Chapter 3 Sanctuary

The rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt gradually pulled Edwin from his restless slumber. For a blissful moment, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, he forgot the nightmare of the past 24 hours. Then reality came crashing back, and he jerked upright, momentarily disoriented.

"Easy there, sleeping beauty," a deep voice said from beside him. "We're almost there."

Edwin turned, blinking in confusion at Lance Castellan's profile. The events leading up to his impromptu escape came flooding back. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble that had sprouted during his ordeal.

"How long was I out?" Edwin asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Lance glanced at him, those striking gray eyes flickering with concern. "About two hours. Figured you could use the rest."

Edwin nodded, grateful for the quarterback's thoughtfulness. He turned his attention to the scenery outside. They were driving along a winding coastal road, the Pacific Ocean stretching endlessly to their right. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink.

"Where exactly are we going?" Edwin asked, realizing he had blindly trusted this virtual stranger.

"My beach house," Lance replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's about 20 minutes up the coast. Completely private, away from prying eyes. Figured you could use a breather to figure things out."

As if on cue, Edwin's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, cringing at the flood of notifications. Missed calls from Marcus, his publicist, his father. Dozens of text messages. And there, amid the chaos, a voicemail from Laura.

His thumb hovered over the play button, fear gripping his heart. What would his fiancée say? Did she believe the accusations? Was this the end of their relationship?

"You don't have to deal with that right now," Lance said softly, noticing Edwin's hesitation. "Give yourself some time to breathe first."

Edwin nodded gratefully, pocketing the phone without listening to the message. He'd face the fallout soon enough. For now, he allowed himself to sink back into the leather seat, watching the scenic coastline roll by.

Finally, Lance turned off the main road onto a private drive. As they rounded a bend, the beach house came into view, and Edwin couldn't help but gasp.

The structure was a masterpiece of modern architecture, all clean lines and vast expanses of glass. It seemed to grow organically from the cliffside, offering unparalleled views of the ocean below.

"This is yours?" Edwin asked, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

Lance chuckled as he parked in front of the house. "One of the perks of tossing a ball around for a living. Come on, let's get you inside."

As they entered, Edwin's actor's eye couldn't help but appreciate the tasteful décor. The open-plan living area was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Plush furniture in muted tones invited relaxation, while statement art pieces added pops of color.

But as impressive as the surroundings were, Edwin found he couldn't fully appreciate them. Now that they had stopped moving, the full weight of his situation came crashing down on him. His legs suddenly felt weak, and he sank onto a nearby couch, his head in his hands.

"Oh God," he muttered. "Oh God, what am I going to do?"

He felt the couch dip as Lance sat beside him, a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "Hey," the quarterback said gently. "Take a deep breath. You're safe here. We'll figure this out."

Edwin looked up, meeting Lance's concerned gaze. "Why are you helping me? You don't even know me."

Lance was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I guess... I've been where you are. Maybe not exactly, but I know what it's like to have your whole world turned upside down in an instant. To have everyone looking at you, judging you, when you don't even know what's true yourself."

He stood, moving to a sleek bar in the corner. "Want a drink? No judgment if you'd rather not."

Edwin shook his head. "No, I... I think I've had enough to last a lifetime."

Lance returned with two bottles of water instead. As Edwin sipped the cool liquid, he felt some of the tension begin to ease from his body.

"Want to talk about it?" Lance asked, his tone carefully neutral.

And suddenly, Edwin found himself pouring out the whole story – or what little he knew of it. The charity gala, the drinking, the terrifying blank in his memory, waking up to a nightmare that showed no signs of ending.

"I swear, I would never hurt anyone like that," Edwin finished, his voice rough with emotion. "But I can't remember, and all the evidence... God, what if I did do it? What if I'm capable of something like that and didn't even know it?"

A deeper anxiety gnawed at Edwin as he thought of the missed calls from his father. The man who had raised him alone, who had built a multi-billion dollar empire, would surely view this scandal as confirmation of his worst fears. Edwin could almost see the disappointment etched into his father's stern features, the unspoken accusation: "You're just like her."

Her. Edwin's mother. A topic that remained painfully taboo, even years after her death. The woman whose temperamental nature and self-destructive tendencies had culminated in tragedy, leaving behind a shattered family and a legacy of whispered rumors.

Edwin had spent his entire life running from that shadow, desperate to prove he wasn't cut from the same volatile cloth. But now, with his career and reputation hanging by a thread, that old fear resurfaced. Had he finally proven his father right?

The weight of this unspoken burden pressed down on Edwin's chest, threatening to suffocate him. But he kept it buried deep, locked away where even his closest confidants couldn't reach. He wouldn't – couldn't – voice these fears to Lance or anyone else. Some wounds were too raw, some truths too terrifying to acknowledge in the light of day.

Lance listened intently, his face a mask of concentration. When Edwin fell silent, the quarterback leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Edwin, look at me," he said firmly.

Edwin raised his eyes, meeting Lance's steady gaze.

"I've known you for all of a few hours," Lance continued, "but I'm a pretty good judge of character. You're not a violent man. You're not an abuser. Whatever happened in that hotel room, I don't believe for a second that you assaulted that woman."

The conviction in Lance's voice brought tears to Edwin's eyes. "You can't know that," he whispered.

"Maybe not," Lance conceded. "But I believe it. And right now, when the whole world is against you, maybe having one person in your corner is enough to start with."

Edwin nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. For the first time since this ordeal began, he felt a tiny flicker of hope.

The moment was interrupted by Edwin's phone buzzing again. This time, it was a call from Marcus. Edwin stared at the screen, torn between the need to face reality and the desire to hide away from the world.

"You should probably take that," Lance said gently. "Your team needs to know you're safe, at least."

Edwin nodded, taking a deep breath before answering the call. "Marcus, I'm okay. I'm... I'm somewhere safe."

His manager's voice came through, mixed with relief and frustration. "Edwin, what were you thinking? Running off with a stranger? Do you have any idea what's happening out here?"

Edwin closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I just... I couldn't face it all. Not right then."

"Well, you're going to have to face it soon," Marcus said, his tone softening slightly. "The studio's in crisis mode. Your parents are worried sick. And Laura... well, she's handling the press for now, but she needs to hear from you."

The mention of his fiancée sent a fresh wave of guilt through Edwin. "I'll call her soon, I promise. I just need a little more time."