Chapter 4: The Awakening
1340 Words
Scarlett.
Beeping.
That was the first thing I heard. Steady. Mechanical. Wrong.
I forced my eyes open to fluorescent lights and white walls. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose.
Hospital.
Panic shot through me. I tried to sit up, but gentle hands pushed me back down.
"Easy now." A British accent. A nurse with kind eyes and graying hair. "You collapsed in arrivals. Gave everyone quite a fright."
"What happened?"
"Dehydration, exhaustion, severe stress." She adjusted an IV pole beside my bed. "When's the last time you ate something, love?"
I tried to remember. The gala felt like years ago. "Yesterday morning, maybe?"
She clucked her tongue. "The doctor wants to keep you for observation, but don't worry—your friend paid for everything. Even got you a private room."
Ice flooded my veins. "What friend?"
"The gentleman who brought you in. Sandy hair, kind eyes. Said his name was Louis."
Louis. The stranger from the plane.
Why would he pay for my hospital bills? How did he even—
"Where is he?"
"Left about an hour ago. Said he'd check on you later." She smiled. "You're lucky to have such a caring friend."
The moment she left, I ripped the IV from my arm. Stumbled to the closet where my duffel sat.
I dumped everything onto the floor with shaking hands.
And found something that hadn't been there before.
A white envelope with my name written on it.
Not Dera Lane.
Scarlett.
My real name.
I tore it open with trembling fingers.
Inside was a burner phone and a typed note.
Scarlett,
You're not as good at disappearing as you think you are. By now, Adrian knows you're in London. He's already sent people to find you. I can help you stay hidden, but only if you trust me.
The phone is secure. Turn it on. I'll call you when it's safe.
Don't go back to Heathrow. Don't use your real name. Don't contact anyone from your old life.
And whatever you do, don't trust anyone who says they're trying to help you.
Except me.
—L
The paper slipped from my shaking hands.
Louis knew who I was. Had known the entire time.
Which meant Adrian had sent him.
I grabbed my duffel, shoving everything inside with frantic movements. Changed into jeans and a sweater. Pulled my hair into a ponytail.
I had to get out. Now.
I slipped into the hallway, head down, walking like I belonged. Past the nurses' station. Toward the elevator.
The doors opened, and I stepped inside.
A hand shot through just as they started to close.
Louis stepped inside, blocking my exit.
"Scarlett," he said softly. "Or should I call you Dera?"
"Stay away from me." I pressed against the back wall.
"I'm trying to help you."
"By lying to me? Leaving creepy notes?" My voice shook. "Did Adrian send you?"
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
The elevator descended. Floor three. Floor two.
"Adrian hired me to track you. To watch you. To report back." He took a step closer. "But something changed. When I called him this morning to tell him you'd collapsed, he didn't ask if you were okay. He asked if you were still useful."
The word hit me like a slap. "Useful?"
"His exact words." The elevator dinged. Ground floor. "There's something going on, Scarlett. Something bigger than divorce. You have something he needs."
"I don't have anything—"
"Then he thinks you do."
The doors opened, revealing the lobby.
And there, by the main entrance, a man in a dark suit. Scanning the crowd with sharp, calculating eyes.
Louis grabbed my arm. "Service exit. Back of the hospital. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Then you won't make it out of this building alive."
The man in the suit turned toward us.
Louis pulled me backward as the doors closed. "Your choice, Scarlett. Trust me and live, or run and die."
---
The basement hallway smelled like industrial cleaner. Louis led me to a loading dock exit where a black car idled, engine running.
"Get in," he said.
"How do I know you're not taking me straight to Adrian?"
"You don't." Something like regret flashed in his eyes. "But right now, I'm the only chance you have."
Behind us, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Getting closer.
I looked at Louis. At the car. At the approaching footsteps.
Then I ran.
I dove into the back seat. Louis slammed the door and jumped into the driver's seat.
"Go!"
The car peeled out just as the loading dock door burst open.
The man in the dark suit stood there, raising something metallic.
Not a phone.
A gun.
"Get down!" Louis yelled.
I threw myself onto the floor as the rear window exploded in a shower of glass.
The car swerved wildly. Another shot. And then another. The sounds deafening.
Then we were on a main road, speeding between cars, and the shooting stopped.
I stayed on the floor, glass in my hair, my whole body shaking.
"Someone just shot at us," I whispered.
"I know." Louis took a sharp turn. "We need to get you somewhere safe. Off the grid."
I pulled myself back onto the seat, hands trembling too badly to brush away the glass.
"Why?" I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Why would you help me? You work for Adrian."
He was quiet for a long moment. "Because when I told Adrian you'd collapsed, he laughed. He said, 'Good. Maybe now she'll learn her place."
The words settled over me like ice.
"So where are we going?"
"I have a contact who specializes in helping people disappear. New identity, new passport, new life."
"And then what?"
Louis pulled into a narrow alley and killed the engine. Turned to face me.
"Then you figure out what Adrian thinks you have. And you use it to destroy him before he destroys you."
"I told you, I don't have anything."
"Men like Adrian Pierre don't hunt their ex-wives across continents for no reason."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his face went pale.
"What?"
He turned the phone toward me.
A photo. Me, unconscious in the hospital bed. Taken from inches away.
The message below: Tell Scarlett that running only makes the chase more fun. And remind her that I own everything she's ever touched. Including her.
Another photo loaded.
My parents' house. My mother visible through the kitchen window.
And in the driveway, a black SUV with tinted windows.
The final text: She has 24 hours to come home. Or mommy and daddy get to see what happens to people who help thieves.
The phone slipped from my nerveless fingers.
"He's threatening my parents," I whispered. "Because of me."
Louis's jaw clenched. "He's bluffing."
"Is he?" I turned to stare at him. "Does that sound like someone who's bluffing?"
Louis didn't answer.
Because we both knew the truth.
Adrian Pierre didn't bluff.
He destroyed.
I picked up the phone with shaking hands and stared at the photo of my mother—innocent, unaware, in danger because I'd dared to leave.
"Twenty-four hours," I said quietly.
"Scarlett, you can't—"
"Twenty-four hours before he hurts them." I looked up at Louis, and something inside me shifted. Hardened. "So we have twenty-four hours to figure out what he thinks I have. And then we're going to use it to bury him."
Louis stared at me like he'd never seen me before. "You're serious."
"He called me nothing." My voice didn't shake anymore. "He destroyed me in front of everyone I knew. He signed those divorce papers like I was a business transaction. And now he's threatening my parents because I had the audacity to leave."
I looked down at the phone, at my mother's face in the window, and felt something inside me catch fire.
"So yes, I'm serious." I met Louis's eyes. "Adrian Pierre thinks he owns me? Let's show him exactly what happens when nothing fights back."
- Writer
