The car smelled like old leather and winter wind. The kind of scent that didn't belong in her life, but tonight, it was all she had left to hold onto.
Serene sat low in the passenger seat, her hands trembling in her lap, hidden beneath a long coat that didn't belong to her. Nothing she wore did—not the jacket, not the scarf wrapped hastily around her head, not even the boots on her feet. Gloria had arranged it all. She'd said "Don't carry your past, Serene. Not even the clothes. He'll trace anything."
And so she hadn't.
She'd walked out of the Ashborne mansion with nothing but her breath and a heartbeat not entirely her own.
The man beside her didn't speak, didn't smile, didn't even ask her name. She didn't ask his either. Maybe it was better that way. The less they knew, the less anyone could extract from them later. Roman had his ways—ways that didn't require torture to break someone open. His words alone could unravel a soul.
They drove through the fading light of evening into the depths of a thickening night. Only the hum of the engine, the occasional bump in the road, and the faint ache of her back kept her grounded. That—and the baby. The baby moved more than usual today. As if sensing that this journey was more than a road trip. As if her womb was no longer a prison but a sanctuary on wheels.
Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. Still no headlights. Still no black SUV, no tinted glass, no shadowed figure on the chase.
But still… her heart beat fast.
They'd know by now.
The Ashbornes would have noticed.
Roman. Lelo. Maybe even Eliana.
What would they do?
Her breath hitched as her mind painted the image:
Lelo, walking into her room like she always did uninvited, only to find the bed cold, the covers tossed aside, no sign of Serene anywhere.
She'd scream, wouldn't she? She always did when she didn't get her way.
And Roman...
Roman would react differently.
Not with panic. Not with noise.
He'd go quiet.
The kind of quiet that made the walls bleed.
The kind of quiet that meant he was already thinking—already planning. Already hunting.
Her stomach twisted. "They know," she whispered to no one.
The driver gave her a side glance but said nothing.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Her eyes scanned the empty night behind them. Her ears strained for the sound of helicopters, bikes, anything. But there was nothing.
Still—she knew.
Roman didn't need hours. He needed seconds.
He'd search the security footage.
He'd find the side gate.
He'd find the car. The man.
He'd trace every gas station camera, every license plate scanned, every toll booth passed.
"I should've cut my hair," she muttered.
"You did enough," the man said finally. His voice was low, like gravel. "You left."
Silence returned.
They stopped briefly at a gas station in a town she didn't recognize. He got them food—plain sandwiches and bottled water. She sat outside the car, staring at the night sky, stars blurred by her tears. Somewhere in that sky, Roman's eyes were watching. She was sure of it.
As they drove again, something inside her broke loose.
"Do you think he'll chase us?" she asked.
The man didn't answer immediately.
Then, "Men like him don't chase. They wait. They corner. You don't see them coming until it's too late."
She swallowed. Her baby kicked.
"Then why are we even running?"
"Because maybe this time, too late will be too far."
She turned to him, her voice barely holding. "Will we be safe?"
He didn't lie. "I don't know."
Her eyes burned.
But still, she nodded.
She turned her face back to the window and let herself cry in silence. For everything she'd lost. For everything she was about to lose. For the fear that hadn't left her chest since the first night Roman touched her and called it love.
The car sped forward, headlights slicing through the dark like blades.
Behind them, somewhere in that haunted mansion, a storm had already begun.
And she knew—
Roman Ashborne would burn down the world to find her.
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