Chapter Two

(Selena's POV)

There’s a kind of silence that screams louder than any room full of voices. That was what I felt the morning I decided to run.

Not the clatter of silver spoons against china at breakfast, or the rehearsed laughter echoing off our marble walls. Not even the soft pitter-patter of my mother’s delicate heels across the hallway.

Just silence.

And in that silence, I finally hear myself.

I sat at the edge of my bed in a lace robe I didn’t choose, in a room I didn’t decorate, staring at a bridal gown draped on the mannequin like it’s waiting to swallow me whole. Ivory satin, hand-stitched pearls. Thousands of dollars of perfection.

But to me, it looks like a cage.

Damien is handsome, and powerful. He’s everything a family like mine wants. But I don’t trust him. I never have. There’s a smile he gives that feels hollow. A gaze that never quite meets mine. And when he touches me, I flinch. I know he sees it, even if he pretends not to.

Still, I played my part.

Until today.

I rise slowly, pulse hammering beneath my skin. My fingers shake as I zip up a travel bag I packed two nights ago, just in case I ever grew brave enough to do this. And apparently, I did.

I move through the house like a ghost. Years of etiquette lessons taught me how to walk without sound, how to smile without showing pain, how to exist without taking up too much space. It’s ironic how those same lessons now help me slip away unnoticed.

The staff is busy with wedding preparations. Florists, caterers, photographers. No one questions the bride moving quietly through the halls.

But inside, I’m screaming. What if they find you? What if they drag you back? What if you disappoint everyone?

I ignore the voice. I have to.

Out back, hidden behind the rose hedges, is the old gardener’s gate. It hasn’t been used in years—not since I was twelve and used to sneak out to climb trees in the orchard. I push it open and step into the chill of morning air. It smells like pine and freedom.

My driver is waiting at the end of the lane, exactly as I asked. He doesn’t ask questions, I paid him too much not to.

“The cabin?” he asks quietly, glancing in the rearview mirror as I slide into the backseat.

I nod. “Yes. The one in the mountains. And please, take the long way.”

The cabin was the only place I could think of where no one will be able to find me, at least not immediately. The place has been abandoned for years, the family who owned it suddenly disappeared without a trace and no one has occupied it ever since.

He gave a short nod, and we drove.

I pressed my forehead to the window and watched the world blur into green and gray. Trees stretch endlessly into the distance, their leaves dancing in the wind like they know something I don’t. I close my eyes, breathing in deep. The farther we get from the city, the lighter I feel—like I’ve been carrying invisible chains all my life and only just realized they can be broken.

But freedom comes with fear.

What happens after this? What happens when they notice I’m gone? When Damien calls, when my mother cries, when my father rages? What happens when I’m no longer the dutiful daughter they can parade like a business deal wrapped in lace?

I don't know. And for once, I don’t care.

All I know is that I need time and space. A moment that belongs to me and only me. A place where I can breathe without expectation clawing at my throat.

The cabin appears just before dusk. It's nestled deep in the woods, hidden behind thick trees and wrapped in silence. Rustic, small, and strangely perfect. It looks untouched by time, a place forgotten by the world.

“I’ll come back in three days,” the driver says. “Unless you call earlier.”

I nod, gripping my bag. “Thank you.”

When he drives away, I stand there for a long moment, the weight of what I’ve done finally sinking in. I'm alone, truly alone and I've never felt more alive.

Inside, the cabin smells like cedar and dust. There's a stone fireplace, old wooden beams, mismatched furniture that somehow fits together. I set down my bag and sank onto the couch, releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding all day.

For the first time in my life, I’m not a Valenci, a bride-to-be or a pawn. I'm not a daughter weighed down by tradition and image. I'm just Selena. And maybe, I’ll finally figure out who she is.

*****

The storm outside had finally quieted to a whisper. But inside me, the thunder still rolled.

I sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around me, clutching the chipped ceramic mug I found in the cabinet. The tea was stale, probably expired, but it was warm and that was all I needed for now. A tiny scrap of warmth to cling to in this unfamiliar stillness.

I stared at the fire crackling in the hearth. It had taken me almost an hour to get it going, and I'd cursed more times in that hour than I have in my entire life. I didn’t know how to survive like this. Not without staff or structure. But for the first time, I was free to fumble.

It was terrifying and exhilarating.

Every second of solitude was a rebellion. Every sip of tea was a protest.

I leaned back, letting the silence breathe. A long exhale followed my first full breath in what felt like years. I was just starting to drift off when I heard the front door creaking.

My breath caught in my throat as slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the wooden floor behind me.

*****

(Damien's POV)

People call me ruthless in business and disciplined in demeanor. Damien Delacroix—the heir to a powerful legacy, the man who closes deals with a handshake and leaves no room for error.

But beneath the tailored suits and practiced smiles, lies something far more volatile. A storm I’ve buried so deep it only rises when the world threatens to slip from my grip.

I glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, Manhattan glittering beneath me like a treasure chest. The city is alive, pulsing and hungry, just like me.

Selena Valenci.

The name alone is a balm and a burden.

Our engagement was arranged months ago—an alliance of legacies more than hearts. Valenci Industries and Delacroix Enterprises will merge into an empire that neither of our fathers would have dreamed of.

She's the jewel of the Valenci family. Perfect, poised, obedient. I’ve watched her at galas, charity events, stiff boardroom dinners where she smiled like porcelain and spoke only when spoken to. Beautiful, composed and controlled. Exactly what I want.

I have everything planned. The wedding, press coverage, boardroom merger announcements, and the future. It’s all been moving forward with the precision of a chess match.

A knock sounded on the door. A sharp, frantic knock that slices through my thoughts.

“Enter,” I call, irritation tightening in my chest.

My assistant, Monica, walks in, her face unusually pale. She’s holding her phone like it’s radioactive.

“What is it?” I ask, already feeling the shift in the air. Something’s off.

“It’s... Selena, sir.”

I don’t move. “What about her?”

“She’s gone.”

Silence.

Not the kind that lingers, but the kind that screams.

I rise slowly. “Gone? What the hell does that mean?”

“She didn't show up for lunch and when her maid went to check her room, she was gone with a few personal items too. Her phone’s been off for hours. Security has no idea how or when she left.”

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it.

I walk over to the bar cart in the corner of my office and pour a glass of scotch, my movements controlled, and deliberate. I take a sip, the burn calms me.

“She’ll come back,” I say flatly. “I’ll make sure she does.”

Monica hesitates. “Mr. Valenci is demanding we send a private team to find her.”

Of course he is. My soon-to-be father-in-law cares more about optics than his daughter’s sanity. I wonder if he even noticed how hollow she looked last week when we met for brunch, like she was slipping away piece by piece while smiling for the cameras.

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t care enough to ask.

Now I do because this affects the narrative—The merger, press, and the damn wedding. Somewhere under the irritation, something stirs. A memory, sharp and unwelcomed.

“You can’t control people forever, Damien.”

My brother’s voice, from years ago. Luca, the storm I buried after he walked away and never looked back.

I shake the thought off like ash from a dying flame.

Selena’s not like the others, she’s not reckless. She’s quiet and she obeys. So why run now? Why with only days left?

I down the rest of the scotch and slam the glass on the marble counter.

“Put a team on it,” I tell Monica. “I want her found before the media smells anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Monica?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure they don’t bring her back too gently.”

She blinked but nodded and left without another word.

When the door shuts, I sink back into my chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin.

My bride is on the run but she's forgetting one thing, she can't run away from me. No one can.