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“Miss Lila, this one would suit your complexion beautifully,” the designer says, holding up a piece of lace.
I ignore her, turning my head toward the window, my throat burning with unshed tears.
Because no matter how much I try to push him out of my mind, no matter how much I tell myself he doesn’t deserve another second of my thoughts, the truth remains:
I miss him.
And it’s tearing me apart.
7
LILA
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Dad announces, his tone as casual as if he’s discussing the weather.
I glance up from the book I’ve been pretending to read, my heart sinking. “Leaving? Where?”
His eyes flick to me, sharp and cold. “Home. Where the wedding will take place.”
The words hit me like a punch, and I struggle to keep my voice steady. “Home? You meanyourhome.”
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the edges of the book until they ache. The walls of this suite are suffocating, but the idea of going to his estate, deeper into his world, feels even worse.
“I’m not going,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction.
“You are,” he replies smoothly, not even bothering to look at me as he adjusts the cuff of his shirt. “The arrangements are already made. It’s time you stop fighting this.”
The words light a fire of defiance in me, but I bite my tongue, keeping my thoughts to myself. Let him think he’s won. Let him think I’m compliant.
Because tomorrow, when we’re on the move, I’ll make my break.
Morning comes far too quickly, and I find myself being ushered into a sleek black SUV with tinted windows. One of Dad’s men, a burly, silent type I’ve dubbed “the Wall,” sits in the front passenger seat, while another takes the wheel. I’m in the back seat, wedged between the window and yet another one of Dad’s men, his broad frame leaving me no room to breathe.
The car pulls away from the hotel, and I force myself to stay calm, my heart pounding with every mile we put between us and the city. This is my chance. My only chance.
I glance at the door handle, my mind racing as I try to calculate the timing. If I pull it while we’re at a stop, maybe—just maybe—I can run.
But every time the car slows, the Wall’s gaze shifts to me, his sharp eyes pinning me in place. He knows. Somehow, he knows what I’m thinking.
“Relax, Lila,” my father says from the seat in front of me, his voice dripping with condescension. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
I grit my teeth, staring out the window. The cityscape fades into sprawling suburbs, and then into open countryside. The more distance we cover, the heavier the weight in my chest grows.
Every time I think I see an opening, one of the men shifts, their presence a silent warning. My frustration builds with every failed attempt, my hands clenching into fists as I realize the truth:
I’m not getting out of this car.
Not today.
The estate loomsin the distance, a massive, imposing structure that looks more like a fortress than a home. High gates surround the property, and as we approach, I catch a glimpse of armed guards stationed at the entrance.
My stomach churns. This isn’t just a home—it’s a prison.
The car pulls through the gates, and I sink back in my seat, my earlier defiance fading into a hollow ache. I’ve lost my chance.
For now.
The grand estate is as cold and unwelcoming as I expected it to be. High ceilings, marble floors, and walls adorned with expensive art scream wealth, but the air feels sterile, devoid of warmth.