tree bloomed.

Arthur waited by the gate.

“I brought a blanket. In case you want to run again.”

I laughed.

We planned a weekend. But in my heart, I planned so much more.