Chapter 91 Flee
Hannah
Timothy’s arm slid around my waist and pulled me flush against him.
The movement was quick, instinctive, like he had done it a thousand times before. My back met his chest for half a heartbeat before he turned me fully toward him again, his hand tightening against my side.
And then his mouth found mine.
Heat rushed through me so suddenly it almost knocked the air out of my lungs.
I gasped into the kiss, but Timothy only deepened it, his hand moving higher along my back as though he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold me tight enough.
The room felt smaller.
Warmer.
His lips moved against mine with a hunger that made my knees weak, and I felt his other hand slide to the small of my back, pressing me closer until there was no space left between us.
My fingers curled into the front of his shirt without thinking.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
But my body wasn’t listening.
“Timothy…” I tried to say, but the word dissolved when his mouth captured mine again.
His breath was warm. His touch was urgent.
Months, weeks of unspoken tension suddenly burst open between us like a dam finally breaking.
My hands moved up to his shoulders, gripping tightly as he kissed me again and again. His thumb brushed over the curve of my waist and a shiver ran through me.
I felt his fingers slide behind me.
Then…
Pop.
One of the tiny buttons at the back of my dress slipped loose.
My brain didn’t process it at first.
His mouth moved along the corner of mine, down to my jaw, and my breath came out in a shaky laugh that sounded nothing like me.
Another button loosened beneath his fingers.
Pop.
The sound snapped through the haze in my head like a gunshot.
Reality crashed down all at once.
I jerked back.
Timothy froze instantly, his hands still hovering near my back.
For a second neither of us spoke.
We were both breathing hard.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. My heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it might break out of my ribs.
Then the horror hit.
“Oh my God.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Timothy’s expression shifted, confusion first, then realization.
“Hannah…”
I stepped back like he had burned me.
“What are we doing?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
His hand lifted slightly toward me. “Hannah, wait…”
“No.” I shook my head quickly, panic bubbling up in my chest. “No, this… this can’t…”
My thoughts raced.
The fake marriage.
The contract.
The expiration date hanging over our heads like a ticking clock.
And then, Loretta.
The name slammed into me like a brick.
“How could I forget?” I muttered to myself, horror twisting in my stomach.
Loretta.
Timothy’s past.
The woman who still lingered in the corners of everything.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not between us.
Not when none of this was real.
Timothy took a step toward me.
“Hannah.”
The way he said my name made something inside me crack.
I couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not ever.
So I did the only thing my panicking brain could think of.
I ran.
“Hannah…!”
His voice followed me as I rushed down the hallway, my vision blurring.
My feet stumbled over themselves as I pushed open my bedroom door and slammed it shut behind me.
The lock clicked into place with shaking fingers.
Silence fell.
I leaned back against the door, chest heaving.
“What did I just do?” I whispered.
My hands were trembling.
The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet, too full of everything I didn’t want to think about.
I rushed to the bathroom.
Cold light flooded the space as I turned on the tap and splashed water onto my face.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Droplets ran down my cheeks and dripped from my chin as I gripped the edge of the sink and lifted my head.
The mirror showed a girl I barely recognized.
My hair was messy.
My lips were swollen from kissing.
My eyes looked wide and panicked.
“This was supposed to be simple,” I muttered to my reflection.
Fake marriage.
A temporary arrangement.
Something that would end quietly when the time came.
That was all.
But somewhere along the way…
I had started feeling things.
I had tried to pretend it was nothing.
Just a silly crush.
Just admiration.
Something I would get over eventually.
But tonight…
Tonight proved it was more than that.
And that terrified me.
“Nothing good can come out of this,” I whispered hoarsely.
The words sounded hollow.
I forced myself to breathe.
In. Out.
In. Out.
But the air wouldn’t settle in my lungs properly.
My chest tightened.
A strange hiccup escaped my throat.
Then another.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
My breathing sped up.
The room tilted slightly as panic clawed its way up my throat.
I pressed my hands against the sink.
“Calm down,” I told myself. “You’re fine.”
But my body refused to listen.
My breaths turned shallow and uneven.
Hiccups turned into gasps.
I stumbled back into the bedroom, gripping my chest.
“I’m okay,” I whispered desperately.
But the panic attack had already taken hold.
My vision blurred.
My fingers tingled.
Each breath felt harder than the last.
I wrapped my arms around myself and sank onto the edge of the bed.
“Breathe,” I choked out.
But the more I tried, the worse it got.
Tears blurred my vision as panic swallowed me whole.
Then, I heard the bedroom door open.
Distantly. Through the roaring in my ears.
But that was impossible.
I had locked it.
Before I could process it, strong arms wrapped around me from behind.
I stiffened immediately.
“Let go,” I gasped weakly, trying to pull away.
“Hannah.”
Timothy’s voice was low and steady near my ear.
My heart stuttered.
I shook my head frantically.
“No, you can’t…”
But his arms tightened around me.
Not painfully.
Just firmly enough that I couldn’t break free.
“Hannah, breathe.”
His voice remained calm.
Steady.
Like an anchor in the storm raging inside me.
I tried to push him away again, but my strength was already fading.
“Please…” I choked.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.”
His hand slid up to the back of my head, fingers gently threading through my hair.
The gesture was slow.
Careful.
Soothing.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured.
My forehead pressed weakly against his chest.
His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath my ear.
Strong.
Consistent.
“Slow breath,” he said softly. “In.”
I tried.
The air came in shaky.
“Good,” he whispered. “Now out.”
His hand continued moving gently through my hair.
Again.
And again.
The warmth of his arms grounded me.
The steady rise and fall of his chest gave my lungs something to match.
My breaths slowly began to even out.
The tight band around my chest loosened little by little.
Tears slipped silently down my cheeks as exhaustion replaced the panic.
I didn’t even remember when I stopped trying to pull away.
My hands had curled weakly into the front of his shirt.
And Timothy didn’t move.
He just held me.
Silent.
Patient.
A solid presence behind me.
I buried my face against his chest and let the tears fall.
Neither of us spoke.
But his hand never stopped moving through my hai