Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO

VANESSA BELMONT

This was my second chance life. I doubted I would get another one.

I scanned the room. Concrete walls. No windows. A single vent in the corner, rusted and looking like a great place to pick up tetanus. It wasn’t large enough to crawl through.

My muscles ached from hours of being bound. If I could find something sharp, maybe I could saw through the zip ties. My eyes darted to the metal leg of the chair I was tied to, its rough weld marks just visible in the dim light. Worth a try.

I shifted, testing the give in the restraints. Pain flared as the plastic dug deeper, but I ignored it. Every second counted. The footsteps outside had faded, but I knew Mr. Slap-Happy Kidnapper would return. And maybe next time, they would figure out Nathan didn’t give a crap about me.

I’d be so pissed if I ended up dead again.

I rocked the chair, testing its balance. If I tipped it just right ... A crash would bring them running, but what other choice did I have?

I took a breath. Then, with a sudden jerk, I threw my weight sideways. The chair slammed to the ground, the impact jolting through my ribs. But the rusted leg snapped—and now I had a tool to help me escape the zip ties.

Now came the hard part.

I shifted my weight, testing the chair’s stability. Cheap metal legs, bolted to a plastic seat. Not ideal, but not impossible.

I rocked forward, slamming the chair legs against the ground. Once. Twice. On the third try, the bolt holding the back leg snapped. The chair lurched, and I threw myself to the side, crashing onto the concrete. The impact sent a shock wave of pain through my ribs, but I gritted my teeth and rolled, and grabbed the broken chair leg to saw at the zip-tie around my wrists.