<b>Chapter 213 </b>


    -MIA’S POV-


    My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.


    The apartment door mmed behind me. I pressed my back against it, chest heaving like I’d run a marathon. The quietness felt wrong. Too calm. Too still.


    I didn’t push her.


    I didn’t.


    The words yed in my head like a broken song. Celine had slipped. She lost her bnce. That’s what happened. That’s the only thing that happened.


    My phone buzzed in my purse.


    I jumped so hard I nearly dropped it. My fingers fumbled with the zipper. The screen lit up bright against my face.


    Eleanor Reid.


    I stared at the name. Why was she texting me now? After weeks of silence? After cutting me off like I meant nothing?


    I threw the phone onto the couch. Hard. It bounced once. I didn’t want to deal with Eleanor. Not today. Not when my world was falling apart.


    My legs felt weak as I walked to the kitchen. The fridge door felt heavy in my hands. Wine. I needed wine- lots of it.


    The bottle was cold against my palms. I twisted the cork free and lifted it straight to my lips. No ss. No pretense. Just me and the burn.


    My reflection caught in the microwave door. Hair wild. Makeup smeared. Eyes too wide.


    I looked insane.


    “This isn’t my fault,” I whispered to my reflection. “She should have let go. It was just a stupid ne.”


    My voice cracked on thest word. “She made it ugly. She made me fight her. All she had to do was give it back.”


    The wine tasted bitter on my tongue. Or maybe that was guilt.


    No. Not guilt. I had nothing to feel guilty about. If Celine got hurt, that was on her. She didn’t belong in Hunter’s world anyway. She was too weak. Too naive. Too…mon.


    My phone buzzed again from the couch.


    10 Vouchers.


    Eleanor. Still trying to reach me. I bit down on my thumbnail. What if Hunter found out I was at the mansion? What if someone saw me leave?


    What if–No. They wouldn’t talk. I paid them well enough. Ana especially. That woman hated Celine almost as much as I did. She wouldn’t say a word.


    My hands were still shaking when I picked up my phone to call my assistant.


    “Miss ckwood?” Her voice was crisp and professional.


    “Book me a flight,” I said, pacing back and forth across my kitchen tiles. “Switzend. Tonight.”


    A pause. “But the charity shareholder meeting tomorrow….”


    “Don’t ask me stupid questions!” The words exploded out of me. Too loud. Too sharp. “Just book the flight!”


    “Yes, Miss ckwood.”


    I hung up and pressed the phone against my forehead. The screen was warm against my skin.


    I needed to get away from New York. Let things calm down. Let the dust settle. When I came back, everything would be different. Better. Hunter would realize that Celine was never right for him.


    He woulde back to me.


    Augh bubbled up from my throat. High and breathless. <b>I </b>stripped off my dress right there in the kitchen. Let it fall to the floor in a silk puddle.


    “Alexa, y Happy,” I called out.


    The music filled my apartment. Upbeat and cheerful. Everything I wasn’t feeling but needed to pretend.


    I danced to the bathroom. Forced my body to move. To sway. To act like everything was fine.


    The shower water was burning. I turned it hotter. Let it burn my skin red. Scrubbed myself raw with a loofah until I felt clean again.


    Clean of today. Clean of what happened.


    When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in my silk robe. The fabric felt cool against my heated skin. I twisted my wet hair up and padded back to the living room.


    The music was still ying. Too loud now. But I didn’t turn it down. I needed another bottle. Something stronger this time. Champagne maybe. To celebrate my new n. My fresh start.


    The refrigerator light cast a yellow glow across the kitchen floor. I reached for the champagne on the top shelf.


    That’s when it happened.


    A hand mped over my mouth. Hard. Rough. Tasting of leather and salt. Another arm wrapped around my


    waist, yanking me backward so violently my feet left the ground.


    Before I could scream, rough fabric covered my head. A bag. Scratchy and smelling of motor oil.


    <b>10 </b><b>vouchers </b>


    I tried to fight. Kicked my legs. wed at the air. But my attacker was too strong. Too fast. Rope bit into <b>my </b>wrists. My ankles. Tight enough to cut off cirction.


    The music kept ying. Happy. Upbeat. Mocking. <fn6026> Original content can be found at </fn6026>


    I tried to scream but the bag muffled everything. My voice came out as weak whimpers. Footsteps. Heavy boots against my marble floors.


    The elevator chimed.


    My heart stopped.


    Who was this? How did they get in? Nobody knew my door code. Nobody except–A car door mmed. I was thrown inside like luggage. The engine roared to life.


    My body bounced against the seat with every turn. Every bump. The rope burned my skin. The bag made it hard to breathe.


    This couldn’t be happening. Not to me. Not to Mia ckwood.


    My father would find me. He had connections. Resources. Nobody touched his daughter and lived to tell about it.


    Unless this wasn’t about money. Unless this wasn’t random.


    The thought made my blood freeze.


    Hunter.


    His name echoed in my head like a death sentence.


    The car finally stopped. Brakes squealing. My door opened and hands dragged me out. My knees scraped against concrete. Sharp pain shot up my legs.


    I was carried like a sack of grain. Up stairs. Through doors. Then dropped hard onto cold floor.


    The bag was ripped off my head. I blinked against dim light. My vision cleared slowly.


    I was in some kind of restaurant. Empty tables. Abandoned chairs. The air smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and something else. Something dangerous.


    A voice cut through the silence.


    “Hello, Mia.”


    I looked up.


    <b>9:07 </b><b>Sun</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b>14


    10 vouchers


    Hunter Reid sat on a leather couch across from me. His shirt was wrinkled. His tie hung loose <b>around </b><b>his </b>neck. His hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it for hours.


    But it was his eyes that made me want to disappear.


    Cold. Dark. Empty of everything except rage. These weren’t the eyes of the man I loved. The man I’d dreamed of iming.


    These were the eyes of a killer.


    A ss of whiskey sat untouched on the table in front of him. He leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Staring at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe.


    “We need to talk,” he said.


    His voice was quiet. Controlled. Terrifying in its calmness.


    I tried to speak but only a squeak came out. Hunter tilted his head. Like he was studying me. Like he was deciding exactly how he wanted to destroy’me.


    The quietness stretched between us. Serious and deadly.


    I was going to die in this ce.


    And nobody would ever find my body.


    <b><i>AD </i></b>