The Runaway Bride And The Disabled Billionaire

The woman's body slammed hard against the edge of the sofa. She let out a sharp cry, then stared up at Ana in terror.

"Talk." Ana's voice was soft, but it carried a cold edge. "Who told you to do this?"

Ana hadn't expected it either.

She had only come to an alumni reunion, and the person who had drugged her was her closest friend from university.

When she'd taken the champagne from Faye's hand, she hadn't even drunk it yet before something felt wrong.

She tilted the glass, letting the rim touch her lower lip. Her tongue darted out, catching a single drop.

Faint. Nearly lost in the champagne's sweetness, but it was there.

A bitter, chemical tang.

Her pharmacology knowledge surfaced. Benzodiazepine. Fast-acting. Mixed with alcohol, the effect would be overwhelming.

Faye flinched, her head bowed. She said nothing.

"Nothing to say?" Ana swirled the champagne glass in her hand. "Did the person who sent you mention that what's in here is a controlled substance? If I hand this to the police, you'll go to prison. A year minimum. Ten years maximum."

Faye's pupils contracted sharply. "Impossible! She told me it was just a mild sedative..."

Ana seized on the words instantly. "Who is she?"

Faye dropped her gaze and fell silent again.

Ana's eyes narrowed. She pulled out her phone. "911, I'd like to report-"

"Don't!"

Faye threw herself forward, clutching Ana's leg, tears streaming down her face.

"Please. Please don't call the police. It was Constance. Constance Kirk. She told me it was only a mild sedative. She said-she said she just wanted you to relax enough to agree to the engagement. I didn't know about the drugs. I swear. I didn't know."

Ana went very still. Constance.

Of course.

"And after you drugged me?" Her voice was level, cold. "What then?"

"The suite," Faye was sobbing now, the words coming out in broken gasps. "Take you to Cory Travis's suite. Top floor."

"She said your fiancé was waiting. She said it was for your own good. That once you were with him, you'd understand. That you'd stop fighting the marriage. Ana, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My mother is in the hospital. She needs surgery. Constance said if I did this, she'd cover the medical bills. I didn't have a choice. I'm sorry. Please don't call the police."

Ana's hands curled into fists. Her fingertips trembled-just slightly-before she stilled them.

Constance had gone to a great deal of trouble. The drugged champagne. The convenient hotel room. A fiancé waiting in the dark. All to force her into a marriage she would rather die than accept.

Faye wept into Ana's leg, her whole body shaking.

Ana looked down at her. This woman had been her first friend.

Before Switzerland. Before the years of silence from her father. Before she'd learned that trust was a currency no one in her world could afford.

And now here she was-sold out for hospital bills and a lie wrapped in good intentions.

Ana's face didn't soften.

She bent down, peeled Faye's fingers from her leg, and stepped back.

"Ana, please-"

The door closed behind her, cutting off the rest.

Ana's gaze was fixed on the glass doors leading back into the hotel.

Running wasn't an option.

Not anymore.

She was going to Cory Travis's suite.

The elevator ride was silent. Ana watched the numbers climb, her reflection a pale stranger in the polished brass doors. The fear from the terrace had burned away, leaving a cold resolve.

She found the suite easily. The door was ajar. An invitation.

A trap.

Instead of pushing it open, she retrieved a small, silver compact from her clutch and angled the mirror into the gap.

The reflection was clear. A spacious living area, all cream leather and dark wood. On the sofa, a man impatiently checking his Rolex. Cory Travis. Her "fiancé."

She took a slow, deep breath, tucked the compact away, and let her shoulders slump. She mussed her own hair and wiped all the hardness from her face, replacing it with confused vulnerability.

She pushed the door open and stumbled inside.

Cory's head snapped up. A greasy, triumphant smile spread across his face. "Ana, baby. You finally made it."

He moved toward her, arms open.

"Cory?" she slurred, her voice thick with a manufactured tremor. "I... I feel so dizzy. Faye said you were waiting."

She swayed, forcing him to adjust his path. As he reached for her, she sidestepped, letting herself fall away from his grasp and onto the arm of the sofa. The movement looked clumsy. It wasn't.

Her eyes scanned the room. Champagne bucket, two glasses. Dimmed lights. And on a bookshelf, a decorative porcelain vase angled just slightly downward.

A camera. Constance didn't just want her ruined; she wanted proof.

Cory was on her now, his patience gone. He loomed over her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath smelling of whiskey. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

His hands started to roam.

The moment his fingers brushed the strap of her dress, the vulnerable girl vanished. Ana's eyes snapped open, clear and cold. Her hand, which had been dangling limply, shot up.

It was holding a hairpin. A long, slender stiletto of polished steel.

The movement was too fast. One moment he was the predator, the next, the tip of that steel pin was pressed against the soft skin of his throat. It pricked the skin. A single, perfect drop of blood welled up.

Cory froze. His smile dissolved into shock, then fear. "Ana? What the hell?"

"Touch me again," she said, her voice a low, lethal whisper, "and I'll make sure you never speak another word."

His face paled. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Ana just smiled, a terrifying, empty smile. She applied a fraction more pressure. He flinched. She forced him backward, step by step, until the backs of his knees hit the sofa and he collapsed onto the cushions.

She leaned over him, the hairpin never wavering. Her gaze flicked toward the porcelain vase.

"Tell your partner in crime," she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "that she picked a decent camera angle. The lighting, however, is terrible."

The last bit of color drained from Cory's face. He knew.

Ana leaned in closer, her lips almost touching his ear. "My life is not a game. This is your only warning. Try this again, and you'll find out I am much worse than you can possibly imagine."

She straightened up, sliding the hairpin back into her clutch.

Then she walked to the bookshelf. She leaned in close to the vase, directly into the camera's line of sight, and gave it a bright, sweet, utterly menacing smile.

Her lips formed a single, silent phrase.

Watch me.

Without another glance at the man on the sofa, she turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

Cory sat paralyzed, his hand trembling as he brought it to his neck. His fingers came away wet with his own blood.

Miles away, Constance Kirk laughed as she raised a glass of champagne. Her mother, Veronica, smiled beside her.

"Now Ana will have no choice but to marry into the Travis family," Constance said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Veronica stroked her daughter's hair affectionately. "If the company weren't in crisis, I wouldn't have resorted to this."

After all, the Travises were a wealthy family. Marrying that bastard Ana off to them was practically doing her a favor.

A girl like her-daughter of some nobody-deserved a life of squalor, married to some drunk in a gutter.

But at least Cory Travis was a notorious playboy with no ambition. Even if Ana married in, she'd have no good days ahead.

Just then, the door slammed open. Preston Kirk stormed in, his face dark with fury.

"Where's Ana?"

Constance, hovering by the door, feigned a delicate gasp. "Daddy? What happened?"

Preston's head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowed. "Warren Travis's son was attacked tonight. Stabbed in the neck. Stabbed in the neck. By Ana. The Travises are threatening to pull out of the merger."

Constance's eyes widened in practiced shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "No! That's impossible! Ana wouldn't..."

"Don't play innocent with me, Constance," Preston sneered. "I know you arranged for her to be at his hotel. What kind of idiotic plan was that?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Daddy, I was only trying to help! For the family! I never thought she would be so violent!"

Preston paced the length of the Persian rug, his hands clenched behind his back. He wasn't buying it.

"Amateur," he spat. "You've put the entire deal in jeopardy." His gaze swiveled, finding its true target. "Where is she? Where is that goddamn bastard child?"

As if on cue, a soft knock came at the door. The butler, Arthur Finch, entered, his face impassive. "Sir. Miss Anastasia has returned."

A cruel smile touched Preston's lips. "Send her in."

Ana walked into the study, her head held high. The sight of her father's rage and Constance's triumphant smirk was suffocatingly familiar.

She was the Kirk family's bastard. An inconvenient secret.

From the time she could walk, Constance and Veronica had made her life a living hell-sharp words, sharper nails, cold dinners and colder stares. And her father? He had seen it all. He had never once intervened.

When she was thirteen, he had shipped her off to a boarding school in Switzerland. Twelve years.

Twelve years without a single phone call. Not one question about whether she was alive or dead, happy or broken.

Then, five days ago, his call had finally come. I'm dying, he had said. Come home. I need to see you one last time.

She had rushed back.

She had actually believed him.

Only to discover the truth: the company was bleeding money, and her father needed her to marry Cory Travis-a man whose name was synonymous with scandal, a predator who had left a trail of ruined women in his wake.

She was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

"What did you do to Cory Travis?" Preston roared. "Are you trying to ruin this family?"

Ana's voice was calm. "I defended myself against a man who tried to assault me. Was that wrong?"

"Defended yourself?" he bellowed, his face turning a blotchy red. "He is your fiancé! You are to be his wife! You had no right!"

A cold wave of disappointment washed through her. She had told herself not to expect anything from this man. She had told herself she was past hoping.

But still-still-the words cut deep.

"Perhaps you should ask your daughter what sort of 'situation' she orchestrated," Ana said, her gaze flicking to Constance.

"She's lying, Daddy!"

Preston didn't care about the truth. He cared about the consequences.

He jabbed a finger in Ana's direction. "You will go to the Travis estate. You will get on your knees and beg Cory for his forgiveness."

Ana's spine went rigid. She met his furious gaze without flinching. "I did nothing wrong. I will not apologize."

Her quiet defiance was a trait he despised. A lifetime of resentment boiled over.

"You will do as you are told," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "You will marry Cory Travis."

A bitter laugh escaped Ana's lips. "And if I refuse?"

Preston's face twisted. He took a step toward her, his large frame blocking the light.

"Then I will break your legs," he snarled, "and I will have you carried to the altar."

The air in the room grew thick and cold. Constance watched from the sidelines, a sick, excited smile playing on her lips.