1. You can run but you can't hide

“Catch her, don't let that traitor escape! Bring her to me dead or alive!” 

The darkness enveloped her as she sprinted through the rain-slick streets, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. Every step she took felt like a race against death, her lungs burning. She couldn't turn back, she dared not to stop.

He was still very much near! She could smell his brutal scent. His last words still ringing in her head, with his blood dripping from her palms. 

“Run, kitten, run. If I catch you, it’s game over for you and your family.”

She didn’t dare look back. She could hear him, his footsteps echoing off the alley walls. His pace must have slowed down but she knew better than to stop when he was after her life. Vincenzo Moretti didn’t need to run. He was a predator, and she had become his prey.

The rain poured heavier, drenching her and Olivia was barely clothed—only in a thin, silk robe clinging to her trembling body. Her legs arched, her thighs throbbing painfully, and her hair stuck to the sides of her face. 

There wasn't enough time to pack some clothes and had to dash out of the house after stabbing him multiple times right in his chest. 

Her legs faltered for just a moment, but it was enough to make her stumble, her knees scraping against the rough road pavement. She panted harshly, clutching onto her stomach painfully. Blood smeared her palms as she forced herself up, wiping the blood off. 

She couldn’t stop, especially not for the child she had in her stomach. 

She deserved better than this. Better than a ruthless father like Vincenzo.

The world around her blurred. Hot tears trickled down her face as she staggered into an nearby alley, panting profusely and clutching to her stomach 

But one thing was clear: if Vincenzo Moretti caught her, death would be mercy to what he had in plans for her. 

---

The sudden jolt of the plane’s wheels hitting the tarmac yanked Olivia Derie back to the present. She sat frozen for a moment, her hand clutching the armrest as the memories faded and she was back in reality; at the airport terminal.

Her heart still raced, though. The echoes of his voice, that haunting command to run, lingered in her ears. ‘Don’t let him see you.’

But she was here now, wasn’t she? Back in the city she had sworn to never return to.

She sighed, dragging her suitcase out of the overhead compartment and following the stream of passengers out into the terminal. The sound of bustling crowds swallowed her whole.

She tightened her grip on her suitcase handle and tried to steady her breathing. She had a reason for coming back, a good one. For five years, she had kept her head down, built a quiet life for herself and her daughter. And now she was back to start all over again.

No more running from a dead man!

The buzzing sound in her pocket pulled her from her thoughts. She fished out her phone, glancing at the screen. Aunt Clara. She hesitated for a moment before swiping to answer. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, Livvy! You picked up, finally.” Clara’s warm, bubbly voice poured through the line. Olivia forced a small smile, letting the familiar tone ground her. It had been long she heard Clara's voice—Two years and four months to be exact was when she cut off every ties she had with Paris.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“Well,” Clara began, a teasing lilt in her voice, “I thought you’d want to hear the big news straight from me.”

“Big news?” Olivia asked, her brow furrowing as she maneuvered through the crowded terminal, her left hand wrapped the little girl striding playfully along the kiddies area. 

“I’m getting married!” Clara practically squealed loud into the speaker. Olivia stopped in her tracks, her suitcase tipping slightly as her grip lessened. 

“Married? Clara, that’s… wow. Congratulations!”

“Thank you, thank you!” Clara gushed. “His name is Peter, and he’s just the most wonderful man. You’ll meet him soon—I’ll make sure of it. Oh, and the wedding is in two months!”

“Two months?” Olivia echoed, trying to keep up with Clara’s rapid-fire excitement. 

“I know it’s short notice, but when you know, you know,” Clara said, her voice softening. “And Livvy… it would mean the world to me if you’d be my maid of honor.”

The lump in Olivia’s throat grew tighter. Clara had been her rock in the darkest times, her unwavering support when the world felt like it was crumbling around her. How could she say no to the woman who stayed at her bedside during labor?

She was her only family left, aside from her younger brother in the US studying architecture. “I’d be honored,” Olivia said, after much thought. It was only right for her to attend her wedding.

“Good!” Clara chirped. “Because I’ve already started planning your dress fittings. And Peter is dying to meet you and…” There was a pause, then a softer tone. “How’s she doing?”

Olivia glanced down, her heart squeezing as she looked down on her carbon copy in the form of a little talkative, Sofia. “She’s… good. Asking a million questions as always. She takes her drugs everyday.”

“Sounds like my niece,” Clara teased gently.

They shared a laugh, and for a moment, Olivia felt the weight on her shoulders ease. It had been years since she could laugh not in terror or as a maniac, but as someone with peace of mind. 

‘Therapy really works’ She hummed it to herself and switched over to video call. “Can I call you later? I am about to board a cab and it's going to be noisy.” 

“Call me later dear. Hit me up once you get an apartment.”

“Sure, and thank you.”

The call ended, and Olivia was there staring at the spinning blue circle on the home screen of her phone. It was only then she remembered she was back to her chaotic life. 

She looked around, climbing the stairs slowly, her hands gripping to her suitcase and her daughter's own too. “Hope you are doing good Sofia. Mommy will get you a place to rest. You must be tired, my little munchkin.”

Sofia didn't reply with her words and just nodded. 

Olivia sighed out loud; The city was the same, yet so different. Taking a shaky breath, Olivia adjusted her grip on the suitcase and looked around.

“Mommy?”

A small voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked down to see her daughter, her curls bouncing as she clutched Olivia’s coat.

“Are we home yet? Can we stop moving every four months?” the little girl asked, her eyes widened.

Olivia knelt, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s face. “As long as I am sure he is dead, we can't sweetheart. Almost we will be free from his clutches, sweetheart. Almost.”