Chapter 2. Busted
1277 Words
Sophia’s POV
“Y-your bride?” I stammer.
His eyes glint with something unreadable, like an almost predatory amusement. It’s all the answer I need.
The man I’m to marry is Alexander Thorne? This lethally beautiful, seducing billionaire, who’s spent the past months haunting my quietest thoughts?
An engine roars a short distance away. My eyes snap over his shoulder, catching the taillights of a black jeep reversing. Layla’s friend.
My escape vehicle!
Alexander pokes my rib.
My body jerks in reaction, sending my hands flat on his broad shoulders. He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off of, then returns them to mine. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Put me down.”
“So, you can keep running?” His deep voice purrs softly, as if I’ve hurt him. As if we mean anything to each other.
The jeep speeds off in this moment, leaving me on the quiet street with a man far too dangerous to be alone with. Last year, on December 31st, I fell under his spell. The heat spreading through me now is proof that the spell hasn’t worn off.
He starts to move. “Look at you, all sweaty and breathless…”
I grip his shoulder, wriggling. “Alexander, put me down.”
His hold suddenly tightens around my frame. My body locks, my chest pressing too close for comfort.
Dark eyes hold my gaze. And instantly, my skin remembers the first and last time we were this close – New Year’s Eve. The celebratory music. The gorgeous snow. The sly weight of his palm sliding against my bare skin. It was the second time I met him.
“Breathe, Sophia,” he says in my face and resumes walking.
My face hardens. I release a shaky breath, and it hits me hard—there’s no more escaping.
I turn my head to see a man in a crisp dark suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class. When we get to the car, Alexander carefully slides me onto the leather seat, my legs hanging out. He doesn’t step back. He turns to the other man, who hands him something from the pavement. My shoes.
“Running away in heels? How brilliant.” He mocks, tossing my shoes onto the floorboards of the car. I glance at them, then turn to see Alexander staring down at my bare feet. They’re messy, white manicured nails stained brown with backyard dirt.
This can’t be my end.
Think, Sophia. But I draw a blank.
“Give us some privacy, Garvey,” he instructs, taking the door from the man. He pushes it wide, moving closer to occupy the entire doorway, eyeing my exposed thighs while dusting off his sleek dark suit.
I fold my lips, eyes locked onto him, head wondering when my parents will come out to catch me.
Before I can pull down my torn skirt, his thumb brushes a fresh, bleeding scratch on my thigh. Wincing, I move a hand toward him.
“You hurt yourself.” His jaw clenches as he looks at me.
Something vibrates between us. He withdraws his hand and steps back, pulling his phone out of his breast pocket.
“It’s your father calling me.”
I stare at his screen when he turns it to me. At the same time, my phone starts to vibrate behind me. I reach for my purse, pull it around, and take my phone out.
My mom is calling, too.
A sickening twist of frustration and defeat pools in my stomach.
I’m doomed if I walk into the house looking like this, caught after attempting to flee.
I lift my head, looking to him for help, suggestions, anything. I’d rather deal with him than go back inside to face my parents’ wrath.
Alexander turns off the screen of his phone. He snatches my phone in a flash and locks the screen.
“Get your legs in, Soph,” he mutters, gently guiding my legs inside.
I blink in confusion.
“Garvey?” He snaps his fingers. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Oh, great.
His chauffeur tracks toward the car.
Alexander reaches for my seat belt. I fall back on the seat as he buckles me in, then he shuts the door.
I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds it. In four seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his expensive scent, overpowering.
The door shuts, and the driver takes the wheel. The powerful engine roars to life.
Alexander turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID: Love Of My Life
“Your boyfriend?”
“What?”
“Turn it off.” His voice dips as he drops my phone in my lap. “That’s the first thing you do when running away: Be unreachable.”
***
We’ve been driving in suffocating silence for more than twenty minutes. My phone is turned off, and Alexander has ignored my dad’s call twice now.
I’ve been replaying all that has happened tonight. From running away—a well-planned escape—burning with determination and fury, to sitting inside the car of the very situation I was running from, looking stupid and injured.
The icing on top: I’m finding out that of all the men in New York, the man my parents found to sell me off to is none other than the CEO of Thorne Electronics—a multibillion-dollar company. He’s the first man ever to seduce me. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I’d expected.
The dome lights come on, casting a warm glow over the luxurious leather interior. He turns fully toward me, closing the distance between us.
I draw back slightly.
When he drops his gaze to my exposed thighs, I can only clench my fingers.
“Let me see…” he says, gripping my left thigh gently.
A buzz of warmth trickles up my legs. My chest rises.
I watch him inspect my injured thighs with an attentiveness that shouldn’t feel intimate, but does, his dark hair sleeked back and glossy.
“You know you could have gotten yourself killed.” He murmurs.
I pinch the hem of my dirty skirt, pulling at it and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants, but my head was all over the place instead of thinking through my outfit.
“Jumping off walls and trees like a reckless fugitive… you’re a skilled monkey.”
Monkey?
“Why did you let me jump?” I retort in defense. “You could have stopped me and said it was you at the wall. Instead, you—”
“You didn’t recognize my voice.” His eyes flick to mine.
I was too busy trying to stay alive. But I keep mute, staring at him.
My mind chooses this moment to replay how he touched me last year. Instant heat spreads to my cheeks.
“You’ve got some cuts and scratches…” he says casually.
Fighting the butterflies, I form a fist and ask, “Where are you taking me?”
He’s silent for a moment, holding my gaze and breath captive as if deliberating his words. Then he answers, “My home.”
My breath catches.
His phone vibrates, and somehow I see the caller ID: Mr. Edward Rose—my dad. He answers immediately.
“Good evening, Father-in-law.”
Father–what?
My eyes pop.
“I’m afraid there’s been a collision,” Alexander lies smoothly to my dad, staring directly into my eyes. “I might not make it for dinner.”
- Writer
