Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Her eyes narrow, searching my face for cracks in my armor. As a child, I know she would have caught onto my lies immediately, but now that I’m twenty, it’s a little harder for her to read me. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
I laugh, and it’s higher pitched than I intended. “Of course not. Where would I go?”
Her gaze lingers, and for a terrifying moment, I think she sees through me. “You look pale. Is something wrong?”
“No,” I say too quickly. Her brows lift in suspicion. I force myself to slow down. “I mean, no. I’m fine, really. Just nervous.”
She softens just a little and pats my arm. “Well, you’d better get used to it. This is just the beginning. Charles is a very important man, Sienna.”
Acid rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. “I know.”
“Good. Now go have a sip of water, and let’s get you back out there with your fiancé.”
I nod, murmuring something noncommittal, and quickly excuse myself. My legs are shaking, heels barely holding me, but I push forward. I briefly consider running upstairs and packing a bag, but my mother wasn’t fully convinced by my lies, I’m sure of it. If I’m going to leave, it has to be right now.
I ease the door open, slipping into the kitchen. It’s quiet here, the scent of roasted lamb and truffle oil is still strong in the air.
Freedom is just steps away.
Past the last door, the night air is warm and balmy. We have security cameras, but I think if I can slink behind all the parked cars, I’ll be unnoticeable. I crouch low, clutching my clutch against my chest. Every step toward the end of the driveway feels like a mile, my heels sinking slightly into the manicured lawn.
There it is—my car.
The sleek, silver Porsche Macan gleams under the soft glow of the driveway lights, a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. The memory stings now. Part of me wishes I could be a good daughter, but if I do exactly what they want, I’d never be happy.
My fingers fumble in my clutch for the keys, but finally, my hand closes around the fob, and I press the unlock button. The car beeps softly, the headlights flashing once. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. Did anyone hear that?
Nothing but the chirp of crickets.
I sprint forward, slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut as quietly as possible. When the engine roars to life, I feel lightheaded from how loud it is. If I’m caught now, they’ll never let me out of their sight until I’m legally Sienna Westfield.
I glance in the rearview mirror. The line of cars that hid me so well stretches out behind me, but frustratingly, there are two in front of me. Just two cars between me and freedom.
No choice. I’ll have to take the grass.
Taking a shaky breath, I grip the wheel and shift into drive. The Porsche lurches forward, and I turn sharply to the right, the tires rolling off the paved driveway and onto the pristine lawn.
“Sorry, Dad,” I mutter under my breath, wincing at the deep ruts I’m leaving behind in the turf.
The road is just ahead. I press harder on the gas, the car bumping and jolting over the lawn until, finally, blessedly, the tires hit the pavement.
I don’t stop. Not to check if anyone saw me, not to think about what I’m leaving behind.
I just drive.
The dashboard clock glows 12:07 a.m. as the miles blur beneath me. My eyes sting, heavy with exhaustion, but I keep going, pinching my arm when I feel too sleepy. I’ve driven for four hours. Four hours of white lines, headlights, and the endless pinging of my phone vibrating in my purse.
It hasn’t stopped since I left the party.
I glance at it now, sitting on the passenger seat like a viper waiting to strike. The sight of Charles’s name on the screen sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me.
I don’t answer. I don’t even touch it. Instead, I focus on the stretch of road ahead.
Finally, I see the sign I’ve been looking for over the last hour.
Rest Area – 1 Mile
Coffee. I need coffee.
I take the exit, pulling into the dimly lit rest stop. I park near the vending machines, cutting the engine. I reach for my purse, digging out my phone.
Oh my God. Forty-three missed calls.
“Jesus,” I mutter, scrolling through the notifications. Charles. My mother. My father. Over and over.
I hover over Charles’s name, my thumb dangerously close to the screen. What if I just...answered?
The memory of his hand on my arm—just a little too tight—flashes through my mind, and I shove the phone back into my purse. No. I made the right choice.
I slip out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement. I head for the vending machine, desperate for caffeine. I fumble for change, shoving a few coins into the slot and pressing the button for a coffee.