Chapter 3 A STRANGER

As Charlotte slowly opened her eyes, the bright hospital lights pierced through her skull, making her wince. She tried to lift her head, but a sharp pain shot through her temples, forcing her to lie back down. Confusion clouded her thoughts. Where was she? How had she ended up here? Her mind was a jumbled mess, fragments of memories flashing before her eyes like a broken film reel.

Turning her head to the side, Charlotte noticed a man sitting on a chair beside her bed, his head resting on the mattress. His dark hair was mussed, and his piercing blue eyes were closed, as if he was exhausted. Who was he? Why was he here with her?

Panic set in as memories began to resurface. She remembered running, her legs pumping furiously as she tried to escape. But escape from whom? Nicholas Beckett, her supposed husband. The desperation, the fear-it all came rushing back. She had finally found the courage to run from him and his mistress, Mariah, who had joined forces to make her life a living hell.

But how had she ended up here? Charlotte reached out a trembling hand and touched the stranger's arm. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and their gazes met. Those piercing blue eyes captured hers, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

"Who are you?" she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Cyrus Kai, but please call me Cyrus," he replied, his soothing voice calming her frazzled nerves.

Charlotte tried to sit up again, but Cyrus gently pressed her back onto the pillow. "You should rest," he said, his eyes filled with concern.

But rest was the last thing on her mind. She needed answers. "What happened?" she asked, her mind racing with questions.

Cyrus's expression turned somber. "You ran into my car. You weren't watching the road."

Memories came flooding back-the sound of screeching tires, the impact, and then nothing. She remembered running away from Nicholas, and then everything went black.

Cyrus's eyes narrowed slightly, his brow furrowed in concern. "Is there anyone I can call for you? Family, friends...?"

Charlotte shook her head, feeling a pang of loneliness. "No, there's no one."

Cyrus nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away for a moment. Then, he turned back to her, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Well, in that case...would you like to stay with me for a little while? Until you're feeling better, I mean."

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. But something about Cyrus's kind eyes and gentle smile put her at ease. "Okay," she said finally. "Thank you."

Cyrus's smile widened, and he nodded. "Great. I'll make the arrangements. We can leave as soon as the doctor says it's okay."

Charlotte nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Maybe, just maybe, she had found a safe haven with this stranger, Cyrus.

"Thank you," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cyrus's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Don't mention it. I'll take care of you."

As he stood up to leave, Charlotte felt a pang of fear. What if she was making a mistake? What if Cyrus wasn't who he seemed to be? But it was too late now. She had agreed to stay with him, and she could only hope that she had made the right decision.

Finally discharged from the hospital, Charlotte gazed out the window at the vibrant city of Los Angeles as they pulled out of the parking lot. She had grown to love this city, with its eclectic mix of art, culture, and chaos. Born and raised here, she had always felt a deep connection to its energy. Her dreams of owning her own art gallery one day seemed within reach, despite the setbacks she had faced.

But for now, she focused on the present moment. She turned her attention to Cyrus, who was sitting beside her in the back seat of his luxurious car. His driver, Tommy, navigated through the crowded streets with ease.

When they arrived at Cyrus's house, Charlotte gasped in awe. The mansion loomed before them, its grandeur and beauty taking her breath away. Statues stood guard in the compound, and the perfectly manicured lawns stretched out like a green carpet.

"Welcome to my home," Cyrus said, smiling as he helped her out of the car.

Charlotte felt like she had stepped into a fairy tale, the kind where the princess lived happily ever after in a castle. But she wasn't a princess, and this wasn't a fairy tale. She was a woman on the run, seeking refuge with a stranger.

Cyrus showed her to her room, and she thanked him, his kind gesture a stark contrast to the danger she had faced just hours before. He told her dinner would be ready by 8, and she nodded, her mind already racing with plans to leave the city, to escape the Becketts and her parents. She would miss her little sister Chloé; she was all she had right now, her only family, her only friend.

As Charlotte lay down on the bed, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. She had to be careful, had to plan her next move carefully. She couldn't let her guard down, not even for a moment. But as she thought, her eyelids grew heavy, and slowly she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the day's events.

But her rest was short-lived. She woke up to the sound of a voice echoing in her room. "Cuba is ready," was what she heard. Confused and disoriented, she blinked in the dim light. And then she heard a soft giggle, and Cyrus's voice, clearer this time. "Dinner is ready, Charlotte."

Charlotte got up quickly, her heart racing, and followed him to the dining room. The smell of food wafted through the air, making her stomach growl with hunger. She was famished, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. Who was this man, really? And what did he want from her?

As they walked toward the entrance, she couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. Would she find solace in this grand castle, or would she discover secrets and dangers lurking within its walls?

As they sat down at the dining table, Cyrus tried to make small talk, asking her name, about her day, her interests, her life. But Charlotte remained guarded, cautious. She couldn't let him in, couldn't risk him discovering the truth. So she gave him brief, superficial replies, revealing nothing about herself.

"I'm Charlotte," she said.

"Just Charlotte?" he asked, with expectations but she didn't said anything, instead she nodded in response.

Cyrus didn't seem to mind, or maybe he was just being polite. He continued to chat, trying to draw her out, but Charlotte remained tight-lipped. She couldn't trust him, not yet. Maybe not ever.

But then, just as she thought they were going to get through dinner without any awkwardness, Cyrus asked the question. The one she had been dreading.

"Who were you running from that day I hit you?" he asked, his eyes piercing, his voice gentle.

Everything seemed to stop at that moment. Time froze. Her heart stopped beating. Charlotte felt like she was drowning, suffocating under the weight of her secrets.

She couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.

All she could do was stare at him, her eyes wide with fear, her mind racing with panic.