Chapter 3 – She Escapes Before He Catches Her

LENA

The air in the suite felt too heavy, like the walls themselves were pressing down on me, urging me to stay in that bed, in those arms, and forget the world outside.

But I couldn’t.

I had to get out.

Roman’s gaze was still on me, dark and unreadable, his lips tilted with the faintest suggestion of a smirk, like he already knew every thought running through my head.

“Remember now?” he asked again, his voice low, a little rough from sleep.

The sound of it sent a shiver down my spine.

I forced a laugh that came out more like a croak. “Bits and pieces,” I muttered, yanking the sheet higher to cover myself.

His eyes lingered on the movement, sharp and intense, before flicking back up to mine. For one terrifying moment, I thought he was going to say something about last night—about vows and rings and forever.

Instead, he leaned back against the pillows, stretching like a predator with nowhere to be. “You’ll remember more,” he said softly, almost as a promise.

That was my cue.

I had to leave before I did something incredibly stupid—like crawl back into his arms and forget the mess I’d just woken up in.

“Bathroom,” I lied, sliding out of bed and clutching the sheet around me like armor. My legs wobbled, the carpet catching under my toes as I stumbled toward the adjoining door.

Roman didn’t stop me. He just watched, silent and unreadable, which was somehow worse than if he’d demanded I stay.

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, I pressed my back to it and sucked in a shaky breath. My reflection in the mirror looked wild—mascara smudged, lipstick faded, hair a tangle of last night’s sins. And on my finger, the diamond caught the harsh light, glittering like it was mocking me.

Married.

I was married.

Panic bubbled up in my chest, hot and thick. I couldn’t face him again, not with the weight of that word crushing me. I had to get out before he had the chance to convince me to stay.

The bathroom window was too small, too high. My only option was the front door. Which meant I had to be fast.

I yanked my dress from the floor, wrinkled and smelling faintly of his cologne, and tugged it over my head. My heels were kicked in different corners of the room; I grabbed them, not bothering to put them on, and clutched them in my hand.

For a long moment, I just stood there, my heart thundering in my ears, staring at the closed bathroom door. He was right on the other side. One wrong move and he’d catch me.

And God help me, a part of me wanted him to.

But survival instinct won.

I cracked the door open an inch. Roman was still in bed, head turned toward the ceiling now, eyes closed. He looked… peaceful. But I knew better. Even in sleep, he radiated power, like he could open his eyes any second and pin me in place.

My chest squeezed painfully. This man was dangerous. Not because he would hurt me, but because he already owned too much of me in less than a night.

I crept forward, one slow step at a time, clutching my shoes, praying the carpet muffled my movement. The suite felt impossibly long, every shadow ready to betray me. My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob, twisting it as silently as possible.

Click.

The sound was deafening.

Roman stirred. My heart stopped.

I froze, barely daring to breathe, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His brow furrowed like he was on the edge of waking, but after a long, torturous pause, he settled again.

I exhaled silently, turned the knob the rest of the way, and slipped into the hallway.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I didn’t stop moving. I ran barefoot down the plush corridor, the cool hotel air biting my skin. I must’ve looked insane—hair wild, dress twisted, clutching heels in my hand like a runaway bride.

Which, technically, I was.

The elevator was too slow. My nerves couldn’t take it. I sprinted down the emergency stairwell instead, my feet slapping against the cold concrete. Floor after floor blurred until I burst into the lobby, chest heaving, pulse racing.

Vegas still glowed outside, loud and alive, as if mocking the quiet devastation unraveling inside me. I shoved through the revolving door, the warm desert air hitting me like a wave.

Free.

I should’ve felt free.

But as I stood there, gasping under the neon glow, one thought gnawed at me.

I hadn’t just run from a one-night mistake. I’d run from my husband.

The weight of it made my knees buckle. I stumbled toward the curb, waving frantically for a cab. The first one screeched to a halt, the driver giving me a once-over like I was a cliché straight out of a movie.

“Airport,” I said breathlessly, fumbling with the door handle. “As fast as you can.”

He shrugged, unconcerned, and pulled into traffic. I collapsed against the seat, hugging my shoes to my chest like they could anchor me to reality.

My head spun, flashes of last night chasing me in circles. His hand in mine at the chapel. His lips claiming me like I belonged to him. His voice promising things I was too drunk to understand.

And now… nothing. Just an empty space where he should have been, and a ring on my finger that wouldn’t stop glinting under the taxi’s dim light.

I tugged at it, twisting until my finger ached. But it wouldn’t budge. Whether it was swollen from too much champagne or cursed by the universe itself, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was stuck.

The airport loomed ahead, bright and chaotic. I shoved bills into the driver’s hand and stumbled out, blending into the crowd of travelers dragging suitcases and clutching coffee cups.

I didn’t have luggage. I didn’t have a plan. I barely had my sanity.

But I had to go.

Somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far from him.

My phone buzzed in my purse, startling me. I fumbled for it, half-expecting Roman’s name to flash across the screen—even though I didn’t remember ever giving him my number.

It wasn’t him.

It was Macy.

Where the hell are you? her text read. Did you seriously disappear with mystery-man last night?

I swallowed hard, shoving the phone back into my bag without replying. I couldn’t even begin to explain.

The gate agent called final boarding for a flight to California. I didn’t care where in California. I just needed to leave.

I handed over my ID, plastered on a shaky smile, and hurried down the jet bridge. My lungs only began to loosen when the plane door closed behind me.

I’d done it. I’d escaped.

Or so I thought.

Because as I buckled into my seat, staring blankly out the window, a single terrifying thought slid through my mind like a blade.

What if Roman Wolfe didn’t plan on letting me go?