Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“You left it open,” I snap. “It lit up with a message from some woman named Leslie. Said she missed your hands on her. Kind of hard to ignore that, Lance.”
His expression shifts—darkens.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he hisses. “You don’t get to question me like you’re some fucking innocent victim. Not the way you were throwing yourself at Reid tonight. You better be careful or I might just kick you to the curb. You’re lucky to have me.”
“Lucky?” My voice rises, now fueled by rage and disbelief. “You’ve been controlling, manipulative, emotionally abusive and now you’re cheating on me. And I’m supposed to be grateful?”
He slaps me.
It’s fast, a sharp, open-handed crack across my cheek that leaves my ears ringing and my skin stinging.
I stumble back in shock, hand flying to my face. For a second, I can’t breathe. He’s never struck me before. All his abuse since we got engaged has been verbal, often fueled by alcohol, but still present even when sober. I don’t know why it changed, but the minute I accepted his proposal, it’s like a switch flipped and he became a monster.
“I can’t believe you hit me,” I gasp, pressing my palm to the hot skin.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says, unfazed. “I barely touched you. Besides, you know better than to get me riled up. If you’d have just kept your mouth shut, none of this would have happened. In fact, if you’d have just acted like my fiancée around my brother, things would have been fine. This is all your fault.”
I stare at him in utter amazement. That he could look at me with a straight face and try to pin this all on me. My skin burns, but it’s the look in his eyes that turns my stomach—flat, unbothered, like what just happened is no big deal.
He turns toward the bathroom, tossing his jacket onto the bed. “I’m taking a shower. We’re not talking about this anymore.”
And somehow, that indifference is far scarier than the actual slap.
Lance disappears behind the door and the sound of running water starts a moment later.
I don’t think. I move.
I grab my small rolling carry-on from the closet, throw it on the bed, and start stuffing clothes into it—random, mismatched, whatever I can get my hands on. I came with a much larger case and many more garments, but I need to get out of here fast. My hands are shaking, my pulse thumping in my throat.
I zip the bag, grab my purse and shove my phone in my pocket. I’m walking out of the room in less than two minutes, abandoning most of my clothes, all my toiletries and the meek subservience I’d been giving my fiancé for the last several months.
The hallway is empty. The elevator dings open almost instantly, as if the universe is giving me one small mercy. I don’t even look over my shoulder, trusting in my gut that I’m going to make this escape without any issues.
Down in the lobby, I step into a quiet corner near the lounge and take a deep breath. Tears threaten to appear, but I blink them back. I don’t have time for a breakdown.
For a fraction of a moment, I second-guess myself and wonder if I’m acting too hastily. That was the first time he hit me—is that enough to walk away from an engagement?
My conscience pipes up. Wise the fuck up, Lara. The man has been emotionally abusive and unsupportive of you since the minute you agreed to marry him. It’s time to move the fuck on.
A small bubble of laughter escapes, as well as a fondness for that tiny sliver of the old Lara that just peeped through.
I quickly run through my options, the most obvious of which is to hightail it to a car rental agency and head home. I’d have the support of my parents, although it will be awkward, given that they’re best friends and business partners with Lance’s parents. I have no doubt they’ll support me, but this is going to cause major rifts.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I’m startled. I look down and see it’s a text from Lance. Where the fuck are you?
Shit. I can just imagine him now, towel wrapped around his waist and staring in shock at the mess I left behind. Clothes strewn all over the place and a missing suitcase. I figure I have about thirty seconds before he’s dressed and down here in the lobby.
I don’t hesitate. I grab my bag and bolt outside onto the street. A taxi sits idling and I open the door. I shove my suitcase in and follow it, looking through the window at the lobby entrance.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“Just pull away for now. Quickly, please.”
I’m sure it’s the fear and desperation in my voice, but he hits the gas and we zoom off. “I’ll just drive until you tell me where you want to go,” he says kindly. “Take your time.”