CHAPTER 6 ESCAPE

STACY POV

I jerked away from him, moving backward until my back hit the cold headboard. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it wanted to escape. 

"This was a mistake," I whispered, the words shaking. My eyes looked around the fancy room, searching for my clothes, for an exit, for anything that wasn't him. "I need to go home. I shouldn't have—this never should have happened."

My dress was a puddle of red silk on the floor. I lunged for it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the fabric. 

The room, which had felt safe hours ago, now felt like a prison. The memory of his touch was replaced by cold fear of what would happen when Matt found out where I'd been.

As if called by my terror, my phone rang on the nightstand. The sharp ringtone I'd set for Matt—loud, demanding, impossible to ignore—cut through the silence. I froze, the color draining from my face. 

The name "Matt" flashed on the screen like an accusation. My whole body began to shake.

Michael watched my change, his sharp gaze missing nothing. He saw the woman who'd come to his room disappear, replaced by a terrified creature.

 The phone rang once, twice, three times, each ring stripping away another layer of my calm.

His voice cut through my freeze, low and edged with something between curiosity and contempt. "Do you always get scared this easily?" He rose from the bed, completely comfortable in his nakedness, and began to circle me. 

"So fragile. So frightened." His tone was analytical, like I was something he couldn't quite figure out.

I couldn't answer. My throat had closed. I turned away, my fingers fumbling with my dress, desperately trying to make myself look decent, to erase the evidence of this night.

"Please," I managed to whisper, my voice breaking as I struggled with the buttons.

 "Please don't tell anyone about tonight. About this." I couldn't look at him, shame and fear mixing in my chest. "If anyone finds out, if my husband knows—" I cut myself off, realizing I'd shown too much weakness to this dangerous man.

A low chuckle came from his chest, the sound making my blood run cold. Before I could react, he moved. 

In a heartbeat, he had me pinned against the wall, his body caging me in. One hand grabbed my hair, tilting my face up to his. His grip was firm, possessive in a way that was different from Matt's violence but no less commanding.

"I've never seen a woman like you," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin as his eyes searched mine with unnerving intensity. 

There was dark fascination in his gaze—curiosity about what could break a person down to this level of constant terror.

His hand slid from my hair to my shoulder, his grip tightening slightly. I couldn't hold back the sharp sound of pain that escaped my lips.

His eyes narrowed. Before I could stop him, his fingers brushed aside the collar of my dress, revealing the purple and yellow bruises covering my shoulder.

 His jaw tightened as he traced the edge of one particularly dark mark, his fingertips oddly gentle. Then he noticed the others—thin white scars beneath fresh injuries, a map of abuse written across my skin.

His voice dropped to something dangerously quiet. "How did you get these?"

The lie was so practiced it fell from my lips without thought. "I fell. I'm clumsy. I fall a lot." Even as I said it, I heard how empty it sounded.

"Please," I said, my voice desperate now as I tried to pull away. "Please let me go. I need to leave. I'll be in trouble if I don't get home soon."

He didn't release me, his eyes still fixed on the bruises, his face unreadable but clearly dangerous. I could feel the tension in his body, the barely controlled violence that made him the city's most feared man. 

My phone began ringing again—Matt calling back, his patience running out—and the sound jolted through me like electricity.

"I have to go," I whispered, real tears gathering in my eyes. "If I don't answer, if I'm not home when he gets there, it will be so much worse. Please, you don't understand what he'll do—"

I cut myself off, but the damage was done. The admission hung between us like a confession. He studied me for one long, terrifying moment, then his grip loosened. He let me go.

I didn't wait. I finished buttoning my dress, grabbed my phone, and ran from his room without looking back.

BACK AT MATT'S HOUSE

My hands shook as I turned my key in the lock. The house was dark except for a single light burning in the living room—staging that made my stomach drop. I knew that light. I knew what it meant.

He was waiting. Matt was sitting in his big chair like a king on a throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his body deceptively relaxed. The only tell was his white-knuckled grip on the glass.

"Where were you?" His voice was soft, dangerously quiet, the calm before a storm I knew was coming.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet carried me forward. Three years of training are not easily broken.

"I got scared," I said, the lie falling from my lips easily. "When Waltham wouldn't leave me alone, when you weren't there—I panicked. I locked myself in one of the hotel's storage rooms to hide. I must have fallen asleep. I'm so sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to worry you."

I kept my eyes down in the submissive position he preferred, hoping it would be enough, knowing it wouldn't.

He rose from his chair slowly, setting his glass down with a soft click that sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.

"You're lying." The words were flat, factual, and terrifying. He closed the distance between us. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the cold calculation in his eyes. "I asked you a question. Where were you?"