He shakes his head. “And here I thought you were finally warming up to me.”
“I’d rather hug a snake.”
He chuckles, leaning lazily against the elevator wall, completely at ease. “That’s a shame. You do look adorable when you think you have the upper hand.”
I grit my teeth and don’t react. He’s so confident. So sure I won’t get away. That I won’t outmaneuver him.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been planning.
He doesn’t know that today, I run.
The unspoken threat lingers between us, thick as the tension I refuse to acknowledge. I clench my fists, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I’ve spent days preparing for this moment, running every possible scenario through my head.
Plan A: Fake a fainting spell. Drop hard. Make a scene. Wait for distraction, then bolt. Plan B: Find an open car door and dive in. If it’s running, floor it. If not, lock myself inside and scream until security gets involved. Plan C: Just run. Don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Don’t look back.
None of these plans are good. But I don’t need perfect. I just need distance. Enough to reach the streets. Enough to vanish into the crowd before he or his men can grab me.
And still—there’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind, whispering doubts I don’t want to hear.
What happens to Ella’s scholarship if I disappear? What happens to the safety net she finally has?
And worse—why does part of me hesitate at the thought of leaving him?
Not after seeing him fevered and vulnerable. Watching him push through pain with that same infuriating arrogance, pretending nothing could touch him. Like he was untouchable.
Except he wasn’t.
I can’t forget the way his hand gripped mine. The way he growled my name like he needed me there.
I shake the thought off. I can’t let myself get distracted. This is my shot.
And I need to take it.
The elevator dings.
My stomach tightens as the doors slide open, revealing the underground parking garage beneath the penthouse. The stale scent of oil and gasoline floods my lungs—but beneath it is something sharper. The taste of freedom.
I keep my expression neutral as we step out, my heart pounding. I don’t hesitate. I scan the space—the heavy metal gate at the far end, the parked cars, and the exits.
The driver stands by the car, his gaze flicking briefly to me before settling back on Asher as they exchange a few quiet words. He looks bored. Uninterested.
That’s my opening.
It’s now or never.
I take off.
My feet slap against concrete as I sprint, lungs burning, heart hammering. The garage is cavernous, empty except for a few blacked-out SUVs. I weave between them, searching for a break. An opening. Anything.
Behind me—boots on pavement.
Too fast. Too close.
A strong arm wraps around my waist, yanking me off my feet. I slam into a broad chest, a breathless curse tearing out of me as I fight against the iron grip.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the driver mutters, adjusting his hold like I weigh nothing.
I kick. Twist. Fight.
