Ariella left that night with nothing but her purse, a packed duffel bag, and her pride.
No limo.
No driver.
No security detail.
Just her, in a borrowed cab, staring out the window as Lucien Kane's penthouse disappeared behind her like a bad dream she wasn't ready to wake up from.
She didn't cry.
She wouldn't give him that power.
She checked into a modest hotel near the river — clean, quiet, no questions asked. She paid cash and didn't use her real name.
She wasn't running.
She was reclaiming herself.
The first day was hard.
Her body missed the silk sheets and the warm water pressure of his ridiculous penthouse shower. Her mind missed the adrenaline — the sharp, constant presence of him. The danger. The thrill. The fight.
But her heart?
It missed nothing.
Because it had been bruised and broken and burned one too many times.
She applied for freelance writing gigs. Spent her time in a small café, sipping lukewarm coffee and ignoring the glances of men who weren't Lucien. She told herself this was better.
That she was finally free.
But by the fourth night, something strange happened.
She noticed the same black car parked across the street from her hotel.
Again the next day.
And again at the café.
No plates. No movement. Just a shadow that lingered.
And that's when she knew.
He wasn't letting her go.
---
That evening, she was walking back from the corner store when someone stepped out of the alley near her hotel entrance.
She froze.
The man wasn't threatening. Just average. But his posture was wrong — too stiff, too alert.
"Miss Lane?" he asked.
She took a step back. "Who's asking?"
"Mr. Kane sent me."
Her stomach twisted.
"I don't care," she said, turning to walk.
But the man didn't follow.
He only said, calmly: "He's not sleeping. He's not eating. He watches your hotel from across the street every night. He hasn't gone into the office in two days."
Ariella paused.
"I was told not to speak to you. But I thought you should know… he's unraveling."
She turned slowly, heart pounding. "Then maybe he should have thought of that before he orchestrated my life like a game."
The man gave a sad smile. "Some men only realize they're human after they've destroyed the one thing that made them feel alive."
She said nothing.
Just walked back inside.
And all night, she stared at the ceiling…
...wondering why it was so much easier to hate Lucien Kane when he wasn't falling apart without her.