Abandoned Luna Now Untouchable (Cecilia) novel Chapter 213

Chapter 213: Chapter 213 A Desperate Escape (Part 2)

Cecilia’s pov

The guests who had followed us descended into panic the moment they realized we couldn’t exit.

"Mrs. Dahlia!" The Real VIP exploded, her usual poise gone. "What exactly is this? Are you trying to kidnap us?"

Harper glanced up, her jaw set with tension. "Looks like kidnapping was the plan all along."

Yvonne’s face went pale as moonlight.

Mrs. Dahlia looked genuinely rattled.

She rushed to the doors and tugged at them with both hands, shaking her head frantically.

"They can’t be locked. I don’t understand--this wasn’t supposed to happen!"

More guests overheard the exchange. Panic spread like fire in dry grass.

"There really is no signal!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"My husband will bury you if something happens to me!"

"Open the doors! Open them now!"

The women--once statues of elegance and icy perfection--crumbled into frantic, terrified creatures.

Their designer dresses swirled around them as they ran around in a panic, their perfect makeup beginning to smudge with sweat and fear.

Mrs. Dahlia kept apologizing, over and over, insisting she knew nothing about the locks.

She dispatched her staff to check all the side exits, her hands fluttering like trapped birds.

"Maybe it’s a mechanical issue," she said, grasping for logic in a room rapidly losing it. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Meanwhile, Mrs. Locke began ascending the spiral staircase like a priestess returning to her altar, her black dress trailing behind her like spilled ink.

Someone shouted, "That crow-witch is behind this! Don’t let her escape!"

But no one moved.

Mrs. Locke turned her head slowly, fixing the woman with a look so cold, so final, it was as if she’d already signed her death certificate.

Silence fell.

The ballroom had sixteen side doors in total.

Mrs. Dahlia ordered them all opened, splitting guests into groups, directing them toward various exits like a frantic cruise director trying to salvage a doomed voyage.

I glanced at Luna Dora and The Real VIP beside us--the three of us were almost certainly on Maggie Locke’s personal hit list.

With sixteen doors, it wouldn’t be hard to assign one of them as our "death door."

I turned to Yvonne, lowering my voice. "Take Harper and go with the others."

We were all vulnerable--but there was no reason to drag my friends down with me.

Harper grabbed my arm and linked hers through it with force.

"Are you high? We came together, we leave together. Don’t pull that martyr crap now."

I sighed. That was Harper--ride-or-die, even in heels.

I turned to Yvonne. "Please..."

She cut me off. "I brought you to this ball," she said. "And yes, I’m scared out of my mind. But I’m more scared of you two idiots haunting me out of guilt if something happens."

She looked between us. "So congrats. You’re stuck with me."

Luna Dora and The Real VIP were staring at the three of us now, wide-eyed and weirdly moved, like the side characters in a drama who suddenly realize they’ve wandered into the main plot.

Great, I thought.

We’ve just gone from slim odds of survival to none at all.

Maybe every exit was a trap.

Yvonne approached the women ahead.

"We should pick up the pace," she said.

A woman in a sapphire mask laughed lightly.

"Darling, there’s nothing to worry about. Madame Tarot just didn’t want phones going off during the reading, that’s all. Mrs. Dahlia said the main doors are jammed for some reason, but the side exits still work fine. She wouldn’t hurt her own guests."

You actually buy that?

We all exchanged the same look--tight-lipped, skeptical, but silent.

There was no point arguing with someone who thought this was just a high-society theme night gone quirky.

Each side door had its own corridor, but they all twisted back toward the mansion’s main entrance.

A looping design--elegant on the blueprint, claustrophobic in practice.

It didn’t take a genius to see the problem:

If someone wanted to trap people, this layout was perfect.

Whether we were in the ballroom or in the corridors, we were still inside the same gilded cage.

The walls were velvet, the chandeliers sparkled--but it was still a cage.

We needed to get out of the house entirely--only then could we contact Tang.

Counting the six women ahead, there were eleven of us in total.

They walked like we were heading toward the next champagne toast.

We, in the back, walked like rats in a maze, every footstep pressed down by dread.