I stood there, frozen. My heart was pounding. Before I could react, she opened her eyes and signaled me to be quiet. That look was no joke. Primal fear invaded me, making my hands tremble as they clutched the wedding dress. At that moment, I could clearly hear the footsteps of my new husband approaching the room.
I quickly put on my everyday clothes, pushed the dress down on the bed, then sneaked into the darkness towards the back door. The small alley beside me sent a chill down my spine. The maid pushed open the old wooden gate and told me to go. I didn’t dare to look back, just listening to her instructions:
“Go straight, don’t go around. Someone is waiting.”
I screamed as if my heart was about to burst. Under the dim streetlight, a motorbike was parked. A middle-aged man pulled me out of the chair and sped away. I could only hold her tightly, tears streaming down my face.
After weaving through the small streets around 1am, we stopped at a small house by the roadside. The man led me out, gently saying, “Stay here for a while. You’ll be safe.”
I fell onto the chair, my whole body exhausted. Questions kept swirling in my head: Why did the maid save me? What really happened? Who exactly was the man I had just married?
Outside, the fog was thick, but beside me, a storm was brewing.
I could barely sleep. Every passing car, every distant dog barking startled me. The man who had brought me here sat quietly smoking on the porch, the light of his cigarette illuminating his gloomy face. I didn’t dare ask, but his eyes were both pitying and wary.
When the bell rang, the maid appeared. I immediately fell down, trembling as I called out to her. But she pulled me back, her voice hoarse:
“You must know the truth, you must know how to save yourself.”
The truth was exposed. My husband’s family was not simple. Behind the wealthy appearance were shady businessmen and debts. My marriage was not for love, but a transaction – I chose to be a daughter-in-law to pay off the debt.
The maid revealed that my new husband had a dark past and was addicted to drugs. Two years ago, he had caused the death of a young woman in his own home, but his powerful family had discovered the scandal. Born at that time, everyone in the house lived in fear. That night, if I had stayed, I might have become his last victim.
A chill ran down my spine as each word pierced like a knife. I remembered his menacing gaze at the wedding, his painful grip on my hand as he held the farewell gift. What I thought was normal tension was actually an omen.
The strong man—who turned out to be the maid from afar—interjected:
“You must leave immediately. Don’t ever come back. They will look for you, and the longer you wait, the greater the danger.”
But where could I go? I had no money, no papers. My phone was confiscated right after the wedding “to avoid distractions”. I was completely empty-handed.
The maid pulled out a small bag: a few bills, an old phone, and my ID card, which she had secretly taken back. I burst into tears, speechless. At that moment, I realized I had escaped a trap, but the road ahead was filled with certainty.
I decided to call my mother. When I heard her choked voice, I soon had nothing left to say. The maid signaled me to speak only half-heartedly, always revealing my hiding place, because my husband’s family would suddenly send someone to follow me. My mother could only cry and beg me to survive, promising that we would find a way.
In the following days, I hid in that house, never stepping out. The maid cooked, and during the day she returned to the main house to avoid suffocation. I lived like a shadow, tormented by countless questions: Why me? Would I have the courage to stand up, or would I have to live a life of hiding?
A moment later, the maid returned with a stern look on her face:
“They’re leaving soon. You need to plan your next move. This place won’t be safe for long.”
My heart was pounding again. I realized the real battle was just beginning.
That night, the maid delivered the bad news: my fragile security was crumbling. I knew I couldn’t hide forever. If I wanted to live, I had to face them—and escape them.
I told the maid and she said, “I can’t hide forever. The longer I wait, the more dangerous things will become. I want to call the police.”
The maid frowned: “Do you have any proof? Just talking is not enough. Worse, they will take money to cover it up, and you will be considered a liar.”
His words hurt me. I was left with only fear and memories. But the maid whispered:
“I have kept some things. Papers and books that the master secretly recorded. If they are exposed, they will be sold. But getting them back will not be easy.”
We devised a risky plan. The next evening, the maid returned to the villa as usual, preparing to work. Meanwhile, I waited outside with the ephew, ready to receive the documents.
At first, everything seemed to go smoothly. But when the maid passed the documents through the gate, a figure stepped forward – my husband. He said:
“What do you think you are doing?!”
I was stunned. He had discovered everything. For a split second, I thought I was going to be dragged back into that nightmare. But the maid suddenly stepped in front of me, trembling and saying:
“Stop it, you bitch! Haven’t enough people suffered for you?!”
The ephew quickly packed up the documents and dragged me away. Behind me, curses and sounds of struggle echoed. I wanted to turn back, but he held me tight:
“Ro! This is your only chance!”
We ran straight to the nearest police station and handed in the documents. I trembled as I remembered everything. At first, they betrayed me, but when they opened the book, it was filled with incriminating evidence: criminal loan records, lists of illegal transactions, and even photos of secret identities kept in the house.
