Chapter 7- Caught

The bus ride to Boston took four hours.

Elara didn't sleep.

She sat rigid in her seat, watching the highway blur past, one hand pressed protectively over her stomach. The other clutched her phone, screen dark, like holding a live grenade.

See you in Boston.

Three words that had turned her escape into a trap.

Around her, passengers dozed or scrolled through phones or stared out windows with the blank exhaustion of people going nowhere important. Normal people. People whose biggest problem was maybe being late to work or missing a connecting bus.

People who weren't being hunted by a billionaire.

The woman across the aisle was still reading her romance novel, occasionally sighing at particularly emotional scenes. Elara watched her from the corner of her eye and felt something bitter twist in her chest.

Romance novels always ended well.

The heroine always got her happy ending.

Real life wasn't so kind.

Real life gave you impossible choices and left you pregnant and alone on a bus to nowhere with a man like Sebastian Vale tracking your every move.

Her phone buzzed.

Elara flinched so hard the man in front of her turned around with an annoyed look.

She looked down at the screen.

Unknown: Four hours is a long time to think, Elara. What are you thinking about?

Her hands shook as she typed back.

Elara: How did you know I would take this bus?

The response came immediately.

Unknown: You withdrew cash from an ATM six blocks from Port Authority at 6:47 AM. You had one suitcase. You were running, not planning. The 7:15 to Boston was your only real option.

Elara stared at the screen.

Unknown: You're not as invisible as you think.

She wanted to throw the phone out the window. Watch it shatter on the highway and disappear under the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler.

Instead, she typed:

Elara: Leave me alone.

Unknown: No.

One word. Flat. Final.

Elara turned off the phone and shoved it deep into her bag.

Her heart was racing. Her palms were sweating. The nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness rolled through her stomach in waves.

He was playing with her.

Cat and mouse.

And she was the mouse stupid enough to think she could outrun a predator with unlimited resources and no conscience.

The bus pulled into South Station just after eleven.

Elara gathered her suitcase and joined the shuffle of passengers filing down the narrow aisle. The air outside was cold and damp, typical Boston autumn, and she stood on the sidewalk for a moment completely disoriented.

She'd been here once before, years ago, on a school trip. Her mother had saved for months to pay for it. Elara remembered standing in front of the Paul Revere House, her mother's hand warm in hers, both of them smiling.

That felt like a different lifetime.

A different Elara.

She pulled out her phone, powered it on despite every instinct screaming not to, and searched for hostels near South Station.

Bay View Hostel - $35/night - Women's Dorm Available

Perfect.

Cheap. Anonymous. Safe.

She booked a bed for three nights using the last of her cash reserves. The confirmation email arrived immediately along with an address in the North End.

Elara started walking.

The streets were crowded with lunch-hour traffic, tourists and students and businesspeople all moving with purpose. She kept her head down, suitcase wheels clattering over uneven sidewalks, trying not to think about Marco standing at the gate as the bus pulled away.

Watching her go.

Letting her go.

The thought made her stomach turn.

He hadn't tried to stop her. Hadn't grabbed her arm or blocked the gate or done any of the things she'd braced for.

He'd just stood there, phone to his ear, and watched.

Why?

Maybe Sebastian had been bluffing.

Maybe she really had escaped.

The hostel was tucked between a pizza shop and a laundromat, a narrow brick building with a faded sign and bars on the ground-floor windows. Not exactly the Ritz, but Elara wasn't looking for luxury.

She was finding a way to be  invisible.

Inside, the lobby smelled like industrial cleaner and old carpet. A bored college-aged guy sat behind the desk, playing with his phone without looking up.

“Checking in,” Elara said quietly.

He barely looked at her. “ Name?"

“Elara Moore.”

He typed slowly, one-finger pecking at the keyboard. “Women's dorm, third floor. Shared bathroom. No guests after ten. Here's your key.”

He slid a physical key across the counter, not even a keycard, just an old brass key with a plastic tag that said 3B.

Elara took it. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. The elevator's broken, by the way.”

Of course it was.

She climbed three flights of narrow stairs, suitcase bumping against each step, and found herself in a dim hallway that smelled faintly of mildew and someone's leftover Indian food.

Room 3B was at the end of the hall.

Elara fitted the key into the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

The room was small, just four bunk beds crammed together with barely enough space to walk between them. Two of the beds had suitcases on them, their occupants apparently out sightseeing.

Elara chose the bunk farthest from the door tucked into the corner near the window.

She sat down heavily, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

She had made it.

Boston. A new city. A fresh start.

Maybe she really could disappear here.

She closed her eyes, pressing her hand flat against her stomach. 

The baby was still so small. No movement yet. No sign except the nausea and the exhaustion and the faint tenderness that reminded her constantly, relentlessly, that her body was no longer entirely her own.

“We're going to be okay,” she whispered. “I promise.”

She had money. She had options. She could figure this out.

She just needed time.

She just needed…

“Hello, Elara.”

Her entire body went rigid.

The voice came from behind her.

Slow. Calm. Familiar.

Elara didn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Because she already knew before she turned around.

She already knew who was standing in the doorway of a women's hostel in a city she had fled to four hours ago.

And her carefully constructed plan of escape crumbled to dust around her feet.