oft light spilling across the cabin floor. The fire had burned out, leaving only a faint tra

u

ory. My entire body still hummed with the ghost of his touch. The way he looked at me like I was more

ot even the soft click

s doing that stupid thing again-hoping. Hoping maybe he'd gone out for firewood or to clear his head. That he'd walk back through that door

was empty. His car-if he'd even come with one-was nowhere in sight. The sn

othing to him. I didn't even know his last name or where

st tig

ors, conversations filled with rehearsed charm and carefully chosen compliments. I have mastere

night. And now he's vanished like a ghost,

ever supposed to be more than a passing moment. Maybe the timing wasn't right, he probably h

the moment I needed it most. I couldn't afford to fall apart over a fan

ed, running a hand through my

d something to occupy my thoughts. Something other than him, because the reality was cruel and sobering: I was alone. I had run away

later, someone

ton. Part of me wanted to check in to see how much chaos I've caused, to know if they were looking for

d bittersweet

the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. The silenc

t n

t it wasn't real life. Real life was out there-looming, demanding

ith an ache that curled deep in my chest: I didn't want to go back to the life I ha

ed back against the couch

ret leaving

ondered if I was ready for

*

t and gray, and I still h

the weight of last night still pulsed quietly ben

on the table beside me, jo

wn nu

for a heartbeat, then picked i

ous voice whispered.

ng in my throat. "Aaron," I whispe

if the call had dropped-then, "Not really. I don't have much ti

unded in my ear

never seen before. He's-he's threatening the staff, saying whoever helped you escape wil

m my face. My fingers curl

ing. "He's watching the staff closely. They'll trace the car logs, the camera feed.

ire. Aaron has been my driver since I was a teenager. He wasn't just an employee

s in danger b

feeling the sting of tears. "

gently. "But they'll come for me. An

ne wen

screen in horr

an innocent man

every part of me screaming to stay here, hide and protect what litt

iling behind the wheel, looking back at me in t

to give me one night of freedom-and I took it like a sel

e him to face m

his fleeting sense of escape, I couldn't turn my ba

t of my decision pressing

to go

n't deserve to suffer for my choices. I wouldn'

ed the little items I brought. I had no plan-no idea how to navigate my fat

. The cold air rushed in as I opened the door, and I ste