Chapter 8: The Breach
The knock on the double doors came again, sharper this time, followed by the metallic jingle of a master key sliding into the exterior keyhole. Time had run out.
“Move,” Leo hissed, grabbing Grace by the elbow and pulling her rapidly toward the far side of the master suite.
The heavy floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading out to the private balcony were locked from the inside, but Leo didn’t hesitate. He dropped his shoulder against the latch, throwing his weight forward with a sharp crack. The brass lock splintered into the frame, and the freezing night air rushed into the warm, perfumed bedroom, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine trees from the sprawling estate gardens below.
Behind them, the master key turned in the lock with a definitive click. The heavy oak doors swung inward.
“Leo! What on earth are you—?” Martha’s voice cut off abruptly as she stepped into the empty bedroom, her eyes landing immediately on the shattered balcony door and the fluttering curtains. Sarah trailed behind her, gasping audibly. “Security! Code red in the master suite! Stop them!”
Leo didn’t look back. He swept the newborn securely into the crook of his arm, shielding the baby’s face from the biting wind, and guided Grace out onto the wrought-iron balcony. Below them, the stone courtyard stretched out toward the dark expanse of the greenhouse tunnel, dimly illuminated by antique carriage lamps.
The spiral staircase was slick with condensation, the cold metal rungs biting through the soles of Grace’s slippers as she descended step by cautious step. Leo followed closely behind, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Above them on the balcony, shouting voices erupted as estate security guards flooded the bedroom, their heavy boots thudding against the parquet flooring.
“There! On the balcony!” a man’s voice shouted from above.
A beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the garden and splashing blinding white light directly across the metal staircase. Grace gasped, freezing halfway down the steps as the light pinned them like insects under a microscope.
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“Keep moving!” Leo urged, pulling her down the remaining rungs just as heavy footsteps echoed at the top of the stairs.
They hit the flagstone courtyard at a dead sprint, the cold night air burning their lungs. Leo’s white dress shirt fluttered wildly in the wind, his dark curls whipping across his forehead. They veered sharply to the left, diving into the shadowed entryway of the old Victorian greenhouse—a forgotten relic of the estate that connected via an underground service corridor straight to the detached staff parking lot near the eastern perimeter gate.
