The Runaway's Revenge

The smell of expensive jasmine lilies filled the room, a scent that was supposed to represent purity and new beginnings. But for Liana, it felt like the smell of a funeral. She sat in front of the vanity mirror, staring at her own reflection. The white lace of her wedding dress felt heavy, like a cage made of silk and beads. She was twenty-one, an age where her friends were busy chasing internships or traveling the world, yet here she was, wearing a ring that felt like a shackle.

"It's for Mom, Liana. Just for Mom," she whispered to herself. Her voice trembled, barely audible over the distant sound of the wedding reception music downstairs.

Her mother's dying wish had been simple yet suffocating: "Marry Raka, Liana. His family will protect you. I can't leave you alone in this world." Liana, ever the dutiful daughter, had swallowed her dreams of moving to Florence to study fine arts. She had traded her paintbrushes for a marriage certificate.

She thought Raka was a decent man. He was charming in a rehearsed way, always saying the right things when their parents were watching. She truly believed that even if love wasn't there yet, safety would be. She expected a protector. She expected a home.

The door clicked open. Liana turned, expecting a bridesmaid or her new mother-in-law. Instead, she saw Raka. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo jacket anymore. His tie was loosened, and his eyes looked glassy, bored.

"The guests are asking for the bride," he said, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't look at her with admiration. He looked at her like a piece of furniture he had just purchased and wasn't sure where to put.

"I just needed a moment, Raka. It's... it's a lot to take in," Liana replied, trying to offer a small smile.

Raka chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Don't get all dramatic on me, Liana. We did the ceremony, the papers are signed. Just come downstairs, smile for the cameras, and then you can go back to being the quiet little doll my mother wanted."

He didn't wait for her answer. He turned and walked away, leaving a cold draft in the room. Liana felt a shiver run down her spine. A week. She just had to get through the first week, and maybe they would find a rhythm.

But the rhythm she found was a nightmare.

Fast forward six days. The honeymoon phase didn't exist. Raka was barely home, claiming "work emergencies" at his father's firm. The sprawling house they lived in felt haunted. Liana spent her days wandering the cold hallways, her art supplies still packed in cardboard boxes in the corner of the guest room-the room she had been sleeping in because Raka claimed he "snored too loudly" and didn't want to disturb her.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. A heavy rain was drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion. Liana was heading to the kitchen to make some tea when she noticed