I stared at him, water already seeping through the car door seal, my heart
pounding so hard I thought it might crack a rib. “Marcus, please. It’s pouring. Just let me explain.” I said,
“Get out, Charlotte.” His voice was ice. Pure, unforgiving ice. The same voice
that had whispered my name in the dark just hours ago now cut through me like a blade. My hands trembled as I reached
for the door handle. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything.
Not after I’d finally let my guard down. Finally trusted someone again after
years of playing it safe. If you’d just listen for one second, I’m done
listening to liars. He didn’t even look at me, just stared straight ahead through the rain streaked windshield,
his jaw carved from granite. Out now. The door opened and the storm swallowed
me whole. Cold rain drenched me instantly, plastering my dress to my
skin, my hair to my face. I turned back, one last desperate attempt.
Marcus. The car door slammed. Through the blurred window, I saw him reach for his phone, already dismissing me from
his mind. Then the engine roared and the black Mercedes pulled away, tail lights
disappearing into the downpour like dying embers. I stood there on the dark road, 5 miles from anywhere, shaking not
just from cold, but from the cruel efficiency of it all. 20 minutes ago, I’d been wrapped in his arms at that
charity gala, wearing the emerald dress he’d had delivered to my apartment. 20 minutes ago, I’d thought maybe, just
maybe, I’d found something real. Then Vivien Ashcraftoft had appeared at his
elbow, whispering poison in his ear with her blood red smile. Whatever she’d told
him had transformed him instantly from the man who’d held my face like I was precious into this cold stranger who’d
just left me stranded in a storm. My phone. Thank God. I fumbled it from my
clutch, fingers numb and clumsy. The screen lit up. 9:47 p.m. I scrolled to
my best friend’s name. Sarah, I gasped when she answered. Can you come get me?
I’m on Riverside Road near the old Morrison estate. It’s It’s a long story.
Jesus, Charlotte, are you outside? I can barely hear you over. Is that rain?
Please just come. I’ll explain everything. I’m leaving now. Stay
somewhere visible. 20 minutes. Okay. I found a massive oak tree that offered minimal shelter and pressed against its
trunk, trying to preserve what little body heat I had left. The dress, this stupid, expensive dress that had made me
feel like Cinderella, clung to me like a second skin. My heels were ruined, caked
in mud. I kicked them off and stood barefoot on the soaking grass. How had
it all gone so wrong so fast? The memory played on loop, Vivien’s manicured hand
on Marcus’ sleeve, her lips close to his ear, the way his entire body had gone
rigid. Then he’d turned to me with eyes I didn’t recognize and said, “We’re leaving now.”
I’d followed him to the car, confused, asking what was wrong. He wouldn’t answer, just drove in silence until we
were far from the lights and music, until there was nothing but darkness and rain. Then he’d pulled over and
delivered his verdict like a judge pronouncing sentence. Headlights appeared in the distance. Too soon to be
Sarah. I shrank against the tree, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was.
A woman alone at night, soaked and sholess on a deserted road, but the car passed without slowing, spraying water
in its wake. My phone buzzed. Sarah, traffic is insane. Accident on the
bridge might be 30, 40 minutes. Are you okay? I typed back with shaking fingers.
I’m fine. Be careful. I wasn’t fine. I was so far from fine, I couldn’t even
see it from here. The cold was seeping into my bones now, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I wrapped my
arms around myself and tried to think warm thoughts. Tried not to think about Marcus at all, but of course, that was
impossible. I’d known what he was from the beginning. Everyone in the city knew
Marcus Novak’s name, knew the rumors that swirled around his family’s business empire. Shipping, they called
it, import export. very legitimate on paper, but the whispers told a different
story. One of power that ran deeper than money, of connections that stretched into shadows most people pretended not
to see. I’d told myself I didn’t care. He’d been nothing but good to me in the
3 months we’d been together. Protective, yes, intense, absolutely, but never
cruel. Never callous. Until tonight, more headlights.
This time they slowed. My heart jumped into my throat as a dark SUV pulled onto
the shoulder about 50 ft away. Not Sarah’s little sedan. The driver’s door
opened and a large man in a suit stepped out, apparently unbothered by the rain.
He looked directly at me. Miss Charlotte Reed. Every instinct screamed danger. I
didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Mr. Novak sent me to make sure you got home safely. The laugh that escaped me was
sharp and bitter. You’re joking. No, ma’am. Please get in the car.
I’d rather drown. The words came out stronger than I felt. The man,
bodyguard, enforcer, whatever he was, had the decency to look uncomfortable.
Ma’am, I have my orders. Mr. Novak was very clear that I’m to see you home.
Tell Mr. Novak he can. I stopped myself. This man was just doing his job. Tell
him I’m waiting for my own ride and I don’t need his guilty conscience eased. He stood there for a long moment, rain
streaming down his face, clearly torn between his orders and my refusal.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and made a call. I couldn’t hear the conversation over the storm, but I
watched his posture shift. He straightened, said, “Yes, sir.” twice,
then hung up. When he looked at me again, something in his expression had changed. Not threatening, but worried.
Miss Reed, I’m going to wait here until your friend arrives. Mr. Novak insists.
He doesn’t get to insist anything anymore. The man nodded slowly. As you
say, ma’am, but he didn’t get back in his SUV. He stood there in the rain,
