Page 103 of Made for Reign

I half-expected security to block my exit, but the gates opened smoothly, allowing me to pass without incident. As the massive iron gates close behind me, something breaks loose in my chest—a knot of tension I’d forgotten was there.

I’m free. Finally, truly free.

The road stretches before me, empty and inviting in the afternoon sun. Cooper Heights falls away as I drive, the weight of expectations and family obligations diminishing with each mile.

When I’m certain I’m far enough from the estate, I pull into the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall—one of my dad’s development projects that stalled after his death. My headlights illuminate cracked concrete and faded storefronts, a forgotten place where no one will notice me. Perfect for what I need to do next.

I kill the engine and pull out the phone Reign gave me. My fingers hover over the keypad for just a moment before I dial the only number programmed into it.

He answers on the first ring. “Audrey.”

My name in his voice sends warmth cascading through me, chasing away the last chill of Lucille’s threats. “I did it. I told her the engagement is off.”

“How did she take it?”

“About as well as expected.” I lean back against the headrest, replaying the confrontation in my mind. “She tried the guilt trip about Dad’s debts and the company. When that didn’t work, she threatened to cut me off completely.”

Reign’s low growl of disapproval rumbles through the phone. “You don’t need her money or her approval.”

“I know.” And surprisingly, I do know. The threat that would have terrified me just months ago now feels hollow.

“Are you being followed?” Reign’s voice sharpens. “Did anyone track you leaving?”

I scan the empty parking lot, seeing nothing but shadows. “I don’t think so. I took the back roads like you said, and I haven’t noticed any headlights behind me.”

“Good. The plane’s fueled and waiting.” His voice softens again. “Just get to the airstrip. I’ll be waiting.”

“What if Lucille calls Gio? What if she warns him that I’ve ended things?”

“Let him try to stop us.” The dangerous edge in Reign’s voice should frighten me, but instead, it makes me feel protected in a way I never have before. “In a few hours, we’ll be gone from Cooper Heights. Just you and me.”

The promise in those words makes my throat tight with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, princess.” I can hear his smile through the phone. “Drive safe. I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends, and I sit for a moment, savoring the certainty in his voice, the solid foundation he offers when everything else in my life feels like quicksand. Then, I start the engine again and pull back onto the road, heading toward the mountain highway that will take me to the airstrip. To freedom.

As I drive, my mind fills with images of our future. Waking up beside Reign in Montana, sunlight filtering through cabin windows. Setting up my art studio, canvases blank and waiting for inspiration. Traveling together, seeing places I’ve only read about. Building a life based on what we want, not what others expect.

The possibilities feel endless, exhilarating.

In fact, I get so lost in these daydreams that I almost miss the flashing lights ahead. I brake sharply, my heart jumping into my throat as my headlights illuminate what appears to be a security checkpoint blocking the road.

Two black SUVs are parked at angles across both lanes, their headlights glaring into my windshield. This makes no sense. There shouldn’t be a checkpoint here—this is a county road, not a highway or border crossing.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I slow to a stop, mind racing. Is this routine? A drunk driving checkpoint? Or something more sinister?

I glance in my rearview mirror, thinking I might turn around, but my stomach drops at what I see. Two more black SUVs have appeared behind me, effectively boxing me in.

Men in tactical gear—not police uniforms, but something more military—stand beside the vehicles. No official markings. No patrol cars. Just black SUVs and men dressed entirely in black.

Gio. This has to be Gio.

An officer approaches my window, his face obscured by the harsh glare of the SUV headlights behind him. I lower my window just enough to speak, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

“License and registration, please.” His voice carries a faint accent I can’t quite place, but something about it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It sounds vaguely familiar.

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