Ines didn't just walk. She fled. Her bare feet, tucked into soft silk slippers, made a frantic shush-shush-shush on the dark, polished wood of the hallway. She did not look behind her. She was certain if she did, he would still be there, staring, knowing.
She reached her bedroom door and fumbled with the handle, her hand trembling so violently it took her two tries to open it. She slipped inside, shutting the door with a quiet, final click.
She was safe.
For one second, she stood in the darkness, her back pressed against the wood, her precious "diary" clutched to her chest. Her heart was a cannon, booming against her ribs.
Then, she launched herself.
She dove into the middle of her enormous bed, burrowing her face deep into the down-filled pillows. And she screamed. It was a silent, furious, utterly mortified scream, muffled completely by the fine linen.
