Chapter 18: Racing Against Time

Chapter 18: Racing Against Time
Andy's POV

The penthouse door slams behind me with a finality that echoes through my bones. I lean against the mahogany frame, my forehead pressed to the cool wood, and for the first time in years, I feel completely unmoored. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant hum of traffic twenty floors below and the erratic thump of my pulse in my ears.

Laura's gone. Actually gone this time, not just threatening to leave. The realization hits like a sucker punch to the gut, doubling me over. I straighten, running both hands through my hair, and catch my reflection in the hallway mirror disheveled, wild-eyed, looking exactly like the kind of man I swore I'd never become. The kind who chases after women who've already decided to run.

But this isn't just any woman. This is Laura.

My phone buzzes against my chest. A text from Marcus: Saw the news. Guess the wedding's off? Pity. You almost had it all.

I delete it without responding, my jaw clenching so hard it sends a spike of pain up my temple.

Marcus orchestrated this whole media circus, I'm sure of it. The timing, the photos, the coordinated release it has his fingerprints all over it. But right now, I don't give a damn about his games or Grandpa's inheritance. I need to find Laura before she disappears into whatever new identity she's probably already crafting.

The elevator ride to the garage feels endless. My reflection stares back from the polished steel doors tie askew, shirt wrinkled, looking like I've been in a fight. Which, in a way, I have.

Fighting for something I didn't even know I wanted until it was walking out the door.

Chicago's streets are slick with the remnants of this morning's rain, streetlights casting fractured rainbows in the puddles. My Audi purrs to life, and I pull out into traffic with more aggression than necessary, earning honks from other drivers. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and shadow, but I'm not really seeing it. I'm seeing Laura's face when she said she'd go resigned, broken, like she'd expected this ending all along.

Maybe she had. Maybe running is all she knows how to do.

Her apartment is across town, in a neighborhood where the American Dream comes to die slow, painful deaths. Twenty minutes of aggressive driving later, I'm pulling up to a brick building that's seen better decades. The windows are dark except for one on the third floor hers. Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy.

I take the stairs three at a time, my dress shoes slipping on the worn linoleum. The hallway smells like boiled cabbage and broken dreams, fluorescent lights flickering overhead like dying stars. Her door is slightly ajar, warm light spilling out, and I can hear movement inside drawers opening, fabric rustling.

She's packing. Of course she is.

I push the door open slowly, not wanting to startle her. The apartment is smaller than my walk-in closet, but it's clean, organized, lived-in. Photos line the mantle her with an older man who must be her father, both of them laughing at something off-camera. Her mother, I assume, beautiful but with hollow eyes that match Laura's sometimes.

Laura stands with her back to me, folding clothes with mechanical precision into a worn suitcase. She's changed from the designer dress into jeans and a faded Northwestern sweatshirt that's probably older than our fake relationship. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and even from behind, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she holds herself like she's bracing for impact.

"Going somewhere?" I ask, keeping my voice light despite the anvil sitting on my chest.

She spins around, eyes wide, a silk blouse clutched to her chest like armor. "Andy." My name comes out strangled, like she's been holding her breath. "How did you"

"Find you? Lucky guess." I step further into the room, noting the systematic way she's packing underwear in one corner, work clothes in another. This isn't panic packing. This is practiced, efficient. Like she's done this before. "Though I have to ask, is this your standard post-breakup routine? Because if so, you're really committed to the bit."

A laugh escapes her, short and bitter. "You think this is a joke?"

"I think this is you running away instead of fighting for something worth having." I move closer, noting how she doesn't back away this time. Progress. "I also think you're scared."

Her chin lifts, defiant. "Of what?"

"Of staying. Of letting someone see the real you and choosing to stick around anyway." I'm close enough now to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, the way her pulse jumps at the base of her throat. "Your father told you to find someone who stays. What if I want to be that person?"

She shakes her head, the movement sharp, final. "You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what I've done, who I've hurt"

"I know you saved your mother's life. I know you sacrificed your own happiness to keep heralive." I reach out, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn't. My fingers brush her cheek, coming away wet. "I know you're crying because you think you don't deserve to be fought for."

"I don't." The words are barely a whisper.

"That's not your call to make."

For a moment, we just stand there, breathing the same air, existing in the same space. Her eyes search mine, looking for something doubt, maybe, or disgust. She won't find either.

"The contract" she starts.

"Is just paper. What we have isn't." I cup her face with both hands, forcing her to look at me. "I'm not asking you to be perfect, Laura. I'm asking you to stay. To give us a chance to figure out what this is when it's real."

She opens her mouth to respond, and that's when we hear it footsteps in the hallway, heavy and deliberate. Multiple sets, moving with purpose. We both freeze, the spell broken.

"Laura Chen?" A voice calls through the door, official and cold. "Chicago PD. We need to speak with you."

The blood drains from her face so fast I think she might collapse. "What did you do?" she whispers, backing away from me like I've betrayed her.

"Nothing. I swear, I didn't"

The footsteps stop outside her door. "Miss Chen, we know you're in there. We just want to talk."

But Laura's already moving, muscle memory taking over. She grabs a go-bag from behind the couch packed and ready, because of course it is and heads for the fire escape. She's done this before, maybe more than once.

"Laura, wait"

She turns back, her hand on the window latch, and the look in her eyes breaks something in my chest. "This is who I am, Andy. This is what loving me looks like. Are you sure you want to sign up for this?"

Before I can answer, the door bursts open.