MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

RUNAWAY

**CHAPTER 1: RUNAWAY**

Ximena POV

The plane touches down in Bali and my heart is beating so loud I can hear it.

I jerk awake. My cheek is stuck to the window. My mouth tastes bad. My neck hurts. For a second I don't know where I am.

Then the lights come on.

Bali.

I made it.

I press my head to the cold glass. Outside it's black and raining. The runway lights are blurry. My hands won't stop shaking. They haven't stopped in two days.

My whole body hurts. My back, my legs, everything. This is the first time I've ever flown economy. Hi

Not first class. Not private. Economy.

Three flights. Two fake names. One best friend who helped me.

I flew as Sofia from Milan to Paris. I flew as Maria from Paris to Singapore. I flew as nobody from Singapore to here.

No one brought me champagne. No one knew my name. No one cared.

The seat next to me smelled like noodles. A baby cried for nine hours. The man next to me fell asleep on my shoulder.

I kept looking behind me in every airport.

In Paris I thought I saw one of my father's men. Black suit. Earpiece. My heart stopped. I hid in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes and just breathed.

In Singapore every tall man made me jump. I walked fast with my head down. I held my bag tight.

No one came for me.

I was just another tired girl with a big suitcase. For the first time in my life, being invisible felt good.

The doors open and the air hits me. It's hot and wet. It smells like rain and flowers and fuel. My hair sticks to my neck right away.

The airport is almost empty. It's almost midnight. The big clock says 11:47. The fans turn slow. My sandals slap on the floor.

I'm at baggage claim trying to look normal.

I know what I look like. I have long dark hair, even now when it's in a messy bun. I have brown eyes. People always told me I have my mother's face. In Milan, men used to stop and stare. Photographers used to follow me.

Tonight I just look tired. My eyes are red. My lips are dry. My cheap dress is wrinkled.

I'm wearing a simple white dress I bought at a night market in Singapore. It cost a few dollars. It's too big on me. The tag is still on the back and it itches. I left it there on purpose.

I also bought this ugly pink suitcase. It's covered in big flowers. I paid cash. It's not designer. No one will look twice at it. That was the point.

When my bag comes I grab it fast. My hands are still shaking. I just want to get to the hotel. I want to lock the door.

Then my phone buzzes.

My heart jumps. Only one person would text me now.

The screen lights up.

*Ximena, please come back. Your father will understand.*

*Ximena, I'm worried. Where are you?*

*Ximena I love you baby. Please answer.*

It's my mom.

I roll my eyes. She's not worried about me. She's worried about what my father will do to her when he founds out his el especial has ran away seven days to her marriage.

This isn't about love. It's about business.

My dad gets Matteo Moretti's ports in Europe. Matteo's family gets to say their son married a Bianchi. That's the deal m, just sold.

My father doesn't care if I'm happy. He cares about his name and his company but most especially his name.

He has three sons from my mom. He loves boys more than girls. For him boys her heir and girls are business. He has twelve daughters from other women. Girls he hides until he needs them.

And every one of us gets married at eighteen. No choice, just get dressed your groom is her.

My sister Isabella was eighteen,My sister Lucia was eighteen when they had gotten married.

My sister Carla was eighteen last summer. I watched her cry in her wedding dress in Rome while my mom told me to smile for pictures.

I’m twenty and now my dad has finally decide that it’s my turn. I had been late because my dad had been grooming to be the perfect “vase” for the moretti. Since I was the last daughter

Last week Matteo my groom to be took me to dinner in Milan. He was late and smells like drugs. He didn't even say sorry. He sat across from me and scrolled i********: the whole time, liking pictures of girls in bikinis.

I sat there in a black dress, feeling stupid.

When he finally looked up he didn't ask me anything. He just told me the rules.

"You'll quit your charity work. You'll stay home. You'll give me sons. You will not embarrass me."

“Excuse me.” I said looking at this annoying face.

“Yeah that’s what I want from my wife.”

He said it like he was ordering food and I was so disgusted that I wanted to puke on his pompous face.

That night I knew I had to make a run for it.

Chloe helped me. She's been my best friend since we were seven. She didn't ask questions. She brought me a burner phone and cash. She booked the tickets under fake names.

I didn't even tell her I was coming to Bali. It's safer if she doesn't know. If my dad finds she was involved he will torture her to tell the truth.

I look at my mom's texts. My chest feels so tight.

I type fast before I change my mind.

“Mom, please stop. I need this.”

“I will be back soon”

I hit send.

Then I flip my phone over and pop off the back. My hands shake. I pull out the small SIM card. It shines under the light for one second.

This is the last thing linking me to my old life. To Ximena Bianchi, the heiress.

I chew it angrily and crushed it before I drop it in the trash can next to me.

It's gone.

Something hits me hard in my chest. It's not fear. It's freedom. I can breathe. For the first time in years, I can take a full breath.

I'm still holding my dead phone when I turn to leave.

And I walk straight into someone.

Hard.

He's moving fast, pulling a black suitcase. I hit his chest and stumble back. My sandal twists. My phone flies out of my hand and slides across the floor.

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist before I fall. His grip is strong. His fingers are warm and rough.

He holds me for half a second. Then he lets go like I burned him.

"Watch where you're going," he growls. He doesn't even stop.

I'm shocked. No one talks to me like that.

"Excuse me?" I say, loud. "You ran into me."

He stops. He turns around slow.

And I forget how to breathe.

He's tall. Taller than Matteo. He has dark messy hair like he's been running his hands through it. His white shirt is wrinkled, sleeves pushed up. He has green eyes and they look tired and mad at the same time.

He bends down, picks up my phone, and puts it back in my hand. His fingers touch mine for a second.

Then he looks at me. My cheap dress. My messy hair.His mouth twists into something that's not a smile.

"Sorry, princess," he says. He makes princess sound like an insult. "Didn't know the airport was your runway."

My face gets hot. "At least I'm looking where I'm going."

He raises one eyebrow. "Right. Because staring at your phone is really smart."

"I was checking my hotel," I say. I hate how my voice sounds. Small.

God, I've never carried my own bag before yesterday. I've never flown alone. I probably look exactly like what I am. A rich girl playing runaway.

"Wow," he says. "Tough life. Lost in Bali at midnight."

"It's not..”

"Sure it is," he cuts me off. "Look, sweetheart…."

"Don't call me sweetheart."

He puts his hands up. "Fine. Princess. Watch where you walk next time."

He turns his back on me and walks away. He pulls his bag behind him and pushes through the glass doors out into the night.

I just stand there in the middle of the empty hall, holding my dead phone. My wrist is still warm where he touched me.

Who does he think he is?

In my world, men either kiss up to me because I'm a Bianchi, or they're scared of my father. No one has ever just walked away from me like I was nothing.

He didn't flirt. He didn't ask my name. He didn't care about my dress. He looked at me and decided I wasn't worth his time.

I should be mad. I should be insulted.

But standing alone at midnight, I realize he treated me like a normal person. A lost tourist, maybe. But normal.

I can't remember the last time anyone treated me like I was normal.

My whole life I've been Ximena Bianchi, the heiress. A name on a list. A face to trade for business.

Tonight I'm just a girl in a cheap dress with a dead phone and an ugly suitcase.

And no one knows where I am.

I am free.

I take a deep breath and walk to the exit.