Chapter 6: The Call for Help

Isabella's POV

"It was your grandmother," I whispered, my voice tight with fear, "She invited me to stay."

Ethan's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Just like your mother, Isabella. Sweet-talking my grandmother to worm your way into our family. Pathetic."

I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to argue back. "If you stop tormenting me, I'll leave the Black family. I won't bother you anymore. Just let me go."

Ethan narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with contempt. "What makes you think you have any leverage? What right do you have to negotiate with me?"

I felt my throat tighten. "I don't," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

I buried my head between my knees, falling silent as terror trembled through my body. There was no point in begging anymore. No point in saying another word.

The car sped along the deserted highway for over an hour. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. On any other day, this view might have been beautiful. My eyes followed the road as it grew increasingly remote, winding into the hills. With each mile that passed, the realization grew stronger—I might die out here tonight.

The car stopped at the edge of a dilapidated cemetery, where tall tree shadows and overgrown weeds consumed everything. Scanning my surroundings, my heart plummeted like it had fallen into an icy abyss—weathered headstones, abandoned graves, dense forests all around, not a trace of human presence.

"Get out," Ethan commanded coldly.

I shook my head, tears welling up, but I bit my lip hard to keep them from falling. "Don't leave me here. I'll go and never come back, please!"

He remained motionless like a stone, showing no reaction. The driver yanked open my door, threw me to the ground, and slammed it shut with a loud "bang." I pounded on the window, shouting, "I have a grandmother to take care of! Don't leave me here!" But the car roared away, its taillights disappearing down the dirt road.

I quickly scrambled to my feet, wiping the mud from my face. While there was still some daylight left, I began running along the tire tracks leading away from the cemetery. Sharp stones and twigs pierced my bare feet, drawing blood, but I didn't dare stop. Compared to being trapped here after dark, this pain was nothing.

Half an hour later, night had fallen completely. The woods were pitch black, with only a sliver of moonlight filtering through the treetops.

I found a large boulder and huddled behind it, hugging my knees to my chest. The night air was surprisingly cold. Wearing only a thin blouse and jeans, I shivered violently. Each gust of wind cut through me like paper. The darkness amplified every sound around me—crickets chirped incessantly, mosquitoes buzzed by my ears. Occasionally, branches would snap in the distance, making my heart race. Was it a deer? A coyote? Or something worse?

How I wished I had my cell phone right now. Or even just a flashlight. Anything would do.

Crying wouldn't solve anything, so I focused on staying alert. I looked up at the stars, trying to calm myself. My grandmother's words echoed in my mind—"Bella, when someone pushes you down, get back up. You're stronger than you think." She was right. I couldn't give up here.

A burning hatred consumed me. Ethan was worse than any villain I'd read about in books or seen in movies. At this moment, what I wanted most was to see him suffer as I was suffering.

I knew I could never match Ethan's power or wealth, but I refused to let him break me. If I survived this night, I would find a way to fight back. Time ticked by slowly. Every sound, every shadow felt threatening. But somehow, I made it through until the first light of dawn broke through the trees.

After sitting on the hard ground all night, my body ached terribly, and my feet throbbed with pain when I stood. But I was alive, and that's what mattered most.

I followed what appeared to be an old logging road for nearly an hour before finally emerging from the woods. I found myself on a narrow county road, the rough asphalt scraping against my foot soles. Each step left small bloodstains on the pavement.

The sun climbed higher, warming my chilled body. But the comfort of daylight couldn't mask my desperate situation—I was miles from anywhere, without money or a phone, and had no idea where I was.

I walked along the road for what felt like another three hours. My feet had moved beyond pain, now just numb appendages I dragged forward through sheer willpower. My throat burned with thirst, and hunger gnawed at my stomach.

Finally, I heard a vehicle approaching. An old pickup truck came around the bend, and I frantically waved my arms, praying the driver would stop.

The truck slowed to a halt beside me. The driver, a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt, stared at me with shock and concern.

"Good Lord, what happened to you?" he gaped at my bloody feet, his face filled with shock.

"Please," I croaked hoarsely, "let me call the police."

He immediately offered his phone and a bottle of water from his lunch box. Although I desperately wanted to accept his offer to drive me to the nearest town, I hesitated. After everything I'd just been through, trusting a stranger—even one who seemed kind—felt impossible.

"I'll wait here for the police," I said after calling 911. "Thank you for stopping."

The man looked confused but respected my decision, waiting at a distance until a county sheriff's patrol car arrived about twenty minutes later.

After explaining my situation to the officers and receiving emergency medical attention for my feet, they drove me back to confront Ethan. With each mile closer to the Black family mansion, my heart pounded faster. I was terrified of facing him again, but I couldn't let him get away with what he'd done.

The police car stopped in front of the estate. I limped behind the officer, following him with difficulty. Olivia's voice rang out first as she approached me, mocking, "Well, well, crawled back from the grave, and brought the police too. Impressive."

Ethan came down from upstairs, hands in his pockets, eyes cold as blades. He glanced at me without a hint of remorse.

"Mr. Black," the officer stepped forward, "Isabella says you abandoned her at a cemetery, intending to harm her. You'll need to come with us."

His fingers tapped lightly against his pants seam, his lips curling into a slight smile. "She loves to joke. We went for a drive, and she wandered off. We even reported her missing."

His bodyguard—the same one who had thrown me from the car—smoothly stepped forward, handing the officer a document. "This is the missing person report we filed last night, officer. We've been worried sick."

The officers frowned as they examined the papers. I opened my mouth to protest, but my throat was too dry to make a sound. He had prepared for this.

"You dare come back," he leaned close to me, whispering so cold it chilled me to the bone, "Next time it won't be so simple."