CHAPTER 129: STILL FURIOUS

Alexia – POV

Okay. So I was almost out of the alley, still trying to shake the creeps from that gross encounter with those two trash bags in hoodies, when I turned a corner—mistake number fifty of the day—and ended up on some shady-ass residential street that looked like it had been forgotten by God, the city, and even Google Maps.

And that’s when I heard it.

The bark.

Low.

Mean.

Hungry.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Slowly—so slowly—I turned my head toward the sound, and there it was.

A dog.

No. Not a dog.

A beast.

Somewhere between a pit bull, a rottweiler, and every childhood nightmare I ever had about Cujo. Its fur was patchy, teeth bared in a snarl, foaming just enough around the mouth to make me wonder if it had rabies or was just naturally demonic. Its eyes locked on me like I was the exact flavor of chaos snack it had been waiting for all morning.

"Nice doggy," I whispered, hands lifting instinctively. "Good boy. Chill."

But no.

This creature didn’t do chill.

It lunged.

"OH HELL NO!" I screamed, spinning on my heel and booking it down the cracked sidewalk like my life depended on it—because spoiler alert, it kind of did!

I ran. Hard. Boots slapping against the pavement, heart in my throat, lungs already on fire from everything else I’d endured that morning. And behind me? The hellhound from Satan’s backyard, gaining.

"HELP!" I shrieked. "IS ANYONE OUT HERE?!"

Nothing.

No good Samaritans. No brave souls popping out of windows. No one to say, "Hey, you okay?"—because, of course not.

Because why would the universe throw me any mercy?

Then I felt it.

A flash of pain on my calf as its teeth grazed me—grazed. Not a full bite, thank God, but enough to tear through my jeans and leave a searing sting that shot straight to my brain like white-hot lightning.

"FUCKING SHIT!!" I yelled, half in pain, half in panic. "YOU MONSTER MUTT!"

I veered hard right, nearly slipping as I cut through another alley. I spotted a dumpster, climbed halfway up like a wild raccoon, and launched my bag at the dog’s face in a desperate bid to distract it.

And... miracle of miracles?

It worked.

The bag smacked its snout mid-leap, and it yelped—more out of surprise than pain—giving me just enough of a head start to bolt the hell out of that alley like a bat out of hell.

I didn’t stop running until I was at least five blocks away, doubled over in a wheezing mess behind a gas station dumpster that smelled like expired hotdogs and crushed dreams.

I peeled up my jeans, cringing as I looked at the damage.

A shallow bite. Not deep, but definitely bleeding and definitely ugly.

"Well, that’s just fucking fantastic," I groaned, head flopping back against the brick wall. "Why not throw in a plague while we’re at it? Or a thunderstorm. Or maybe a spontaneous sinkhole, right where I’m standing."

My phone? Still dead.

My wallet? Somewhere on the street, probably being sniffed by Cujo’s asshole cousin.

And my pride?

Left back on that private jet, in first class, next to the man I stupidly, hopelessly loved.

I slid down the wall and sat there, the pain in my leg a dull throb now, but the real ache—the one twisting in my chest?

That one burned hotter than any bite ever could.

"Get it together, Alexia," I whispered to myself. "You survived poverty, a drunken mom, a haunted past life, and an arranged marriage to a fat old king. You can survive a crazy dog and heartbreak."

But fuck if it didn’t hurt.

Everywhere.

The officer was way too calm.

"I’ll call a cab," he’d said. But when he and his partner opened the back door of their patrol car and gestured for me to get in, I hesitated.

"Uh... y’all don’t have like... front-seat availability?" I asked, eyeing the backseat with the heavy-duty bars between me and the front. "I’m not under arrest or anything, right?"

"Of course not," Officer Too-Smooth said with a tight-lipped smile. "It’s just safer with traffic, ma’am. Standard protocol when assisting civilians."

Mmhmm. That smile had the energy of a kindergarten teacher who’s trying to convince you that the nap mat doesn’t smell like twelve years of broken dreams.

But I was tired. My leg throbbed like a heartbeat in hell. My body ached from walking for hours, and my ego had already been demolished. So I nodded and slid into the backseat.

At first, everything seemed... normal.

They drove down the quiet streets. My head leaned against the glass, eyes fluttering closed every now and then. I barely paid attention—until something didn’t feel right.

We passed Fernhill Estate Drive.

I jerked upright. My heart skipped.

"Uh—wasn’t that my stop?" I asked, tapping the window between us.

The two officers exchanged glances. Not good. Not casual glances. Knowing glances.

"No, ma’am," the second officer finally said. "We’re just taking a quick detour."

My instincts screamed. "A detour?" I echoed, voice rising. "Why the fuck are you detouring away from where I need to go?"

"You seemed... distressed," the first one said, his tone suddenly too calm, too careful. "We just want to make sure you’re safe. There’s a facility nearby that specializes in helping people in emotional crises."

My stomach dropped like an elevator with cut cables. "What—EXCUSE ME?! I am not in an emotional cri—well I am but not like that! I am not crazy!"

"You said something earlier," the officer said, almost gently. "About being a princess from another time? About demon dogs?"

OH MY GOD.

"That was a figure of speech, asshole!" I snapped, slamming my palm on the glass. "I was venting! You know—normal human catharsis? I’ve had the worst day of my goddamn life!"

But we were already pulling into a long driveway lined with pine trees and... a sign.

Maplewood Psychiatric Wellness Center.

My blood went cold.

"Oh no," I muttered. "Oh, hell no."

The car slowed in front of the gate.

"Just wait here while we buzz in," the driver said.

Nope. Nope nope nope.

Before they could lock the doors—or worse—I kicked the door.

It didn’t open.

"You can’t do this! I’m not a patient! I’m not even from around here!"

I scrambled, kicking again, panic seizing my lungs. Not again. Not another cage. Not after what they did to me in that other life. In that lab. In that cell. I couldn’t breathe.

I saw the gate start to open slowly.

Now.

The second the car began rolling forward, I saw my chance.

CLICK.

They unlocked the back door.

Big mistake.

I slammed my shoulder into it, bursting out like a feral cat on fire. My legs screamed in protest, but adrenaline surged like gasoline. I ran. Fast. Wild. Shoes be damned—I tore across the pavement, toward the side path by the tree line, gasping.

"HEY! STOP!" one of them yelled, slamming his door.

But I was gone. They hadn’t expected me to be fast.

The biting pain in my leg from the dog flared like a flare gun, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back.

Over the fence. Under a bush. Through somebody’s flowerbed—I was a hurricane in jeans and rage.

And somewhere in the chaos of my escape, all I could think was:

This is Aiden’s fault.

All of it.

If he hadn’t walked away from me. If he hadn’t left me stranded. If he hadn’t looked at me like I was a stranger after all we’d been through—I wouldn’t be running like a lunatic from cops trying to throw me into a damn loony bin.

My vision blurred with tears, not just from fear—but heartbreak.

I finally collapsed behind a dumpster two blocks away, panting, crying, laughing a little in that unhinged what-the-fuck-is-my-life kind of way.

This was rock bottom, right?

I mean, surely it couldn’t get any worse.

...

Right?

I stayed behind that goddamn dumpster the entire afternoon.

Do you know what that smells like in the heat? Like fermented despair and three-day-old roadkill.

Every time I even shifted, a car drove past. And not just any cars—patrol cars.

At one point, I heard voices, just around the corner. People talking.

"Did you hear about the escapee?"

"Yeah, some poor mental patient got out of Maplewood."

"I heard she was running around barefoot, screaming about being a princess or something."

Princess. Fucking hell.

I shoved my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. Do not break. You cannot break.

I crouched lower, my knees aching, ankle pulsing, the dried blood from the dog bite crusted over. My body was filth. My hair? A literal nest. My clothes? Torn, stained, and beyond hope. And I was shaking from exhaustion, cold, fear, everything.

As the sun dipped low, the patrol cars passed less frequently. The chatter of nosy citizens dulled into evening silence. Eventually, the streets quieted... and darkness crept in.

I didn’t have a watch. My phone was still dead. But from the stillness, the echo of my footsteps on the sidewalk, and the hum of empty roads, I could tell—it was late. Probably midnight, or close. No headlights. No people.

Just me.

And that godforsaken villa.

I dragged myself through unfamiliar streets, second-guessing every turn. I must’ve taken a wrong route five times. My feet were raw from walking. The bite stung. I limped. Each step was like a little fuck you from the universe.

And then... finally.

Through the iron gates, the winding drive, the stone path lined with trimmed hedges—there it was.

The villa.

Lit up in warm lights like something out of a dream. Or a memory. Or maybe a hallucination—I wasn’t even sure anymore.

I clung to the railing as I climbed the front steps. My fingers trembled as I reached for the doorbell. I pushed it once. Twice. Held it on the third try.

Please be William. Please let it be William. He always had that awkward little smile, like he’d seen some shit and chose kindness anyway. Please let it be—

Click.

The door yanked open.

It wasn’t William.

It was Aiden.

His eyes. Ice. Fury.

His jaw clenched so tight I heard it pop.

We stood there, me panting, shaking, covered in dirt, blood, and literal dumpster slime... and him looking at me like I was the monster under his bed.

For a second, I opened my mouth to say something—anything. But the words didn’t come.

Only tears.

His shoulders were tense, arms crossed. Every part of him screamed get out—but I couldn’t move. My legs gave out.

I collapsed.

And then—blackness.