After my tense "audience" with my father ended, I was unceremoniously dragged to a guest room, per his orders. The room was enormous—at least twice the size of the cramped apartment where I had scraped by for two years. It boasted a bed, a closet, and a dressing table complete with a mirror.

Certainly, this "prison" was the most opulent place I’d stayed since being tossed into the orphanage.

Hours crept by, each one fueling my growing restlessness. I knew I had to escape ...