Chapter 4 - The Night of the Long Knives
Friday night. The atmosphere in the mansion was stifling. Victor had hosted a small, exclusive dinner party, a charade of normalcy designed to solidify his status as the mourning, devoted husband. Elena had been forced to attend, her movements sluggish from the medicine he was secretly slipping into her evening juice.
She sat at the table, the silver cutlery feeling heavy in her hands, her eyes fixed on the guests. They were people of power—senators, judges, high-level police officials—all laughing, drinking wine that cost more than a family’s annual salary, oblivious to the fact that they were sitting in a house of horrors.
Victor was at the head of the table, his demeanor charming, his stories polished. He was a master of his domain. Elena felt a surge of nausea, not just from the drugs, but from the sheer, suffocating presence of his hubris.
As the dinner wound down, Elena made her move. She excused herself, claiming a headache. Victor’s eyes followed her, his smile not reaching his eyes. He signaled to one of the security men, a silent, hulking shadow in the corner.
Elena didn't head for the master suite. She slipped into the service corridor. Her heart was a frantic drumbeat in her ears. She reached the library—the diary was her only hope of proof—but as she stepped inside, she found the room occupied.
It wasn't Victor. It was Sarah.
Sarah stood by the window, a dark figure against the rain-streaked glass.
"Sarah?" Elena breathed, her voice trembling.
"You shouldn't have come down here," Sarah said, her voice sharp. "He’s alerted the guards. He knows I'm in the house."
"How did you get in?"
"It doesn't matter," Sarah said, grabbing Elena’s arm. "We have to leave. Now."
"I can't just leave," Elena insisted. "The baby—"
"If you stay, there won't be a baby," Sarah hissed. "There won't be a you."
They heard the heavy thud of boots in the hallway. The security team was closing in. Sarah pushed Elena toward the hidden service passage, but as they reached the door, it swung open.
Victor stood there, a revolver in his hand. He wasn't the charming host anymore. He was the king of the jungle, and he was cornered.
"I thought I gave you a chance, Sarah," Victor said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I thought you would just disappear."
"You’re a monster, Victor," Sarah said, stepping in front of Elena.
Victor’s gaze shifted to his wife. "Elena. Come here. Let her go, and perhaps I’ll be merciful. You know how much I value what we have."
Elena looked at the gun, then at Sarah, then at the man she had loved, the man who had promised her everything. She realized then that there was no mercy in his world. There was only utility.
"What do we have, Victor?" Elena asked, her voice surprisingly strong. "A lie? A chandelier? A pair of pliers?"
Victor’s face darkened. He raised the weapon, but before he could pull the trigger, a series of flashes erupted from the library windows.
Elias.
He was outside, in the trees, with a high-powered camera, triggering the strobe lights to confuse the guards and draw their attention. In the chaos, the lights in the mansion flickered and died.
"Run!" Sarah screamed.
They dived into the dark passage, the sound of gunshots echoing behind them. Elena didn't look back. She ran with a desperate, primal energy, her hand pressed against her stomach, protecting the life inside.
They emerged into the rain-slicked gardens, the cold air hitting them like a physical blow. A car was idling at the perimeter gate—Elias.
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They scrambled in, the tires spinning on the gravel, and they were off, speeding into the dark, leaving the mansion and the monster behind.
But as they looked back, Elena saw Victor standing on the balcony, his silhouette illuminated by a flash of lightning. He wasn't chasing them. He was watching them. And he was smiling.
