The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 202

Someone was inside.

Isla’s trembling hand scrambled along the cold, peeling wall,

desperately searching for the light switch in the suffocating darkness.

Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, but the switch was

nowhere to be found. Instead, her wide eyes caught movement-

shadows. Three of them. There were three men in the room.

Her heart plummeted into a free fall.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave, and before she could think or

act, the fear erupted from her throat in a blood–curdling scream. The

sound tore through the silence, raw and unfiltered, but it only lasted

a moment before one of the intruders lunged forward. His hand

clamped over her mouth, smothering the scream before it could fully

escape. Another man closed in, his shadow looming over the bed, his

intentions clear in the predatory gleam of his eyes.

Every instinct screamed at her to fight, to run, to survive. Despite the

paralyzing terror that made her limbs feel like lead, something primal

surged within her–a desperate, almost inhuman strength fueled by

sheer will to live, Isla bit down on the hand covering her mouth with

every ounce of force she could muster, her teeth sinking into flesh

until she tasted blood. The man howled in pain, yanking his hand

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Chapter 202

back reflexively.

She didn’t stop.

Kicking wildly, Isla lashed out with her legs, her bare feet colliding

with knees and shins as she writhed and screamed. Her voice was

hoarse, raw, but she couldn’t hear it. She didn’t realize she was still

screaming because her world was a cacophony of silence–broken

only by the rapid pounding of her heart in her ears.

A third pair of hands lunged for her, but she twisted, her elbow

slamming into one of the men’s ribs. With a surge of adrenaline, she

broke free, bolting toward the door. Her body was a blur of movement,

acting on instinct alone. She tore the door open and ran out into the night, the cold air biting at her skin as she fled, barefoot and clad

only in her thin pajamas.

Her screams echoed through the quiet streets of Magnolia Ridge, piercing the stillness and rousing the sleepy neighborhood. But Isla didn’t notice the growing number of faces peeking out from windows and doorways. She couldn’t hear their voices or their questions; her fear was a deafening roar in her mind, drowning out everything else.

Her feet slapped against the pavement, the sharp edges of gravel and small stones biting into her soles, but she didn’t stop. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over her wild figure–a young woman running barefoot in the dead of night, her face streaked with tears

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and terror.

It wasn’t until several neighbors emerged from their homes that her

frantic sprint slowed. A few kind souls cautiously approached her,

their concern evident in their furrowed brows and hesitant gestures.

Someone touched her shoulder, their soothing words lost on her as

her chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths. Isla’s hands flew to her

ears, shaking her head as though trying to make sense of the silent

chaos around her.

It took several agonizing minutes and gentle coaxing from the

neighbors before Isla began to calm down. Her body still trembled

uncontrollably, but her screams faded into quiet, gasping sobs.

Someone draped a blanket over her shoulders, the weight of it

grounding her slightly as she sat on the curb, her knees drawn to her

chest.

When the police arrived, Isla was barely coherent, but she managed to

explain what had happened. Two officers crouched in front of her,

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