She had no idea why those words hurt more than Isabel’s slap.
Perhaps because nobody had ever told her that surviving was something she was allowed to do.
Twenty minutes later, the car entered a private underground garage beneath a tall building overlooking the city.
Two security officers approached immediately.
Matthew stepped out first and extended his hand toward Elena.
She hesitated.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To a place where nobody can force you into another room.”
It was not a complete answer, but it was enough for the moment.
Elena took his hand.
Inside the building, a woman in her fifties hurried toward them. She introduced herself as Sofia, the house manager, and led Elena to a private guest suite.
A doctor arrived shortly afterward.
He examined the cuts on Elena’s feet, treated the swelling around her ankle, and gently cleaned the bruise on her cheek.
“You’re fortunate,” he told her. “Nothing appears broken, but you need rest. If your headache gets worse, you feel confused, or you experience vomiting, tell us immediately.”
