Chapter 3

Ellie POV

The valet parking lot was dead quiet, a stark contrast to the suffocating chaos I had just left behind inside the ballroom.

The cool night air bit at my exposed skin, but I welcomed the chill. It felt real.

I was digging for my keys when the sharp staccato of heels on pavement echoed behind me.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Running away again, Ellie?"

Izzy's voice was dripping with sugar-coated poison.

I opened my car door, ignoring her.

"He doesn't love you, you know," she continued, stepping closer into my personal space. "He never did. You were just a business transaction. A merger."

I turned to face her. Under the harsh glare of the streetlights, she looked less like a queen and more like a predator.

"I know," I said. "That's why I congratulated you. You're the transaction now."

Her eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to retort, but the roar of an engine cut her off.

A black sedan careened around the corner of the lot, tires screeching, smoke billowing from the wheel wells. It was moving too fast. It was out of control.

And it was heading straight for us.

"Marcus!" Izzy screamed.

Marcus had followed her out. I saw him emerge from the venue entrance, his eyes widening as he saw the car barreling toward us.

He was twenty feet away.

I was ten feet from Izzy.

The car jumped the curb.

Time slowed down. It was a cliché, but it was true. I saw the headlights blinding me. I saw the panic on Izzy's face.

I saw Marcus sprint.

He didn't look at me. Not once.

He lunged toward Izzy, tackling her to the ground, shielding her body with his own, and rolling them both behind a concrete pillar.

I was left standing in the open.

I tried to jump, but my heel caught on the pavement.

The car sheared off the side of my sedan, sending metal and glass exploding outward.

The force of the impact threw me backward like a ragdoll. I hit the asphalt hard. My head cracked against the ground. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot through my arm.

Debris rained down on me. A piece of jagged metal sliced through the silk of my dress and into my thigh.

The world spun. My ears rang.

Through the haze, I saw Marcus stand up. He checked Izzy frantically, running his hands over her face, her arms, pulling her into a desperate embrace.

"Are you hurt? Baby, look at me!" he yelled, his voice cracking with fear.

He didn't look toward the wreckage. He didn't look for me.

I lay there, bleeding on the cold concrete, watching my husband hold his mistress, checking her for scratches while I couldn't feel my legs.

"Ellie!"

The voice wasn't Marcus's.

It was Chloe. And behind her, men in dark suits I didn't recognize were swarming the scene.

She fell to her knees beside me, her hands hovering over my injuries, tears streaming down her face. "Oh my god, Ellie. Help! We need a medic!"

One of the men, tall and imposing, knelt beside me. He pressed a cloth to my head with professional precision. "Stay with us, Mrs. Thorne. Julian sent us. You're safe."

Julian. Julian Croft. The rival Don. Why was he helping me?

I tried to speak, but only a cough came out, tasting of copper.

Marcus finally looked over. He saw the commotion. He saw me on the ground.

For a second, his face went slack. He took a step toward me.

But then Izzy let out a whimper. "Marcus, my ankle... I think I twisted it."

He stopped. He looked at me, bleeding and broken. Then he looked at Izzy, who had a minor bruise.

He turned back to her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her toward his waiting limousine.

He left me.

He actually left me.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, choking me. It was hysterical, broken.

"I'm okay," I whispered to Chloe, though darkness was creeping into the edges of my vision.

"You are not okay!" she sobbed.

"I am," I said, and I meant it.

Because the last tether had just snapped. The final thread of obligation, of hope, of loyalty. It was gone.

"Get me to the hospital," I rasped to the man from Julian's team. "And then get me to Maine."

"We will," he said.

I closed my eyes. The pain was excruciating, but my mind was crystal clear.

Marcus Thorne had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He had let me survive.