Page 239 of Never Fall for an Angel

No, no, no . . . this can’t be happening.

Forcing myself to meet my own gaze in the mirror, my grey eyes are clouded. Alive with fear.

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

CHRISTIAN

Where the fuck is this place?” Levi asks, scanning the buildings around us.

I silence a call from Paulina on my phone and pull up the exterior shot we were able to find online. She’s called three times already, but I don’t have time for whatever bullshit is happening at the lodge right now. I know Mila’s safe. The last time I checked on her, she was getting ready in our bathroom.

“Jenning’s Paper Company,” I grunt. “It’s supposed to be right fucking here.”

My phone buzzes for the fourth time, and with a rough exhale, I give up, answering it.

“What?” I snap.

“Hello, Mr. Cross. My name is Mr. Trilliam. I’m the accounts manager over here at the Seattle Bank. Do you have a moment?”

“What is it?” I ask, irritation coiling inside me. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Of course. Your wife is here, sir,” he says, audibly wincing on the line. “Requesting to withdraw a sum of two million dollars from your shared account. Because it’s such a large sum of money, we need your authorization as well.”

My hand tightens around the phone. The blood rushes in my ears.

Levi, curious, peers over at me.

“Two million?”

“Two million,” Trilliam answers. “Sir . . . she’s a bit . . . frantic.”

I scrub a hand over my mouth, my eyes on the road in front of us, but I’m not really seeing it.

“Let me speak to her.”

“Sir—”

“I will pull every one of my accounts there immediately if you don’t let me speak to my goddamned wife.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Seattle Bank,” I tell Levi, who stares at me perplexed. It’s in the opposite direction of where we’re going. “Now,” I growl, and immediately, he pulls to the curb and flips the car around.

“Fuck,” Levi curses. “We’re more than two hours away.

“Your husband, Mrs. Cross.” Trilliam’s voice is muffled while he hands the phone to Mila. Silence greets me from the otherend of the line. There’s a barely audible intake of breath, and a visceral rage slides through me.

“Mila. What are you doing?”

“Christian . . .” she breathes, and I can hear the change in her voice.

Something’s wrong.

“Are you leaving me?”

I fucking hate the way the words taste like battery acid on my tongue. The desperation in my chest, knowing that there’s another person out there just walking around with my heart inside their chest and the ability to rip it to shreds at any moment.

“Mila, talk to me. What’s wrong? Was it last night?”

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