Page 7 of Escape

“I’m tired,” she says finally, her voice too calm, too measured. “It’s been a long couple of days, and I just need some sleep. We can talk later.”

I open my mouth to say something, but she’s already moving toward her room, her steps quick, determined, like she’s running from the conversation.

“Mel—”

“I’ll clean up tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder, her hand already on the doorknob. “Goodnight, Owen.”

I scrub a hand down my face, fingers dragging over my skin. A heavy breath escapes me, my shoulders slumping with it. She’s shut me out before. She thinks she has to carry things on her own, that being fine is the only option. But I know she needs me. And I will be there for her, whenever she is ready.

Chapter 3

Mel

The bass thrums throughthe club, the beat pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat. Bodies move in a chaotic rhythm under the pulsing lights, sweat-slicked and uninhibited, lost in the music. I’m one of them, letting the sound take me, letting it drown out the noise in my head.

The guy I’m dancing with leans in close, his hands skimming the curve of my waist. He smells like some designer cologne, heavy and woodsy, the kind that clings to you for hours.

“You’re a great dancer,” he shouts in my ear so I can hear him over the music.

I flash him a coy smile, letting my body sway in time with his. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

It’s not true, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His hands drift a little lower, testing boundaries, and I step back just enough to send a message. He catches on, his grin faltering slightly before he recovers.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, gesturing toward the bar.

I shake my head, my smile firmly in place. “I’m good.”

Before he can press further, I slip through the crowd, the heat of bodies giving way to the cooler air near the bar. I slide onto a stool, and signal the bartender.

“Vodka tonic,” I say, sliding twenty quid across the counter.

As I wait, a shadow falls over me. I glance to my right and find myself looking up—way up—into the face of a man who could’ve walked straight off a romance book cover. Tall, dark, and handsome… well, it’s not the same cute tall, dark and handsome as Owen. This guy looks more like someone who tries too hard, but not bad, I guess. His sharp cheekbones and easy grin are designed to disarm, and he leans against the bar with the kind of confidence that screamsno woman can say no to me.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “I thought the most beautiful woman in here would be harder to find.”

My eyebrow arches, but I don’t look away. “You’ve got a hell of an opening line.”

He grins wider, unbothered by the sarcasm. “Is it working?”

I let my lips curve into a slow smile. “I’ll let you know in a minute.”

The bartender sets my drink in front of me, and I lift it, taking a sip as Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome watches me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You come here often?” he asks, leaning closer.

“Really?” I say, laughing softly. “You’re going with that one?”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” he says smoothly. “You want me to bring out the big guns?”

“By all means,” I reply, resting my elbow on the counter and leaning my chin on my hand. “Impress me.”

“Alright,” he says, his grin shifting into something more playful. “Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

I take another sip of my drink, keeping my expression neutral even as I cringe internally. “Bold move,” I say. “What’s next, a line about heaven and angels?”

“Only if it works,” he says, chuckling.

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