His rose

The Black Car

Chapter 7

Rose Adams’ POV

The car moved.

For a moment, my mind could not understand it.

The smooth vibration beneath my body. The soft purr of the engine. The faint shift of movement as the vehicle rolled away from the Adams mansion.

Away.

I pressed both hands over my mouth, trapping the sound that wanted to escape.

I was leaving.

I was really leaving.

The thought should have filled me with relief, but fear still had its claws deep inside my chest. I lay curled on the floor behind the front passenger seat, knees pressed to my stomach, trying to make myself as small as possible.

The space smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and something darker — smoke, maybe. It was nothing like the dusty storeroom. Nothing like bleach, old wood, and fear.

But I was still not safe.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

From the front seat, the driver said nothing. The man beside him — Alexander Knight — said nothing either.

His silence was heavier than other people’s shouting.

I had seen him in the ballroom. Everyone had. The way the room changed when he entered. The way Uncle James smiled too widely. The way Brittany tried to charm him and failed.

Alexander Knight was not just rich.

He was powerful in a way that made people careful.

And I was hiding in his car.

If he found me, he would send me back.

That thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me.

No.

Please, no.

I could not go back.

Not after running. Not after hearing Uncle James’ plan. Not after Rony’s voice in the driveway.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

For a few seconds, I let myself imagine the impossible.

Maybe the car would stop somewhere busy. Maybe I could slip out before anyone noticed. Maybe I could disappear into a crowd. Maybe I could find a police station.

But then what?

I had no identification except the old copy of my birth certificate hidden in the small cloth pouch under my dress. No phone. Three crumpled bills. A bleeding hand. A family powerful enough to lie beautifully.

If I went to the police, Uncle James would smile and call me unstable.

Aunt Christina would cry fake tears.

Brittany would say I was dramatic.

Rony would stand behind them and watch me with that quiet smile.

They would take me back.

And this time, they would never let me near an open door again.

My throat tightened.

The car slowed suddenly.

I opened my eyes.

Had they reached the gate?

Voices came from outside, muffled by the windows.

A guard.

My heart slammed painfully.

The driver lowered his window.

“Mr. Knight leaving?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” the driver replied.

There was a pause.

I stopped breathing.

If the guard asked to check the car, everything would be over.

“Have a good evening, sir,” the guard said.

The window rose.

The car moved again.

I almost sobbed in relief, but caught the sound before it escaped. My injured palm throbbed where I had pressed it against my mouth. Warm blood had soaked through the bandage again.

I pulled my hand away and stared at the dark stain in the dim light.

Brittany had done that.

No.

Maybe the glass had done that.

But Brittany had enjoyed it.

My eyes burned.

I could still feel her nails pressing into the wound in the ballroom. Her friends laughing. The glass breaking. Everyone turning to look.

And Alexander Knight.

Standing over me.

“You’re bleeding.”

His voice had been calm, but his eyes had not looked away.

No one noticed my pain in that house.

He had.

That scared me in a different way.

The car turned smoothly, and my shoulder bumped against the back of the seat. I bit my lip to stay silent.

From the front, Alexander spoke.

“Did James say anything after I left?”

His voice was low. Controlled.

The driver answered, “Not that I heard, sir.”

Another voice responded from the front passenger seat. Not the driver. Deeper, sharper.

“He was nervous. So was the wife.”

Damien.

I had seen him near Alexander in the ballroom. The man who looked like a shadow with eyes.

Alexander said nothing for a moment.

Then, “And the girl?”

My blood went cold.

Me?

He was asking about me?

Damien answered, “The niece?”

“Yes.”

“She disappeared after the kitchen hallway. One of the guards started searching near the side drive.”

The air left my lungs.

They knew.

They knew someone had been searching.

Alexander’s voice came again, quieter. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Find out.”

“Yes, boss.”

Boss.

Not sir.

Boss.

Something about the word made my skin prickle.

This was not a normal businessman and his assistant.

There was something else here. Something darker. Something I did not understand.

I pressed myself lower against the floor.

The car continued through the city. Lights flashed faintly through the tinted windows, spilling across the leather in thin lines. I dared to lift my head just a little, enough to see the backs of the front seats.

Alexander sat on the right side.

Still.

Too still.

Only part of his face was visible in the dark reflection of the window. Strong jaw. Dark hair. A profile carved from ice and power.

He looked like a man who did not lose.

A man no one betrayed twice.

A man who would not have patience for a frightened girl hiding in his car.

I lowered my head again.

Just wait, I told myself.

Wait until the car stops.

Then run.

But my body was beginning to betray me.

The adrenaline that had carried me through the hallway, the driveway, the chase — it was fading. Pain rushed in to replace it. My palm burned. My wrist ached where Rony had grabbed it. My cheek throbbed. My knees shook uncontrollably.

I was so tired.

So painfully tired.

The car slowed again.

I stiffened.

The driver spoke. “Sir, we have a tail.”

Silence.

Then Damien said, “Black sedan. Two cars back. Been with us since Madison.”

Alexander did not sound surprised. “Moretti?”

“Possibly.”

Moretti.

I did not know the name, but the way Damien said it made my stomach tighten.

“Lose them,” Alexander ordered.

The driver did not answer.

The car turned sharply.

I slid across the floor, my shoulder hitting the center console.

A small gasp escaped me.

The entire car went still.

Not literally.

It was still moving, but inside, the air changed.

My heart stopped.

No.

No, no, no.

Alexander’s voice came quietly.

“What was that?”

I froze.

Damien shifted in his seat.

The driver said nothing.

I pressed both hands over my mouth, tears filling my eyes.

Maybe they would think it was something outside.

Maybe—

“Stop the car,” Alexander said.

The command was soft.

Final.

The car slowed.

My body began shaking so badly I could not control it.

I looked around desperately. There was nowhere to go. No door I could open without them seeing. No shadow deep enough to swallow me.

The car stopped.

For one second, no one moved.

Then Alexander’s door opened.

Cold air rushed in.

I squeezed my eyes shut, curling tighter behind the seat.

Footsteps on pavement.

Slow.

Controlled.

Then the back door opened.

Light from the street spilled into the car.

I saw polished black shoes first.

Then the bottom of a perfectly tailored suit.

Then him.

Alexander Knight stood outside the open door, looking down at me.

His face was unreadable.

But his eyes—

His eyes were sharp enough to cut through every lie I had ever been told to say.

I could not breathe.

Damien appeared behind him, one hand near his jacket, his expression hardening when he saw me.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Alexander’s gaze moved over me.

My torn bandage.

My old dress.

My trembling body.

My face.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Get out,” he said.

The words were not loud.

But they broke something in me.

I shook my head quickly, pressing myself farther back. “Please.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?”

My voice came out broken. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Who are you?” he repeated.

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Rose,” I whispered. “Rose Adams.”

Damien’s expression changed.

Alexander did not move.

“Why are you in my car?”

Because I was desperate.

Because I had nowhere else.

Because going back meant losing everything.

Because I was afraid Rony would find me.

Because my family wanted to sell my life before I could claim it.

But the words tangled in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Please don’t call them.”

Alexander’s gaze sharpened. “Call who?”

“My uncle.” My breath hitched. “Please. Please don’t send me back.”

His face remained cold, but something dark moved behind his eyes.

“Why?”

I shook my head.

I could not say it.

Not here.

Not to him.

Not with Damien watching.

“I can’t go back,” I whispered.

Alexander crouched slowly beside the open door.

I flinched.

He stopped immediately.

That small pause confused me more than anything.

Men did not stop because I flinched.

Rony smiled when I flinched.

Alexander did not smile.

His voice dropped lower. “Did they hurt you?”

My throat closed.

I looked away.

That was answer enough.

The night around us was silent except for the distant sound of traffic. A cold breeze brushed my wet cheeks.

Alexander’s eyes lowered to my hand.

Blood had reached my fingers now.

His expression changed.

Not much.

But enough to make Damien look at him.

“Your hand needs a doctor,” Alexander said.

Panic hit me again.

Doctor meant questions.

Questions meant family.

Family meant punishment.

“No,” I cried softly. “No doctor. Please. I’ll leave. I promise. I’ll get out. I won’t trouble you. Just don’t take me back.”

I tried to move, but dizziness swept through me. The car tilted. The streetlights blurred.

Alexander reached out.

I jerked back in fear.

He froze again.

His hand remained suspended between us, not touching.

“I am not taking you back,” he said.

The words barely made sense.

I stared at him through tears.

“What?”

His eyes held mine.

“I said, I am not taking you back.”

Something inside me cracked.

Relief hit too fast, too hard, too painfully.

My body had no strength left to hold it.

The last thing I saw was Alexander’s face changing from cold control to something dangerously close to anger.

Not at me.

For me.

Then the world went black.