THE ALPHA'S BROKEN VOW

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Harriet's POV

Not a syllable slipped from my mouth as Noah shoved the door open, the measured thud of his footsteps trailing off down the hallway. That which filled the room after his departure felt far more solid than the walls themselves. Casting my eyes over the tatters of my garments, still smeared with earth, I let out a long, weary sigh. Why is bad luck invariably drawn to me? Wherever I flee, misfortune can sniff me out—repeatedly inventing fresh schemes to prove I can never outrun it.

In escaping to London, I’d told myself I’d bid farewell to Fraser—the man who’d turned my life into a nightmare. Instead, as soon as I touched ground in this place, I was hurled into another storm of chaos. Now I was living in a stranger's flat. I could do nothing else but remain here—or wander the streets all night devising a plan.

Reality gnawed at me: I knew nothing about Noah. Everything I could perceive suggested he might just be as perilous. His indifference, his peculiar manner—I couldn’t make a single thing out. Though I’d pursued psychology, standing in his flat, I could read nothing about him at all.

I took in the room. Spotless and polished, the space was altogether beyond the reach of a man who dressed like him. His car, his flat—each declared affluence, yet the roughness of him told a different story. Had our paths crossed on the street, I’d never have expected him to live like this.

I moved from one room to the next, combing for any hint. No pictures. Not one personal memento. Nothing. He could have ceased to exist the instant he crossed beyond these walls. I lingered before a door—it had to be his room. I set my hand on the knob and stopped. He’d warned: stay clear of him, mind your own affairs. Should I?

I let the knob go. He’d let me stay here. At the very least, I would have to honor his rules on this, our very first night.

All I required was a job. Enough money to secure a modest room of my own. I let my eyes drop to the card he’d passed to me. I didn’t want it. I refused to owe him. Nevertheless, he’d been right: I did need it. What if he asked for more than a lump-sum payment? The notion twisted in my gut.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, punched in a cab’s number, and booked one. Not more than a couple of minutes had elapsed when I stepped down and sank into the back seat.

Where to, miss?

Take me into town. Sweep me into the city—anywhere that has clothing shops.”

Grey blocks of buildings glided past the glass, then split into tangles of shops and signs. I tried to map the streets in my head. To make my way here, I had to learn the streets—there was no other choice.

I leaned my forehead against the car’s cool glass. Perhaps, just perhaps, I’d one day inch back toward normal. Before Fraser. Before any of this.

When the car pulled over, I pushed Noah’s card out the window and stepped out. Streams of passers-by floated past, their voices melding into a low, steady hum. A tight band squeezed my chest. I felt eyes on me. Could Fraser have someone trailing me here? I tugged my jacket tight and tried to will my lungs to expand.

Everything was just fine before he stepped into the picture. From the very beginning, he was perfect—charming, attentive, the sort of man who makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. Still, that sweetness turned sour virtually from the start. Jealousy came first, initially muted, but then steadily grew. Every time I bumped into my friends—Reggie especially—he’d give me a pointed glare.

Initially, I shoved it from my thoughts. Aww, I’d thought. It wasn’t.

After I called the relationship off, Fraser convinced himself I’d chosen Reggie instead. One evening outside the pub, he pinned him against the wall, punching his face, telling him to stay away from me. Arriving with a swollen face and blood flowing from cuts, he nevertheless maintained that nothing was my fault. I realized Fraser had taken it too far.

I’d thought that obtaining restraining orders would be the answer. I quickly discovered that, unless the police show any willingness to uphold them, restraining orders are utterly meaningless. Day after day, Fraser trailed me—hanging around my workplace, leaping on me in the car parks, whispering vile threats into my ear like venom. If he can’t have me, no one will. That’s what he murmured the last time his hands knotted in my hair and he wrenched my head back.

At that instant, I stuffed my belongings into a bag and walked out. I snagged the very first bus out; I had no strategy, only the need to get away. That’s how I found myself here.

I clamped my eyes closed and buried the memory once more, then walked into the shop. I jammed my bag full of jeans, shirts, and underwear, convinced that with careful rationing, they’d see me through the next two weeks. When I reached the till, I laid Noah’s card on the counter, the burden of the debt pressing inward on my chest.

Within the changing room, I stripped off the tattered garments and slipped into replacements that held not a hint of fear. I stuffed the cast-off garments into my bag and stepped out, letting my shoulders slide a touch lighter.

From shop to shop I drifted, stocking up on the essentials—toiletries, socks, nothing special. Just survival.

Stepping back out onto the street, my bags piled high in my arms, I felt the pavement had somehow become even more crowded. My sense of unease hummed again. Was anyone watching me? I intentionally took a breath, deliberately steeping calm into my chest. You’re safe. He isn’t here.

I caught sight of a cab with its light on and ran toward it.

You free?”

He bent his head, sliding my bags into the trunk. Where to?

I gave him Noah’s address—Holloway Court.

The pavements were even more clogged: men in sleek suits with briefcases, shoppers hauling bags, couples laughing. Their lives appeared totally ordinary. I had the sense someone had shredded it into pieces.

The cab stopped beside the flats, and I lugged my bags into the glowing lobby. Marble floors, glossy glass. Everything felt far too lavish for me. I simply could not picture how I might ever afford to make this part of London my home. For goodness’ sake, how did Noah manage to make this sort of money?

Stepping into the lift, it whisked me upward until all the floor numbers illuminated and stopped on his. The flat was still empty when I stepped inside. I dragged my suitcases into the spare room and set about unpacking, folding my clothes with meticulous care into the drawers. The room seemed so immaculate—so clearly never inhabited—yet it nonetheless offered me shelter.

I sat on the bed and watched my own hands. Could it conceivably get any worse?

A gurgle erupted from my stomach. I suddenly recalled that it had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d eaten anything.

As the sunlight streamed in, the kitchen proved to be even more appalling than I’d thought it was the previous evening. Glittering shards of glass still studded the floor from the fire-poker rampage earlier. I pressed my fingertips to my temple, remembering how I’d charged at Noah, convinced he was the man who’d assaulted me.

Each feverish question that rose when I’d come to—am I a kidnapping victim, a r**e survivor, forcibly brought here for Fraser? Panic closed in, and the poker—meant to protect me—was the only thing I could cling to.

Maybe I’d misjudged him.

I tugged the fridge open and swept my eyes across the shelves. Meat,Sausages and bacon, steaks stacked to the brim. Whatever his identity, he evidently favoured his protein.

I picked up a wedge of ham and a loaf of bread, built a sandwich, and perched on a stool beside the counter. Silence slid around me. With each measured mouthful, the meat steadily loosened the coil that gripped my stomach.

Perhaps tonight I’d sleep and Fraser would be absent from my dreams. Maybe Noah wasn’t the monster my mind had kept imagining him to be. Nevertheless, for no apparent reason, I still trusted him.