Chapter 8 Mutual Escape
# Chapter 8: Mutual Escape
Wynne stared out the window of the small rental car as it wound through the familiar roads of Mapleton, the coastal town where she'd grown up. Three days had passed since the revelations in Magnus's penthouse—three days of ignored calls from reporters, concerned texts from her sister, and a conspicuous silence from Magnus himself.
She needed space to think, and home seemed the logical refuge. Her parents had moved to Arizona years ago, but the town still felt like hers—unchanged in its sleepy charm, the antithesis of Manhattan's relentless pace.
As she drove through the main square, something caught her eye that made her slam on the brakes. The small park at the center of town—previously named after a forgotten local politician—now displayed a gleaming new sign: "Valdez Square."
"What the..." she muttered, pulling over to stare at the sign.
An elderly man walking his dog noticed her confusion. "Pretty, isn't it? Brand new. Some anonymous donor paid for the whole renovation. Town council voted on the name last month."
"But why Valdez?" Wynne asked, bewildered.
"Something about a distinguished former resident," the man replied with a shrug. "You know how these things work—money talks."
Wynne drove away with a growing sense of unease. First her sister's education, now her hometown's landmark. Magnus's quiet influence had reached into corners of her life she hadn't even considered.
Her phone buzzed with an email notification—Archer & Bell, reminding her that their offer deadline was tomorrow. The escape route was still open, still tempting in its simplicity. Take the job. Leave the complications behind. Start fresh without contract clauses or corporate entanglements.
She turned down the familiar road to her childhood home, only to brake abruptly once more. A "SOLD" sign stood in the yard of the blue Victorian where she'd grown up. The house had been on the market for years after her parents relocated, its asking price too high for the local economy.
With a sense of inevitability, Wynne pulled into the driveway and approached the porch. Through the window, she could see the interior had been restored to almost exactly how it looked in her childhood—the same color scheme, similar furniture, even wallpaper that matched her memories.
"Can I help you?" A voice startled her. The real estate agent stood nearby, organizing papers.
"This house just sold?" Wynne asked.
"Yes, final paperwork came through yesterday. All-cash offer, well above asking price." The agent beamed. "The buyer didn't even tour it in person—just asked for extensive photographs and said it had to be restored to its 1990s condition."
"Who bought it?" Though she already knew the answer.
"I'm not supposed to say, but..." The agent lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It was a corporation. Perry Holdings or something similar."
Wynne leaned against the porch railing, overwhelmed. Magnus had bought her childhood home—recreated it exactly as she would remember it—but hadn't set foot in it himself. What was he doing? Establishing some elaborate backup plan? Creating a retreat for her? For them both?
"The buyer did leave something for anyone who might inquire," the agent added, retrieving an envelope from her portfolio. "Are you a friend of theirs?"
Wynne accepted the envelope with numb fingers. "Something like that."
Inside her car, she opened it to find a single sheet of Perry Group letterhead with Magnus's precise handwriting:
"Wynne,
If you're reading this, you've discovered my presumptuous purchase. I have no explanation that doesn't sound like the actions of an obsessive man. Perhaps I am. I bought it thinking of you, of us, of possibilities I've never allowed myself to consider before. But I haven't entered it. That would be your choice—if there is ever an 'us' beyond contracts and clauses.
—M"
She stared at the note, torn between being touched and troubled. The gesture was grand, excessive, borderline inappropriate—and yet undeniably sincere. This wasn't calculated CEO Magnus; this was the orphaned boy who'd learned to keep everyone at arm's length, making a desperate attempt to hold onto something that mattered.
Her phone rang—her sister Elena.
"Where are you?" Elena demanded without preamble. "The internet is losing its mind over you and Magnus Perry!"
"I'm in Mapleton, taking some time to think."
"Well, think quickly because Magnus Perry is all over the news. He just resigned as CEO!"
"What?" Wynne nearly dropped the phone.
"Temporary step-back, they're calling it. Something about 'personal reevaluation.' Wynne, what is going on? First I find out you're dating the man who's been funding our entire research division, then he steps down from his company? The company literally bearing his name?"
"It's complicated, Elena."
"No kidding. And now there's some weird employee movement with people wearing 'WV' pins all over social media. Are you two getting married or something?"
"No! We're not even—" Wynne stopped, unsure how to explain what they were or weren't. "I need to go."
After hanging up, Wynne sat in her car outside her childhood home—now Magnus's property—and tried to make sense of everything. He'd resigned his position, the thing that defined him professionally. He'd bought her hometown landmark and childhood home. Every action screamed of a man either having a breakdown or making the grandest of gestures.
She started the car, suddenly needing to get away—from the house, from the town square bearing her name, from the mounting evidence of Magnus's feelings and her own confusion.
---
Two hundred miles away, Magnus Perry stood at the edge of a property he hadn't visited in twenty-five years. St. Christopher's Children's Home had closed a decade ago, the imposing Victorian structure converted to a private residence. He'd purchased it anonymously last year, unable to explain even to himself why he needed to own the place that had shaped his emotional limitations.
Now he stood at the gate, unable to make himself enter. Rain had started to fall, matching his somber mood as he contemplated the personal and professional chaos he'd created.
The board had been surprisingly understanding once he'd explained his need for temporary leave. Perhaps the viral employee support campaign had influenced them, or perhaps they recognized the lost look in his eyes—the expression of a man who had upended his carefully structured life for something as unpredictable as love.
His phone had been silent since Wynne left his apartment three days ago. He hadn't attempted to contact her, believing she needed space to process everything. But the silence was becoming unbearable, each hour increasing his certainty that she would choose the simpler path—accept Archer & Bell's offer, leave behind the complications he represented.
He couldn't blame her if she did. He'd crossed boundaries, acted impulsively, revealed depths of feeling that would frighten anyone. The childhood home purchase alone was enough to send any rational person running.
As rain soaked through his coat, Magnus turned away from the orphanage gates. He'd come seeking answers about himself, about why connection terrified him so deeply, but the answers weren't in this building. They were in the choices he made now—whether to retreat behind his walls or risk everything for Wynne.
His driver waited at a discreet distance. "Where to, sir?"
Magnus checked his watch. Still time to catch a flight back to New York, to arrive before Archer & Bell's deadline tomorrow. To make one final appeal.
"The airfield," he decided. "And call ahead—I need the helicopter ready when we arrive."
---
The mountain road to Elena's research facility was treacherous in good weather. In the sudden downpour that had developed, it became nearly impassable. Wynne gripped the steering wheel as her rental car hydroplaned slightly on a curve.
"This was a terrible idea," she muttered, peering through the rain-streaked windshield. She'd impulsively decided to visit her sister, needing someone to talk to about the Magnus situation, but now regretted not checking the weather forecast.
A flash of lightning illuminated the mountainside, followed immediately by a thunderous crack. Ahead, Wynne watched in horror as a section of saturated earth gave way, cascading across the road in a mudslide that blocked the path forward.
She slammed on brakes, the car sliding to a stop just short of the debris. Reversing carefully, she tried to turn around, only to find another, smaller slide had cut off retreat as well.
"Perfect," she groaned, reaching for her phone. No signal—the mountain's notorious dead zone.
With limited options, Wynne grabbed her bag and jacket and stepped out into the downpour. If memory served, there was a park ranger station about a mile ahead. She could wait out the storm there, call for help when reception returned.
The rain hammered down as she hiked along the treacherous roadside. After twenty minutes of miserable progress, a flash of recognition stopped her. Through the trees to her right, barely visible in the storm, stood a small wooden structure—the tree house her father had built when she was ten, on a plot of family land they'd eventually sold.
It had been her childhood refuge, her secret thinking place. Now it offered the closest shelter from the worsening storm.
The wooden ladder was slippery but intact. Inside, the small space was surprisingly dry, the roof having been built with impressive craftsmanship. Wynne collapsed onto the wooden floor, shivering in her damp clothes as thunder rolled overhead.
By coincidence or cosmic joke, she had sought refuge in one of the few places that truly belonged to her past—a secret only family would know about.
---
Ten miles away, Magnus's helicopter pilot shook his head firmly. "We can't continue in this weather, sir. It's too dangerous."
Magnus stared out at the wall of rain obscuring the mountainside. They'd been attempting to reach the research facility where Elena Valdez worked, his best guess at where Wynne might have gone.
"Can we land somewhere close? Continue by car?" he pressed.
"There's an old logging station about two miles back. We could set down there, but the mountain roads will be treacherous, possibly impassable with the rainfall."
"Land there," Magnus decided. "I'll find another way forward."
Thirty minutes later, Magnus stood in the logging station's small office, staring at a topographical map while rain lashed the windows. The elderly caretaker had been startled to find a billionaire in a bespoke suit (now thoroughly soaked) on his doorstep, but recovered admirably.
"You won't get through on the main road," the man explained, tracing a line on the map. "Johnson Creek always floods in heavy rain, takes out the lower section."
"I need to reach this area," Magnus pointed to the research facility's location.
"In this storm? Impossible by vehicle." The caretaker studied him curiously. "Must be mighty important."
"It is."
The old man seemed to make a decision. "There's an old hiking trail—maintenance access for the power lines. Rough going, but it stays on high ground." He traced a different route. "Comes out near that old Valdez property. Family used to have a tree house there, local landmark of sorts."
Magnus stared at him. "Did you say Valdez property?"
"Yep. Nice family. Moved away years ago, but kept that plot with the tree house. Daughter used to spend hours up there reading, by all accounts."
A coincidence too perfect to ignore. Magnus studied the map, committing the route to memory.
"I need a flashlight, a rain jacket if you have one to spare, and directions to this trail," he said, reaching for his wallet.
The caretaker waved away his offered money. "Keep it. But you're either crazy or in love to be heading out in this weather."
Magnus accepted the offered gear with a grim smile. "Possibly both."
---
As twilight descended, Wynne huddled in her childhood hideaway, watching lightning illuminate the valley below. The storm showed no signs of abating. Her phone still had no signal, and the temperature was dropping. She'd have to spend the night here—uncomfortable but safe enough.
She pulled Magnus's letter from her bag, rereading it in the dim light. His words about possibilities, about an "us" beyond contracts, resonated differently now that she sat in this place of childhood memories.
The tree house had been her sanctuary after her first heartbreak at sixteen, after college rejection letters, after arguments with her parents. She'd come here to sort through complicated feelings, to make difficult decisions.
Now she faced perhaps the most significant decision of her adult life: whether to accept the safety of Archer & Bell's offer or risk everything on the uncertain, intense connection she shared with Magnus.
A noise outside startled her—something climbing the ladder. An animal seeking shelter? Wynne grabbed her phone, ready to use its flashlight as a deterrent.
Instead, a drenched human figure appeared in the entrance. For one disorienting moment, Wynne thought she was hallucinating.
"Magnus?"
He looked like a drowned rat—expensive suit ruined, hair plastered to his forehead, rainwater streaming from his shoulders.
"Wynne." He seemed equally shocked. "How—why are you here?"
"Mudslide blocked the road. I was heading to Elena's facility." She stared at him in disbelief. "How did you find me? Why are you on this mountain in a monsoon?"
"I was looking for you. Elena said you might be visiting her." He remained half in the entrance, as if uncertain of his welcome. "The helicopter couldn't continue in the storm. A caretaker mentioned this place—said it belonged to your family."
"You hiked through this storm on the off chance I might be here?" The absurdity of it struck her. "That's..."
"Excessive? Obsessive?" His smile was self-deprecating. "I'm developing a pattern, it seems."
"I was going to say 'dedicated.'" She moved aside, making room. "You should come in before you catch pneumonia."
Magnus climbed fully into the tree house, his tall frame awkward in the small space. They sat facing each other in the dim light, separated by mere feet yet still maintaining a careful distance.
"You resigned as CEO," Wynne said finally.
"Temporarily. I needed perspective."
"You bought my childhood home."
"Yes." No excuses or explanations, just quiet acknowledgment.
"And renamed my hometown square."
"The town council voted on the name," he pointed out. "I merely funded the renovation."
Wynne almost smiled at his technical defense. "Magnus, what are we doing?"
"At the moment, sheltering from a dangerous storm in a surprisingly well-constructed tree house."
"You know what I mean."
He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "I don't know, Wynne. I've broken every rule I've lived by for the past thirty years. I've compromised my company, my reputation, my carefully constructed control. And I'd do it all again if it meant having a chance with you."
The raw honesty in his voice made her breath catch.
"I brought something," he continued, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a folded document, dampened but still legible. "A revised contract."
"Another contract?" Wynne couldn't hide her surprise.
"Old habits," he admitted, passing it to her. "But read it first."
In the fading light, Wynne unfolded the pages. It was their original agreement, but heavily modified with handwritten amendments. Every clause about maintaining professional distance had been crossed out. Performance requirements deleted. Public appearance schedules removed.
And Clause 13—the golden "No Falling in Love" rule—had been completely blacked out, with new text written beneath: "Both parties acknowledge that emotional attachment has occurred and is no longer prohibited. Feelings may develop without restriction."
At the bottom, Magnus had already signed his name—but raindrops had smeared the ink, blurring his signature into an illegible wash of blue.
"The universe seems determined to interfere with our paperwork," Wynne observed, touching the smeared signature.
"Perhaps because some things shouldn't be formalized in contracts." Magnus moved closer, his voice low. "I've spent my life hiding behind legal language and corporate structures. But I can't define this—us—in those terms anymore."
"Then how would you define it?" Wynne asked softly.
"I wouldn't. I can't." His hand found hers in the dimness. "I only know that I've never felt this way before, and it terrifies me. But the thought of not having you in my life terrifies me more."
Thunder crashed overhead as rain continued to pound the roof. In this small wooden sanctuary, miles from civilization, the complexities of their situation seemed both heightened and simplified. No board members, no reporters, no corporate logos or crisis management strategies—just two people trying to navigate feelings neither had planned for.
"The Archer & Bell deadline is tomorrow," Wynne said, her fingers tightening around his.
"I know." Magnus's voice was careful, controlled. "Whatever you decide, I'll respect it. Even if it means watching you walk away."
Wynne studied his face in the dim light—this powerful man who had climbed a mountain in a storm to find her, who had resigned from his own company, who looked at her now with such vulnerable hope.
"It's a very good offer," she said slowly.
"It is." He swallowed visibly. "You'd be exceptional in the role."
"Simple. Uncomplicated. No emotional clauses to worry about."
"Precisely what you deserve after all this... chaos."
Wynne took the rain-damaged contract and carefully folded it, tucking it into her bag. Then she pulled out her phone, navigating to her email despite the lack of signal. She typed quickly, saved the draft, and set the phone aside.
"What was that?" Magnus asked.
"My response to Archer & Bell. It will send when we get reception." She moved closer until their knees touched. "I told them I'm declining their offer."
Hope flickered across Magnus's face. "Why?"
"Because I've discovered I have a complicated relationship with contracts," she replied, a small smile forming. "Especially ones with clauses about emotional non-attachment that I've thoroughly violated."
Magnus reached for her then, his hand gentle against her cheek. "Are you certain? My life is... complicated. I'm complicated."
"I noticed," she said dryly. "Between the renamed town squares and purchased childhood homes, you're not exactly low maintenance."
His laugh was soft, relieved. "I can work on that."
"Don't." She covered his hand with hers. "I'm not looking for simple anymore."
Outside, the storm continued its assault on the mountainside, but within the small wooden sanctuary, something fragile and precious was taking form—an understanding beyond contracts, a connection that had defied every attempt to regulate it.
They had both fled to places from their pasts, seeking answers separately, only to find themselves together in this unlikely refuge—as if even their attempts to escape each other had conspired to bring them closer.
