Chapter 3 The Bride That Vanished

I didn't sleep.

Not really. I just drifted in and out, curled under a motel blanket that smelled faintly of bleach and old smoke. My thoughts kept circling back to the church, to Rosa, to the way my heart clenched before I bolted through the side door and vanished into the night.

I blinked at the ceiling now, faint morning light seeping in through the crack in the curtain. I had no idea where I was. The motel was just a speck on a long stretch of road. Somewhere north, I guessed. Cassian had told the driver exactly where to take me, but I hadn't asked questions. I was too shaken, too focused on the sound of my heartbeat and the weight of the wedding dress bunched at my knees.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly. My whole body ached. I was still in the hoodie and jeans Cassian shoved in the duffle bag. The fabric clung to my skin from a cold sweat. I kicked the covers off, walked across the room on shaky legs, and stared into the mirror above the sink.

I looked like a ghost.

My red hair was pulled into a messy braid, but strands stuck out wildly at the sides. My hazel eyes were sunken, rimmed with red. The hoodie I wore was at least two sizes too big, but that worked in my favor. No one would recognize me like this.

I opened the duffel bag Cassian had packed. Inside, I found my locket, the one with the picture of Rosa. My heart clenched. I hadn't even told her I was leaving.

She must hate me.

No, I reminded myself, she wouldn't. Not Rosa. But she'd be scared. Confused. I closed my eyes and whispered into the silence, "Please be okay. Please." Then I grabbed the phone card and the notebook and left the room.

There was an old phone booth near the edge of the parking lot, its glass streaked with dust. I stepped inside, shut the folding door behind me, and tried the number Cassian had scrawled on the back of a napkin the night before.

It rang once. Then again. Then...

"The number you have dialed is unavailable at this time. Please try again later."

I hung up. Swallowed. Tried again. Same result. The motel clerk had told me the town was called Roscoe, just off Route 17. It sounded familiar, maybe from road signs during school trips. I was far enough from New York that I might not be recognized, but not so far that someone couldn't find me.

Back in my room, I changed into a clean shirt and tied my hair into a low bun. Then I tucked the notebook into my bag and walked toward the diner I'd spotted across the road.

The Roscoe Diner looked like something out of a vintage movie. Chrome trim. Neon lights. A red sign that flickered with the word "OPEN." Inside, the warmth and smell of fried eggs and toast hit me like a wave.

I slid into a booth near the window. The waitress, a tired-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes, gave me a nod. "Coffee?"

"Please. And... just toast."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions.

I kept my eyes low, fingers curled around the warm mug she brought. The local news played softly on the TV behind the counter. I didn't mean to look, but I couldn't help it.

"...mysterious disappearance of Elara West, who was set to marry tech billionaire Lionel Godfrey in a private ceremony yesterday. Sources say she vanished shortly before the ceremony began. Godfrey Enterprises has declined to comment."

My throat closed. On the screen, a grainy image of me in the wedding dress appeared, caught mid-laugh from a photo I didn't even know existed. The screen shifted to the church steps, the crowd, and the confusion.

I shrank into my seat.

The waitress didn't react. No one seemed to notice. Maybe they didn't care. Or maybe I just didn't look like the girl on TV.

I ate slowly, eyes scanning the window. Across the parking lot, a black SUV idled. It wasn't unusual. People passed through towns like this all the time. But something about the stillness of that vehicle made my skin prickle.

It wasn't there when I came in.

I paid quickly, left a tip I couldn't afford, and walked back to the motel with my heart hammering against my ribs. As I passed the SUV, I dared a glance at the window. The glass was tinted too dark to see through. No one got out.

Back in my room, I locked the door and drew the curtains.

I needed to think. To plan.

I flipped open the notebook and started writing:

What I know:

I'm in Roscoe, NY.

Cassian left me cash, a phone card, map.

What I don't know:

If Lionel is looking for me.

Who else knows I left?

Who was in that SUV?

I bit the end of the pen, then circled one word: wait.

I couldn't run forever. But I couldn't go back yet, either.

I needed a job. A place to lay low. A plan.

And I needed to find a way to talk to Rosa without putting her in danger. Cassian had promised to keep her safe. That had to be enough. For now.

But the stillness of the town wasn't comforting anymore. It felt... staged. Like something was watching me.

That night, I heard footsteps outside my door. Soft, deliberate. They paused, just for a moment. Then walked away.

My heart stopped. I pressed my back to the door, straining to listen. Nothing. Just the hum of the motel lights.

Maybe I was imagining it.

Or maybe I wasn't alone anymore.