Chapter 2. Busted

Sophia’s POV

“Y-your bride?” I stammer.

His eyes glint with something I can’t name. It’s all the answer I need.

My throat shuts. 

The man I’m to marry is Alexander Thorne? This seducing, dark-haired billionaire?

An engine roars a short distance away. 

My eyes flick over him to see a black jeep reversing. Layla’s friend.

Oh my god!

Alexander pokes my rib.

My body jerks in reaction, sending my hands on his shoulders.

Dark eyes hold my gaze.

And instantly, memories from New Year’s Eve flood my head—the second time I met him.

He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off from, then returns them to mine. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Put me down.” I croak, surprisingly finding my voice. 

“So, you can keep running?” He replies softly, as if I’ve hurt him. As if we mean anything to each other.

Layla’s friend drives off in this moment, leaving me on the quiet street with a man far too beautiful and dangerous to be alone with. 

Last year, on December 31st, I fell under his spell. The heat spreading through me now is proof that the spell hasn’t worn off.

He starts to move. “Look at you, all sweaty and breathless—”

“Alexander, put me down.” I grip his shoulder, wriggling.

His grip suddenly tightens around me.

My body locks, my chest pressing too close for comfort.

I stop breathing.

Cold eyes stare into my soul, unflinching. And it hits me hard—there’s no more escaping.

“You can breathe…” he says in my face and resumes walking.

My face hardens. I release my breath, and dread solidifies in its place.

I turn my head to see a man in a suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

When we get to the car, Alexander carefully drops me on the rear seat, legs out.

My hands tremble. 

The other man hands him something. My shoes.

“Running away in heels? How brilliant.” He mocks, tossing my shoes into the car.

I glance at it and catch a glimpse of my bare feet. Dirty. White manicured nails stained brown.

This can’t be my end.

Think, Sophia. But I draw a blank.

“Give us some privacy, Garvey,” he instructs, taking the door from the man. He pushes it wide, then stands between my legs while dusting off his sleek dark suit.

I fold my lips, eyes locked onto him, head wondering when my parents will come out to catch me.

He touches my thigh all of a sudden. I wince and move a hand toward him.

“You hurt yourself.” He says, jaw clenching, eyes on me.

Something vibrates between us.

He withdraws his hand and steps back, then slips his phone out of his breast pocket.

“It’s your father calling.”

I stare at his screen, and my pulse sprints into chaos.

At the same time, my phone begins vibrating behind me. I reach for my purse and pull it around. I take my phone out fast. 

My mom is calling, too.

My throat tightens, a sickening twist of frustration and defeat pools in my stomach.

I’m doomed if I walk into the house looking like this, caught after attempting to flee.

I lift my head, looking to him for help, suggestions, anything. I’d rather deal with him than go back inside to face my parents’ wrath.

Alexander turns off the screen of his phone. He snatches my phone in a flash and locks the screen.

“Get your legs in, Soph,” he mutters, gently pushing my legs inside.

I blink in confusion.

“Garvey?” He snaps his fingers. “We’re leaving.”

Oh, great.

His chauffeur tracks toward the car.

Alexander reaches for my seat belt. My breath stops as I fall back on the seat. He buckles me in and shuts the door.

I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds it.

My chest is pounding.

In four seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his expensive scent, overpowering.

The door shuts, and Garvey takes the wheel.

The engine roars to life.

He turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID. 

“The love of your life?” He scoffs. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?”

“What?”

“Turn it off,” his voice dips as he drops my phone in my lap. “That’s the first thing you do when running away: Be unreachable.”

***

The car is quiet. We’ve been driving for more than twenty minutes. My phone is turned off, and Alexander has ignored my dad’s call twice now.

I’ve been replaying all that has happened tonight.

From running away—a well-planned escape—burning with determination and fury, to sitting inside the car of the very situation I was running from, looking stupid and injured. 

The icing on top: I’m finding out that the man my parents set me up with is none other than Alexander Thorne. A tall, sharp-jawed, charismatic, and lethally beautiful man. The CEO of Thorne Electronics—a multibillion-dollar company. 

He’s also the first man ever to seduce me in the most unusual way. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I’d expected. 

The dome lights come on.

He turns toward me, closing the distance.

I draw back.

When he drops his gaze to my exposed thighs, I can only curl my fingers.

“Let me see…” he says, gripping my left thigh gently.

A buzz of warmth trickles up my legs. My chest rises.

I watch him inspect my injured thighs with an attentiveness that shouldn’t feel intimate, but does, dark hair sleeked back and glossy.

“You know you could have gotten yourself killed.” He murmurs.

I pinch the ends of my dirty skirt, pulling and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants, but there was no time to think my outfit through. 

“Jumping off walls and trees… you’re a skilled monkey.”

Monkey?

“Why’d you let me jump?” I reply in defense. “You could have said it was you at the wall. Instead, you—” 

“You didn’t recognize my voice.” His eyes flick to mine. 

I was too busy trying to stay alive. But I keep mute, staring at him.

My mind chooses this moment to replay how he touched me last year. Instant heat spreads to my cheeks.

“You’ve got some minor cuts and scratches…” he says casually.

Fighting the butterflies, I form a fist and ask, “Where are you taking me?” 

He’s silent for a moment, holding my gaze and breath captive as if deliberating his words.

Then he answers, “My home.”

My brain fogs.

I hear his phone vibrate, and somehow I see the caller ID: Mr. Edward Rose—my dad.

He answers immediately.

“Good evening, Father-in-law.”

Father–what?

My eyes pop, brain still buffering.

“There’s been a collision. I might not make it for dinner.”