Page 50 of Hunted to the Altar

I forced myself to the window, peeking through the sheer curtain.

Men moved in the courtyard—armed, rigid, unfamiliar. They weren’t Samuel’s usual guards. Their posture was too tense, their movements too sharp. Strangers.

Dread curled in my gut like smoke. Whoever they were, they weren’t here to keep me safe.

My breath stilled as panic clawed its way up my throat. Run. Hide. But where? Samuel’s penthouse was a gilded cage. No doors opened without his permission.

I turned, barely containing a scream, when I found Samuel standing in the doorway. He didn’t flinch. His sharp gaze swept over me, calculating. Dressed in black, his tie undone, he looked like a man who hadn't slept—but still controlled everything.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Who are they?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound firm. “The men outside.”

Samuel stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. “Testing boundaries they shouldn’t.”

I clenched my hands. “They’re standing there like they own the place. And you’re calling it a test?”

His jaw ticked, and he turned away, muttering, “They were warned.”

Then his phone buzzed. He answered it without breaking eye contact with me.

His expression darkened. “They moved?”

There was silence; I couldn’t hear what was being said on the other line.

“Hold them. I’m coming down.”

He ended the call and looked back at me.

“Stay in this room. Do not move. No matter what you hear.”

“But—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, already heading for the door. “Now stay.”

Before I could respond, he was gone.

I stumbled to the window, hands pressed to the glass as I looked down.

The security lights bathed the courtyard in harsh white. Thestrangers had shifted, spreading out. Then I saw him—Samuel, walking straight into them.

He didn’t hesitate. He moved like a predator, precise and brutal.

He struck first, catching one of the intruders off guard—snapping his arm before sending him to the ground. The second man lunged with a blade, but Samuel sidestepped with fluid grace, dropping him with a sharp blow that cracked through the night air.

I gasped when I saw the flash of silver. One of the intruders, already down, reached for a discarded gun.

A shot rang out.

Samuel jerked.

Blood bloomed red across his side, but he didn’t stop. He surged forward, tackled the man to the ground, and disarmed him with a ruthlessness that made me flinch.

When the last of them was down, Samuel straightened slowly, gripping his side. His shoulders were squared, but even from this distance I saw the pain in his posture.

Moments later, he stepped back inside, his footsteps heavy.

“Samuel!” I ran to meet him as he staggered into the suite, one hand pressed to his side. His shirt was soaked in blood.