Page 152 of Tangled Kisses
My heart seizes. Vander’s mother never approved of me. But maybe—just maybe—I could’ve reached her.
“When can I expect to see them?” My voice cracks.
“The holidays.”
The air leaves my lungs. Three months. I could be locked in that bedroom upstairs for three months.
Vander leans close, his voice low and cutting. “We’re playing by my rules.”
“I don’t know what your game is.” The words are hissed and frantic, matching the pounding in my ears.
“Exactly.”
His hand clamps down on my arm, hard enough to make me wince. “You’re hurting me.”
His breath brushes my ear. “You don’t know what pain is.” Then he releases me, smoothing the fabric of my dress as if nothing happened.
But before I can step back, his hand darts up, gripping my chin between his fingers, forcing my gaze to his.
“Don’t get any ideas, Reese. You’re in the lion’s den. And I’m not afraid to eat you alive. I have guards in every corner, eyes on you at all times. One wrong move and…” His thumb drags across my lip, cruel. “You wouldn’t want your little whore to get hurt, would you?”
My stomach knots, but my mind clings to the only thing that steadies me—my darling Griffin. The man I dream about in fitful sleep. The man I pray I might belong to in a different world.
“Now go,” Vander orders, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Don’t bother me again tonight.”
I stand frozen as Vander melts back into the crowd, laughter and chatter swallowing him whole.
I have no phone. No wallet. No allies. No one to call. That leaves only one choice.
I have to escape.
My gaze flicks toward the front door. Too obvious. Too many eyes, too many guards. I’d be caught before I touched the handle.
The back terrace glitters with fairy lights and clusters of guests, their laughter rolling like waves. But beyond it, the drop is two stories onto cold concrete. Even if I landed in one piece, the place is crawling with security. And the beach—God, I’d never make it past the sand before they dragged me back.
I sip my vodka, pretending to mingle as my eyes sweep the room, but I feel the guards’ eyes tracking me. They’ve been told I’m a liability. I know it.
Think, Reese. Think.
I rake through memories of this house, every corner where I used to disappear when the charade got too heavy. The library. The sitting room. And then—my heart kicks. The study.
A tiny little room tucked at the back of the east wing, where I’d curl up with a book when the parties became too much, when the whispers and the stares cut deeper than the champagne bubbles ever soothed. A forgotten corner of the house.
And the balcony—no, not even a balcony. A Juliet, barely wide enough to stand on, with its delicate wrought-iron railing. But the drop is nothing. Six feet, maybe. Easy.
If I could just slip out that window, I could climb into the neighbor’s yard, vanish before anyone noticed. It’s not a plan. It’s a prayer. But it’s all I have.
I set my untouched glass on a passing tray and move through the throng, head held high as if I belong here, as if my skin isn’t crawling and my heart isn’t screaming.
Because if Vander was right, if betrayal is unforgivable to a man like him, then staying means death. Whether immediate or in tiny incremental doses, I can’t be sure.
The study is exactly as I remember it—tucked away at the far end of the hall, quiet as a mausoleum while the party hums behind me. My heart hammers as I ease inside.
The balcony doors gleam in the moonlight. My fingers fumble at the handle.
It turns. The door swings open a few inches, and the night air rushes against my face.
“Thank God.” The whisper rips out of me. Salvation. Six feet, maybe. I can do it. I can?—
