Catalina's fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of the marble sink. The bathroom of the ballroom was as pristine and cold as the man who had just tried to stake a permanent claim on her life. Her reflection stared back at her — a woman draped in elegance, adorned with diamonds, but drowning in fear.
She had minutes. Maybe seconds.
The crimson silk gown clung tightly to her frame, far too luxurious and cumbersome for what she was about to do. Her heels were weapons against her escape, but there was no time to change. No turning back now. Her phone vibrated inside her clutch. She fumbled it open.
Noah:The guards are being rotated. You have three minutes. Side hallway past the wine cellar. Run.
Her pulse skyrocketed. She didn't bother responding. Catalina flung the clutch into the sink, kicked off her heels, and sprinted barefoot across the polished floor.
Each step echoed like a scream.
Every inch of that estate had eyes—security cameras, staff loyal to the Morettis, and worse: Alexander himself. His intuition was too sharp. But this time, she wasn't his possession. Not anymore.
Catalina's breath caught as she pushed the ornate bathroom door open. The hallway was empty. The music from the ballroom echoed faintly behind her—the waltz of a life she was about to abandon. She dashed across the marble corridor and slipped into the service hallway behind the floral arrangements.
The air grew cooler. Stone walls replaced marble. The scent of lavender faded into damp dust and aged wine. She had memorized the blueprints Noah had stolen. Three doors down, past the dumbwaiter shaft, then left into the tunnel. A tunnel that led out to the forest, beyond the estate's surveillance reach.
Her gown snagged on a rusty nail.
"Damn it," she muttered, yanking it free.
Her heartbeat was a constant drum. Every second stretched into eternity. She skidded to the left, shoved open the wine cellar door, and ducked inside. Rows of dusty bottles towered around her, a maze of vintage illusions. But there—behind a false panel—was the passageway Noah had discovered.
Her hands shook as she pressed the hidden mechanism. The panel creaked open.
Footsteps.
Her body froze.
Someone was coming.
Panic clenched her throat. Her fingers groped blindly in the dark until they found the edge of the tunnel. She slid inside, heart hammering like thunder. The panel shut with a soft click just as the footsteps stopped outside.
A beat of silence.
Then… gone.
Catalina crawled through the narrow passage, the hem of her gown trailing like blood behind her. The air inside the tunnel was stale, filled with earth and secrets. Her knees scraped against stone. Her palms burned.
But she didn't stop.
Freedom was ahead.
Thirty feet.
Fifty.
Light. A faint glow ahead.
She reached the end. The exit was hidden beneath a slab of stone and metal bars. She pushed. Nothing. Panic rose again. Was it jammed?
No.
A soft knock from above.
Then a whisper.
"Noah."
"Move back."
She did.
The slab shifted, letting in the night. Cold wind swept over her like absolution. Catalina climbed out into the forest, Noah's hand steadying her.
"You did it," he whispered.
She threw herself into his arms.
"I almost didn't."
"But you did." He cupped her face. "We don't have time. The trackers—"
"I ripped it off. The necklace."
He blinked. Then smiled. "Clever."
They ran.
Through the woods, branches tearing at her dress, mud caking her bare feet. He had a car parked on the dirt road a mile away. The moon guided them like an accomplice, lighting their path through betrayal and hope.
Noah opened the passenger door. "Get in."
She hesitated. "What if he comes after us?"
"He will."
Her stomach sank.
"But not tonight," Noah added. "Tonight, we disappear."
She slid into the seat. He started the engine, tires crunching over gravel. The headlights cut through the darkness as the estate shrank behind them.
Her past shrank with it.
Every mile forward was a mile away from Alexander Moretti's grip.
Or so she thought.
**
Twenty-four hours later.
The television inside the motel flickered with static before resolving into a sharp news image. Catalina sat cross-legged on the bed, still in one of Noah's oversized sweaters, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks.
The reporter's voice cut through the silence.
"...and in breaking news, billionaire Alexander Moretti has offered a $2 million reward for any information regarding the whereabouts of his fiancée, Catalina Solari, who has gone missing after a private engagement gala."
Catalina's breath hitched.
Noah appeared beside her, his jaw tight. "It's started."
She looked at him. "Do you think he'll find us?"
"I think he'll move the heavens to try."
Her heart pounded. "What do we do?"
He pulled out a burner phone and a folded map. "We vanish. Different names. Cash-only. We move every few days."
"This isn't just a break-up," she said. "It's war."
Noah met her eyes. "Then we fight."
**
Meanwhile, in Milan.
Alexander stood alone in his office, the skyline glowing beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. His suit was pristine. His hair perfectly in place. But his eyes — oh, his eyes were pure fury.
"She's gone," his brother muttered.
Alexander's voice was ice. "She was taken."
"She left."
Alexander turned slowly. "She wouldn't dare."
"She did."
His fingers curled into fists. "Find her. I don't care what it takes. No one leaves me. Not her."
He turned to the window, the city below a chessboard. And Catalina?
She was his queen.
And he was coming for her.