Chapter 162 Failed Escape
I didn't go to the OceanRise interview.
"Restroom," I told Logan and Gavin in the lobby. They waited outside while I slipped through the service corridor straight to the back alley.
A taxi idled near the dumpster. I flagged it down and jumped in. "Union Station. Side streets. Hurry."
No plane—too risky, too traceable. But a train? Short-distance tickets were easy. I could buy one to a neighboring city, then figure out the rest from there.
The taxi weaved through traffic, and I clutched my purse, my fingers digging into the leather. Every red light felt like an eternity. Every turn made me glance over my shoulder.
---
I sprinted through Union Station like my life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
My lungs burned as I pushed past tourists and commuters, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. The security checkpoint loomed ahead, and I forced myself to slow down, to breathe normally as I handed over my ID and placed my purse on the conveyor belt.
The TSA agent barely glanced at me. My heart thudded as I walked through the metal detector, half-expecting alarms to blare, hands to grab me, Ethan's voice to cut through the air—
But nothing happened.
I grabbed my purse and ran again, dodging a family with strollers, nearly colliding with a businessman on his phone. The departure board flickered above me, and I found my gate, my train, my escape—
And then I saw them.
Harry stood at the ticket gate, flanked by two women in black tactical gear. They weren't security guards. They were his people. Ethan's people.
Their faces were expressionless. Cold. Professional.
I stopped dead, my chest heaving, my fingers tightening around my purse strap.
Harry's gaze locked onto mine. "Please come back, Miss Reed."
I shook my head, taking a step backward. "No."
"Miss Reed—"
"No." My voice cracked. "Tell Ethan I'm a free person. I have the right to go anywhere I want. He has no right to interfere."
Harry's jaw tightened. "You're making this difficult."
"You're making me difficult." I stepped forward, anger surging through my fear. "I'm not his property. I'm not his anything."
I reached into my purse, fingers fumbling until they closed around the small brooch I'd bought downstairs—a cheap silver thing from a jewelry kiosk, the kind with a long, sharp pin at the back.
Now, I unwound the strip of paper I'd wrapped around the pin and pulled the brooch free.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Miss Reed, don't—"
I pressed the pin against my throat.
The sharp tip bit into my skin, and I felt a bead of warmth trickle down my neck.
"Let me on that train," I said, my voice shaking but steady. "Or you can take my body back to Ethan instead."
The station seemed to freeze.
Passengers stopped, staring. No one approached.
Harry pulled out his phone. His voice was clipped, professional. "Sir, she has a brooch pin against her neck. I can't bring her in."
---
The railway employee approached me slowly, hands raised.
"Ma'am," he said gently. "I'm going to need you to hand over that brooch."
"It's not a prohibited item," I said, my voice rising. "I checked. Brooches aren't on the restricted list."
"That's true," he said, his tone apologetic. "But the pin is excessively sharp. It could cause harm to yourself or others. That makes it a restricted item."
I wanted to scream. To throw it at him. To run.
But I couldn't.
The two women in tactical gear stepped closer, their movements precise and predatory.
I lowered the brooch slowly, my hand shaking.
The employee took it from me, his expression sympathetic but firm. "Thank you, ma'am."
Harry stepped forward. "Miss Reed—"
"I'll walk." I cut him off, my voice flat.
---
Back to Oakwood Estate.
Back to my cage.
I'd lost count of how many times Ethan had locked me here. Three? Four? Each time felt like a new layer of suffocation, another brick in the wall he was building around me.
And this time, I didn't even know how long it would last.
This is love?
The thought was bitter, acidic.
If this was love, then why did it feel like drowning?
If he loved me, how could he do this?
I sat on the stone steps outside the villa, staring up at the sky. A bird took flight from a nearby tree, its wings cutting through the air as it soared higher and higher, disappearing into the blue.
Free.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I stared at it, my heart sinking. I didn't answer. Let it ring. Let it stop.
But it rang again.
And again.
Finally, I picked up. "Hello?"
"Miss Reed?" The voice was warm, polished, feminine. "This is Emily Sullivan. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
My blood ran cold.
"I just found out you came to Starshine Media for an interview," Emily continued, her tone breezy, friendly. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to meet you personally. I would have loved to chat."
I said nothing.
"I looked at your résumé," she went on. "You're incredibly talented. If you're interested, I'd be happy to have you join our team. But that's not why I'm calling."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"I wanted to apologize," Emily said. "For what you might have overheard earlier. Outside the interview room. I was on the phone, and... well, I didn't know you were Ethan's..."
"I don't know what your arrangement is with Ethan," Emily continued. "But I feel like I owe you the truth. He and I—we're engaged. Or we will be, officially, in October. It's a business arrangement, nothing more. No feelings involved. After we're married and I give the family an heir, we'll go our separate ways. He'll keep you. You'll keep your life. Everyone wins."
I closed my eyes, bile rising in my throat.
"I know you probably don't believe me," Emily said. "You might think I'm trying to cause trouble. So I'm going to send you some screenshots. Just so you know I'm not lying."
My phone buzzed.
I pulled it away from my ear, staring at the screen.
The first image was a tabloid headline: Bennett Heir Seen with Sullivan Heiress—Wedding Bells on the Horizon?
The second was a photo. Ethan and Emily, walking out of a jewelry store. His hand on her back. Her smile radiant.
"I tried to stop him," Emily said softly. "Over Christmas, he wanted to take me shopping, to 'put on a show' for the press. I told him no—I didn't want you to see it and get hurt. But he said he had it under control. He said he'd make sure you never found out."
Her voice turned sympathetic. Almost pitying.
"If you don't care," she said, "then forget I ever called. Keep doing what you're doing. I won't interfere. I'm not like those other women who fight over men. That's beneath me."
She laughed lightly.
"Besides," she added, "I run an entertainment company. I work with some of the hottest actors in Hollywood. Do you really think I need to fight over one man?"