Chapter 3 Nowhere To Run

I stood frozen, the folder still in my hands, while the air around us thickened like a storm about to break.

Cole's eyes locked on mine-not soft, not warm. Not the man who kissed me under the Madrid sky. This was someone else. A stranger wearing a familiar face.

He stepped forward. I stepped back.

"Christabel," he said, voice low, like a parent coaxing a frightened child. "You weren't supposed to see that."

My heart thundered in my chest. "What is this? What the hell is this, Cole? Who is D.B.?"

He didn't answer. Just stared at me like I was something fragile. Or something dangerous.

The folder slipped from my fingers, pages scattering like broken pieces of trust across the floor.

"You lied to me," I whispered. "Was any of it real?"

He hesitated.

And in that silence-I got my answer.

I turned to run.

He moved faster.

His hand caught my wrist-not rough, but tight enough to make my pulse spike.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said. "But you need to listen to me now, Christabel. He's not going to stop."

I yanked away. "Who?! Dave Blackwood? Is that who this is about? Is he behind this?"

"Lower your voice," Cole hissed. "You don't know what he's capable of."

"Then tell me! Tell me why he's watching me. Why he's watching us."

His jaw clenched. His eyes darted to the darkened corners of the room, as if someone might be listening. "Because you matter to him. And if he thinks you're a threat, he'll erase you."

"Why would I be a threat to a man I don't even know?"

Cole exhaled, like the words cost him everything. "Because he thinks he owns you."

I felt sick. Dizzy. The walls closing in.

"Let's run," he whispered. "Tomorrow. Meet me at the train station. I'll take care of everything. Just... don't let him get to you."

He reached out, gently brushing my hair behind my ear. I flinched.

"Please," he said. "Let me fix this."

My voice shook. "You were supposed to love me."

"I do."

And then he kissed me. Soft. Desperate. Like a man clinging to the last seconds of his life.

And for a second, I kissed him back.

Then I pulled away. "Don't follow me."

I walked out, feeling like I was leaving something broken behind-and dragging the sharpest pieces with me.

The next day, I stood at the train station. Bag in hand. Heart in pieces.

The platform emptied. Minutes passed. Then an hour.

He didn't show.

My phone was silent. No messages. No calls.

Only the loudspeaker echoing departures I wouldn't take.

Then I saw him.

Not Cole.

Dave Blackwood.

He stood on the opposite platform. Hands in his pockets. Perfectly tailored coat. Calm, unreadable face.

He smiled at me.

Chills ran down my spine.

He raised a hand like he was waving hello-or goodbye.

Then he turned and walked away.

And I knew.

I was alone.

Again.