THE MAFIA'S FORCED BRIDE

RUN AWAYBRIDE

CHAPTER 4:

TITLE:RUN AWAY BRIDE

HARLEY

I paced back and forth across my bedroom floor, the soles of my feet burning against the hardwood.

On the bed lay my open suitcase, half-packed, alongside my blue passport and the printed plane tickets to Orlando that Lesley had booked for me under a false name. Orlando. Where my grandparents lived. It was far away, isolated, and completely detached from the rotting underworld of this city.

“I spent a whole week planning this,” I muttered under my breath, my voice trembling as I rubbed my cold hands together. “A whole week. It can’t flop. It can’t.”

My twenty-first birthday,my supposed wedding day, was tomorrow. This was my last window of escape.

I should have felt relieved. I should have felt a surge of adrenaline and joy at the thought of breaking free from the dark shadow looming over my family. But instead, a bitter, nauseating weight settled deep in my stomach. I felt sick. Sick with guilt for abandoning my parents, and terrified that my escape wouldn't be enough to outrun the long, bloody reach of Don Carlos.

A sharp ring shattered the heavy silence of the room.

My heart leaped into my throat. I lunged for my phone on the nightstand, fully expecting to see Lesley’s name flashing on the screen.

It wasn't her. It was an unknown number.

I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen. Panic seized my throat, making it hard to draw air. What if it’s him? My instincts screamed at me to decline the call, to smash the phone against the wall and keep packing. But with trembling hands, I swiped green and brought the speaker to my ear, keeping my breath silent.

“Hello?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Miss Harley Anderson?” a crisp, hurried voice spoke on the other end. “I have a delivery for you. I’m standing outside your front gate right now.”

I blinked, taking a small step toward the window. “A... delivery? From who?”

“It’s a dispatch delivery, ma’am. Signed for urgent drop-off.”

I hesitated, the knot in my stomach tightening. But then I remembered Lesley mentioning earlier that she might send over a few last-minute travel essentials for my flight. Relief washed over me, fragile and fleeting. It had to be from Les.

“Okay,” I breathed out, exhaling a heavy sigh. “I’ll be right down.”

I hurried down the stairs, making sure to avoid the kitchen where my mother was sitting. Slipped out the front door, I approached the gate, where a young dispatch rider in a bright yellow helmet handed me a small, sleek box wrapped in dark red paper. I signed the electronic pad, took the parcel, and hurried back inside before anyone could spot me.

Once back in the safety of my bedroom, I locked the door behind me and sank onto the edge of my bed.

I tore through the wrapping paper and lifted the lid. What lay inside made my blood run entirely ice-cold.

It wasn't travel documents, toiletries, or anything from Lesley.

Resting against the tissue paper was a sheer, crimson silk lingerie set, scantily cut and outrageously expensive.

Pinned to the delicate lace was a small, heavy card. My hands shook so violently that the slip of paper rattled in my grip as I opened it.

“I can't wait to see you in these, princess.”

A wave of pure terror crashed over me, sending a violent chill straight down my spine. The room seemed to spin. He knew. He was watching every move, every second, completely unbothered by my terror, anticipating the moment he would finally claim me.

Any lingering doubt, any hesitation, any foolish guilt I had felt about fleeing completely evaporated in an instant. This man wasn't just a loan shark. He was an absolute psychopath.

I threw the card and the box onto the floor, my eyes hardening with a desperate, wild resolve.

I didn't care about the risk anymore. I threw my remaining clothes into the suitcase, zipped it shut with a harsh yank, and gripped the handle tight. I was running, and nothing was going to stop me.

I carried my suitcase with both hands, lifting it an inch off the floor to keep the wheels from clacking against the tiles. Step by step, I tiptoed past my parents' bedroom, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs I was terrified they’d hear it through the door. I crept down the stairs, pressing my back against the wall, taking agonizing seconds between every step to avoid the creaky wooden steps near the bottom.

Once I reached the kitchen counter, I pulled a piece of notepad paper and a pen from my pocket. My hands shook so violently that my handwriting looked like frantic scrawls:

Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry. I love you both, but I can’t do this. I have to save myself. Please forgive me.

I weighed the note down with a salt shaker, took a deep breath, and slipped out the back door.

Reaching the front gate, I spotted the silver sedan idling in the shadows. The rear door popped open, and I saw Lesley waving at me frantically from the backseat. I threw my suitcase into the trunk, slammed it shut, and scrambled inside.

“Drive! Please, just drive!” I gasped.

As the taxi pulled away into the night, Lesley grabbed my hand. Her skin was warm, but mine was pure ice. My pulse was hammering in my ears, every beat behind my chest scar a terrifying reminder of what I was running from.

“You’re safe, Ley. You’re almost out,” Lesley kept whispering, squeezing my freezing fingers as the city lights blurred past us on the way to the airport.

When we finally arrived at the terminal, I sprinted straight to the departure board, only for my stomach to drop through the floor.

FLIGHT 409 TO ORLANDO — DELAYED 3 HOURS.

“No, no, no,” I panicked, pacing the terminal floor with sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Les, he’s going to find out. Three hours is too long!”

“Harley, look at me,” Lesley said firmly, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to meet her eyes. “Take a breath. Nobody knows you’re here. The ticket is under a different name. Just sit down, drink some water, and breathe.”

The next three hours felt like three agonizing years. Every shadow looked like a man in a dark suit, and every ringing phone made my chest tighten. But somehow, the clock ran out without incident.

Finally, over the loudspeaker, the chime sounded: Boarding for Flight 409.

I completed security, checked in my bag, and walked toward the boarding gate. Turning back, I threw my arms around Lesley, hugging her with everything I had left.

“Thank you for everything, Les,” I sobbed into her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.”

“Go get your life back, Ley,” she whispered, wiping a tear from my cheek.

I walked down the jet bridge and boarded the plane. Sliding into my window seat, I buckled the seatbelt tightly across my lap. For the first time in weeks, the suffocating weight in my chest lifted. A deep wave of relief washed over me. I was actually doing it. I was safe.

Just as the flight attendants began closing the overhead bins, my phone vibrated in my palm.

Mom Calling...

I smiled through my tears, realizing this was my chance to tell her I was safe and give her a proper goodbye. I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.

“Mom? I’m so sorry, but I’m on the plane—”

“Leaving without saying goodbye was rude, princess.”

The voice wasn't my mother's. It was a deep, hoarse, velvet rumble that sent an icy wave of absolute horror straight through my blood.