The silk of my wedding gown still smelled like the boutique—expensive, sterile, suffocating. My fingers trembled against the bouquet as Hector slid the ring onto my hand, his voice steady, his eyes unreadable.

I told myself this was freedom. No more Dad’s demands. No more being passed around like a debt. But as we drove away from the courthouse, sirens wailed in the distance, and Hector didn’t react. Not even a flicker.

That’s when I saw it—a file tucked in his coat pocket. My photo. Circled in red. Next to a note: Phase One Complete.

My breath hitched. This wasn’t an escape. It was an abduction dressed as salvation. And I was already too far in to run.