Love On The Run

Chapter 3

The place was dead quiet that morning—so quiet you could actually hear the fridge doing its little electric hum. Up here, you’d never guess the city was losing its damn mind. The penthouse might as well have been orbiting Pluto—totally untouchable. Angela wandered into the kitchen, dragging her feet across that icy marble. Honestly, she only went for the water because, what else do you do with your hands at 3 a.m.? Edward? Still MIA since their blowout last night. She figured he’d bolt at dawn, maybe pull his classic Houdini act and vanish for a few days. Nope. She wandered into the living room, and there he was, just... parked on the sofa. Edward had his sleeves pushed up, forearms all tense, nose buried in some file like he was about to defuse a bomb. Serious business.

He glanced up at her, eyes doing that quick lock-on thing, then bam—right back to his papers. “We need to talk,” he said. No hello, no good morning, just straight to the point.

Angela’s glass suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. Figures. “About?”

"You’ve barely lasted a week and you’ve already managed to break a rule." He didn’t sound mad—well, not right away. It was that super calm voice people use when they’re probably about to lose it. You know the one. “You mean your office? You didn’t exactly lock the door.”

“You saw things you weren’t supposed to see.”

“And you told me this marriage is about honesty,” she shot back. “Or is that only when it suits you?”

He closed the file with a soft thud. “It’s about survival Angela . “And you’re messing with stuff that could literally get you killed.”

Chills shot straight through her, like someone dumped a bucket of ice down her back. “You keep saying that, but you never bother to actually explain.”

He stood up, way too calm, and took a few slow steps her way. “Honestly? The less you know, the better. It’s safer.”

Her heart went nuts, but there was no way she was backing down. “Keeping me safe from what, exactly?”

He just gawked at me—seriously, eyes about to pop out—like his face had suddenly turned into some cryptic Sudoku and he couldn’t eat until he cracked it. Honestly, It was about 99% sure he was gonna blurt it out this time. As if words were right there, teetering on the edge of his lips. But nope. Not a chance. Suddenly, he spun on his heel and started muttering—some weird gibberish that probably doesn’t exist in any language app. He was just making up sounds. After that? That day just crawled. Edward holed up in his office, acting like a zombie apocalypse was about to break out right outside his door, all he needed was some groaning and a couple of baseball bats. Meanwhile, Angela just floated around the penthouse, pacing like some neurotic cat on catnip—couldn’t sit still for five seconds. The whole place felt like it was one weird sound away from blowing up. Neither of ’em said a word—just marinated in that weird, heavy quiet.Every detail of this place felt curated to keep her from seeing too many thick doors, frosted glass, a private elevator that required a keycard she didn’t have.

By evening, she decided she’d had enough of waiting for answers.

Yeah, the office door was locked of course it was, because nothing's ever easy, but come on—the penthouse was enormous. He could’ve hidden a marching band in there and no one would notice. She poked around the study, tracing her fingers along the books on the shelves, just kinda hoping for a miracle. Then suddenly one of the books wobbled weirdly. Suspiciously, she nudged it, and clicked a skinny little compartment popped open. She saw a long black diary, looking strange and suspicious.

Angela’s heart started pounding heavily, staring at the book like she saw a ghost, she was eager to open it to see what was written inside the diary. She cracked the notebook open anyway. Inside were names of dozens of them written in Edward’s sharp handwriting. Some were crossed out. Each name had some number scribbled next to it, a couple dates, and these weird little notes in shorthand—seriously, what was that, ancient Greek? She squinted, kinda hoping the squiggles would magically make sense. Nope.

Right as she was about to check the last page, she had footsteps coming towards her. Crap. She froze.

Edward planted himself right in the doorway, arms all folded up, staring at her like she’d just swiped his sacred, last piece of cake.His face? Total poker face. But his eyes? Oh, those eyes were sharp as razors. Yeah, she’d definitely just set off some nuclear-level alarm.

“Put it down,” he said, voice so low it almost rumbled.

She closed the notebook slowly. “These people, who are they?”

He stepped into the room, taking it from her hands without breaking eye contact. “People who no longer matter.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You are seeking answers for questions that will bring trouble.

Angela took a deep breath, bracing herself. “If you’re involved in something illegal let me know “

“If I were, you’d already be gone.” He slipped the note book into his jacket. “Or worse.”

Before she could even get a word out, his phone lit up—buzzing like it had a personal vendetta. He glanced at it, and for a split second, his chill vibe just...cracked. Not a full meltdown, but enough that she caught it.

He picked up, voice sharp. “Didn’t I say not to call me here?”

She couldn’t make out what the other person was saying—probably for the best, honestly—but whatever it was, it had him grinding his teeth. “I said I’ll take care of it.” Click. Call dead. No goodbyes.

When he looked at her again, yeah, something in his eyes was different. Darker, maybe? “You’re not leaving the penthouse tonight,” he said, and there was zero room for arguing. Her stomach sank. “Why?”

“They know about you now.”

At first, her brain just bounced off the words. Like, huh? But then he dropped the real bomb: “The people who killed my brother.”

Oh. Oh, hell.

The atmosphere thickened, like someone had filled the space with soak clothes.

Wait, what? She blinked, voice barely a whisper. “You had a brother?”He looked away, his voice measured. They took him from me five years ago. And they think hurting you will hurt me.”

Her pulse hammered. “Why would they think that? You said this marriage is based on contract not love”

“I know what I said,” he cut in. “But they don’t see you as a contract. They see you as leverage

She followed him as he moved quickly through the penthouse, checking locks, sliding metal shutters over the windows. “Edward , stop. You can’t just throw this at me without coming out straight to me “

“You wanted honesty?” He spun to face her. “Here it is: I’ve been at war with people who will burn entire empires just to make a point. They killed my brother. They’ve tried to take my company. And now, thanks to your little investigation, they have a name and a face they can use against me.”

She felt the words hit like blows. “You’re blaming me for this?”

“I’m blaming you for not listening.”

The hours crawled after that. Edward hung back by the windows, glued to his phone—muttering, talking into it. Perhaps ordering his security men, Meanwhile, Angela just balanced at the end of her bed, looking at the city street lights flashing past the shades. Staring like she was striving to figure out everything in her head, she felt the whole world crumbling around her and still waiting for it to stop. She had thought this marriage was the price for her father’s mistakes. Now she realized it might also be the price for Edward’s past.

It was after midnight when the first sign came. A sharp c***k not loud enough to be a gunshot, but enough to make Edward’s head snap toward the window.

“Wait here,” he instructed, but she obeyed anyway.

On the street, a car parked with its flashlights off. Another shadow moved near the building’s entrance. Edward yanked out his phone, muttering under his breath didn’t catch a word, but it was sharp. Boom, just like that, black SUVs screeched up, boxed the car in tight. Everything went nuts doors banging, dudes yelling, somebody getting hauled out like trash on collection day. Edward just stood there, eyes like ice. Like, this wasn’t even the wildest thing he’d seen this week.

Then he finally glanced her way, and his voice? Smooth as ever. “They are not going to yank another trick again.”

Yeah, right. Edward eyes were saying different story entirely

Later, when she crawled into bed, sleep just laughed in her face. No chance.

Every sound made her tense. Somewhere in this mess was the truth about Edward , about his brother, about why her father’s debt had put her in the crosshairs of something far darker than she’d imagined.

If she planned on making it out of this marriage in one piece, she needed to dig up the truth—fast—before it blindsided her.

The city outside was still smothered in that weird blue-grey almost-morning light when Edward finally peeled himself away from the window. His tie had disappeared somewhere, shirt all wrinkled up, but he stood there stiff as a damn statue. Guy looked like he was about to launch into a PowerPoint, not face his wife.

“Try to get some sleep,” he muttered, eyes glued to the carpet.She crossed her arms. “And if I do, will someone slip in and kill me while I’m dreaming?”

He gave her a sharp look, then sighed not in defeat, but as if trying to hold back words he didn’t trust himself to say. “Nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

“You seem very sure for a man who just locked down half the building.”

“I’m sure,” he said flatly, “because I don’t leave room for failure.”

It wasn’t comfortable. It was a warning.

By morning, the city had fully awakened in brimming sunlight thriving off the glass soars, the streets buzzing with the quick-tempered beat of vehicles. But inside the building, the atmosphere was still tense.

Angela found Edward in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, coffee mug in hand. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You have ten minutes to get ready,” he said without preamble. “We’re meeting someone for breakfast.”

“Meeting who?”

“An investor.” He set the mug down with a faint click. “And before you ask, yes, you’re coming. They want to meet my wife.”

Her brow lifted. “Do I know why?”

“Let them see your smile, as little as possible, and allow me to do the talking.

She quickly dressed up, wearing a blue silk top and brown pants, classy but not showy. When she entered the sitting room, Edwards looked at her in a romantic manner for a moment. When Angela stared back he turned immediately for the elevator.

The eatery he took her to the table was all covered in white linen and glass, set high enough to make the horizon look like a snapshot. The man waiting for them at the table was black haired, his coat cut with the accuracy of a man who did not accept flaws.

“Mr. Robert,” he said warmly, though his eyes flickered to Angela with keen interest. “And this must be Angela.”

She smiled a little bit, reaching a hand to shake. “It’s a delight meeting you.”

His grasp was very light, but his stare stayed acute. “I’ve heard… very little about you.”

“That’s probably because there’s very little to tell,” she said smoothly, though she felt Edward’s glance slide her way.

The conversation was mostly business, Edward’s voice even and confident as he outlined some project she didn’t fully understand. But every so often, the investor’s gaze returned to her, weighing, measuring.

When the meeting ended, the man shook Edward’s hand, then hers. “Take care of her,” he told Edward. It was light, almost casual but the way Edward’s jaw tightened told her it was more than politeness.

In the car ride back, she broke the silence. “Who was he really?”

“A man who has a way of knowing things he shouldn’t,” Edward said.

“Such as?”

He looked at her, his facial expression was not clear. “Such as who are my enemies.”

The rest of the ride was quiet.

Back at the penthouse, Edward disappeared into his office again. Angela waited a full twenty minutes before slipping down the hall toward the private elevator. She’d learned enough in the past few days to know it required a keycard and she also knew Edward kept it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

It was just kind of swinging there in the sitting room, like someone neglected to care. Her hands were shaking just a little, but enough to be noticed as she grabbed the card and forced it into her pocket. She had no clue where she was headed next, honestly. All she knew was she couldn’t just sit around in this tower, twiddling her thumbs, waiting for him to drop half-truths whenever he felt like it. What a joke.

She didn’t even make it to the elevator. Nope. Something stopped her—this barely-there sound, like paper whispering over wood. Weird. She spun around. She saw an envelope, just thrilling under her bed like some spirit delivered it and kept it there for her. She stood there, her heart racing fast like she saw a ghost Finally, she dragged herself across the room and scooped it up.The paper was plain, unmarked. No return address. Inside was a single piece of card.

No threats. No explanations.

Just three words, written in block letters:

YOU’RE NEXT, WOOD.

She read it twice before she realized she was gripping the edges so tightly the paper had started to crumple.

Her first instinct was to take it to Edward. Her other instinct—the spiky, reckless one—just screamed at her to shut up and keep this to herself. If Edward had been pulling this kind of crap for years, maybe it was high time she learned the rules and played dirty, too.

That stupid note practically scorched her skin, even after she stuffed it into the drawer by her bed. Angela just plopped down, staring holes in the carpet, every single thing Edward had ever said to her running on a loop in her head. Like, was any of it even real? They know about you now.

One day you’ll see this marriage kept you alive.

If that was true, then someone had just promised to change that.

By the time she came out from her room, the house didn't feel similar. Not silent, it was always noiseless but watchful. The window remained closed, and a man she had never seen before appeared at the entrance door. He has broad-chest, with the kind of appearance that made it plain he was not here to deliver roses.

“Security,” Edward said from behind her, reading the question in her eyes. “His name’s Victor . He’ll be here when I can’t be.”

She turned to the man. “And when you can’t be?”

Victor’s answer was simple. “Then I’ll protect you with my last breath.”

There was nothing cool in his voice, but there was confidence.

Edward was in motion, his phone glued to his ear, giving clipped instructions she couldn’t follow. He stopped only to tell her, “We’re going out tonight.”

“Out?” She almost laughed. “I just got a death threat.”

“Which is exactly why we’re going out,” he said, already walking toward his office. “Staying locked up in here will make you look like prey. And we don’t let people think they can hunt us.”

She did not like the us he used and didn't like how he mentioned they were mates in this havoc when she still did not know what mess it was. But a few hours later, she saw herself in a gown she had never worn before, standing beside Edward in the sparkling lobby of a private hotel room.

It was a gala, the kind where expensive wine was poured like water and every dialogue was a bargain in mask. Cameras flashed, eyes followed them as they entered.

Edward’s hand settled lightly at her back, a gesture for the crowd, but one that felt strangely grounding.

Later that evening, a man approached them. Tall, brown-haired, with a smooth smile that was too friendly to believe.

“Edward ,” he said with a cool voice . “I did not know you’d be here.”

“You didn’t know a lot of things, Timothy,” Edward replied, the words polite but edgy.

Timothy’s gaze slid to Angela . “And this must be the wife I’ve heard so little about. Timothy Andrew.”

His handshake was sharp, his eyes staring too long to make her nervous . “You must be very peculiar to grab Edward’s attention.”

“I’m beginning to ponder on the same thing,” she said, pressuring a smile.

Edward’s grip at her back tightened almost imperceptibly. “We were just leaving, Timothy.”

In the car afterward, Angela finally asked, “Who was that?”

Edward’s jaw tightened. “Someone who’d like to see me in a coffin.”

“And you just shook his hand?”

“In my world, you smile at the man holding the knife,” he said, looking out the window. “And you make sure yours is sharper.”

Back at the penthouse, Victor was still on watch, but another figure stood near the window, a woman, tall, striking, with dark hair pulled into a sleek twist.

“Angela ,” Edward said, “this is Mary . She’s… an associate.”

Mary smiled politely, but her eyes were sharp. “We have been keeping to certain paths … motion in the street. You’ve gotten someone’s attention.”

“Someone who sent me a note,” Angela said before she could stop herself.

Edward’shead snapped toward her. “What note?”

She waited quite long, then she entered her room and recovered it. He glanced through it once, his face worried, then gave it to Mary.

Mary scanned it, then looked up. “They’re testing you. Seeing if you’ll be scared easily.”

“And if I don’t?” Angela asked.

Mary’s smile widened slightly. “Then they will have to sketch more plans.”

That evening, they were all struggling to sleep. Angela sat by the window side, glancing at the street lights. The person who hid the letter under her door is out there on the street. And now, she had two choices: wait for them to act, or get to them first.

She chose the latter.

The next day, while Edward was in his office, she cornered victor . “If I wanted to find out who sent that note, where would I start?”

He studied her for a long moment. “You don’t.”

“I didn’t ask if I should. I asked where I’d start.”

After another pause, he said, “You’d start at The Charles Club. Private, no records, but the kind of place where people talk when they think no one’s listening.”

That evening, Angela told Edward she was going to bed early. Rather, she sneaked out of the mansion, taking the service elevator victor had shown her.

The Charles’s Club was buried under an unnoted door in a silent path. Inside, the atmosphere was thickened with the smell of flowers and money. She hid her head down, heading to the bar.

It didn’t take long to hear her name.

“…Frank girl,” a man was saying in a low voice. “Angela won’t see it coming. She’s the key.”

Her heart thrilled as she turned slowly, grabbing a peek of him . A tall, huge, with a fire scar on his face. He was talking to Timothy Andrew.

She was about to walk nearer when she felt a hand close to her wrist. She turned, ready to attack , but found herself looking into Edward’s dark, angry eyes.

“What the f**k are you doing?” he looked away.

Before she could reply, a gunshot busted the air.