RUN ALL YOU WANT

ROSIE POV.

I get ready in silence, forcing myself into the heavy gown he sent—fabric dragging against my skin like a chain.

I don’t even know his name.

I only know instructions, orders, and the fact that he gave me enough money to pay the hospital bill and take my Mishti far away after tonight. That was supposed to be the plan. One party. One appearance. Then disappear.

But nothing feels simple anymore.

In the car, the world outside blurs, and the bridge appears—the same shape, the same railings, the same cold iron that once held blood, screams, and memory.

My chest tightens. The flashes hit hard. Blood on my hands. Screams in my ears. The taste of metal. Water swallowing everything.

For a second, I forget where I am. Who I am.

Everything goes numb.

I don’t even realize when he pulls me into his lap, but somehow being there—pressed against his heartbeat, caged in his warmth—makes my lungs work again. It should terrify me. It should feel wrong. But instead, it feels… safer than anywhere else I’ve been in a long time.

We don’t cross the bridge. Not with the car.

He steps out, carrying me like something precious or broken—I can’t tell which. My fingers curl into his shirt, holding on like it’s the only real thing left in this world. The night air cuts cold against my skin, but his presence burns through it.

Then I see it.

A private jet. Waiting. Silent. Guarded.

Who the hell is he?

Before I can make sense of anything, his hand snaps the locket off my neck—the only piece of my past, the only thing I swore I would never lose. I watch him slip it into his pocket as if it belonged there. As if I did.

I tell myself I’ll take it back after the party.

After tonight.

After I leave.

But my thoughts won’t settle. They wander, circling fear and curiosity like locked jaws. I keep trying to place him. His power. His silence. His presence. Nothing fits. Nothing makes sense. And yet, everything about him feels like a memory my mind can’t reach.

Inside the jet, the world becomes painfully quiet. Too controlled. Too perfect. The kind of silence that makes you feel watched. The kind that demands obedience without saying a word.

By the time we reach the party, the night feels surreal.

Lights. Cameras. Flashing lenses. Glittering eyes.

Media. Celebrities. Power everywhere.

The moment we enter, every gaze turns to us—hungry, shocked, calculating. Their attention hits me like a storm and instinctively, I grip his arm tighter, fingers trembling against the fabric of his suit, holding him as if he is the only anchor in a world spinning too fast.

I don’t know who he is.

But everyone else seems to.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath fear and confusion and the weight of everything I’ve lost—

a chilling truth settles in my bones.

I am not here by accident.

I am here because he chose me.

And whatever this night is…

it isn’t a beginning.

It feels like the continuation of something I don’t remember—

something darker than my nightmares.

“Tonight, we celebrate the engagement of Rosie and Rhys Rathore.”

Everything inside me stops.

The room sways.

My knees weaken.

My breath disappears.

Rhys turns to me slowly. Too slowly. His eyes hold no surprise. No apology.

Only certainty.

“Wh—no. No, no—this is wrong,” I whisper, stumbling back. “You lied. You told me it was just a party—”

“Correct,” he says smoothly. “My engagement party.”

“I’m not your fiancée!” I choke out.

“Look again.”

A guard hands him a folder.

He opens it.

My signature.

My handwriting.

My name.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

“This is forged—this has to be—”

Rhys steps closer. Shadows cling to him like second skin.

“You think a man like me needs to forge a signature?” he asks quietly.

My lips part—but no sound comes out.

“You signed every page,” he continues. “You were desperate. You didn’t read. And now…”

His voice drops lower.

“…you belong exactly where I want you.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Please,” I whisper.

My legs nearly buckle.

“You can’t control my life,” I manage to say.

“You’re standing in a room full of people who believe you’re mine,” he replies. “Tell me—who will they believe? You… or me?”

My stomach twists.

He lifts the ring box. I step back, but the crowd watches, cameras ready, hungry.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper.

“Oh, I already did,, sweetheart"

He pressed a kiss to her tear-stained cheek.

Commanding silence.

“Enough,” he breathed. “Come.”

He led her forward, ignoring the flashes exploding like gunfire around them. The world watched as he slipped a velvet box open. The ring gleamed—sharp, heavy, symbolic.

He held her hand—not asking, not waiting—and slid the ring onto her trembling finger.

Rosie broke—her breath turning into a sob, her shoulders shaking.

“You’ll regret this…” she whispered through the tears.

Rhys looked down at her, eyes burning with possession… and something darker—something dangerously close to devotion.

“Rhys Rathore never regrets,” he murmured.

Author’s POV

The applause thundered across the hall, drowning out Rosie’s shattering heart. Her fingers trembled violently beneath the heavy engagement ring Rhys forced onto her hand. Her breaths came sharp, shallow—like the room itself was suffocating her.

Rhys didn’t look at her.

He didn’t need to.

His grip, his presence, his shadow—all of it had already caged her.

Every flash of a camera felt like a nail sealing her fate.

She swallowed a sob, blinked hard to clear her vision, and forced herself to breathe. She knew one thing with terrifying certainty:

If she didn’t escape now, she never would.

While the crowd surged forward—congratulating Rhys, shaking his hand, praising his “choice”—Rosie lowered her head. Slowly. Carefully.

Unseen.

Her feet moved backward, step by step, into the darkness behind the curtain.

No one noticed.

Not when Rhys Rathore stood in the center of the room like a living storm.

She slipped through the velvet drapes—heart pounding, lungs burning—and then she ran.

Barefoot. Silent. Broken.

Her gown trailed after her like a dying echo as she raced down the corridor. The hall blurred. Her tears blurred. She didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Mishti. Mishti. Mishti.

Her daughter’s name was the only thing keeping her upright.

Everything else—the fear, the humiliation, the shock—would destroy her later. But right now, she needed to reach her child.

No one saw her leave.

No one except the shadows.

---

Back in the ballroom…

Rhys finally turned to look at his fiancée.

His bride.

His captive.

But she wasn’t there.

His jaw tightened. A quiet, lethal silence wrapped around him. His eyes swept the crowd—sharp, cold, hunting.

“Where is she?” he asked his guard.

The man stiffened. “Sir… she was with you a moment ago—”

The temperature around Rhys dropped.

“Find. Her.”

A warning.

A threat.

A command carved in steel.

Everyone in the immediate radius froze.

Rhys’s eyes lifted toward the curtains—just slightly. His expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered behind it.

Interest.

Amusement.

Dark satisfaction.

“She runs fast,” he murmured, lips barely moving.

The guard swallowed hard. “Should we lock down the exits?”

“No.”

The answer was soft. Too soft.

The guard blinked. “Sir?”

Rhys’s gaze stayed on the empty space where Rosie once stood—his expression unreadable, but undeniably intrigued.

“If she thinks she can disappear,” he said, voice dropping into something cold, “let her.”

A pause.

“Because it will be more interesting when I find her.”

He knew one thing:

Rosie was his fiancée now.

And Rhys Rathore did not lose what he claimed.

---

Outside…

Rosie stumbled into the night air, lungs collapsing from the sprint. Her heels were gone—kicked off while running through the hallway—and her feet stung, but she didn’t stop.

She grabbed the skirt of her gown with shaking hands, lifted it, and ran faster.

She didn’t dare look back.

If she did…

she knew she’d see him.

Not following.

Not chasing.

Just watching.

Like a predator who already knew—

every escape ends in his hands.