Chapter 5 A Reckless Escape

Ivy

"You came," Lucian said, his voice sounding not grateful.

He stood in the doorway of the holding area, looking at me like he didn't expect to see. I didn't tell him how fast my heart was beating, or that my hands were shaking.

"You asked," I said, trying to keep my voice flat, like I did this every day.

"I expected you to call my father," he said, stepping closer. He looked messy. His shirt was torn at the collar, and there was a dark bruise starting to bloom along his knuckles. He didn't look like a billionaire’s son. He looked like someone who had been looking for a fight and finally found one.

"You told me not to," I reminded him.

He stopped right in front of me, his shadow tall and heavy. He looked at me for a long time, scanning my face.

"Most people don't listen," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Especially not people like you."

"I'm not most people," I said.

The words came out before I could stop them. They sounded like something Zara would say... sharp, confident, and full of herself. But as soon as I said it, I felt a weird shiver.

"No," Lucian said, his voice dropping an octave. "I’m starting to think you aren't."

He started walking toward the exit, and I followed him. The air outside was cold, and the streetlights were buzzing with a low, annoying hum.

"The guy you hit," I said, catching up to him. "Why did you do it?"

Lucian didn't slow down. "He was talking. He has a big mouth and he doesn't know when to shut it."

"About what?" I asked.

He stopped suddenly and turned to face me. "He was talking about you, Zara. Or the version of you he thinks he knows. He called you a trophy. He said you were a decorative, silent little thing that Alistair bought to keep his bed warm and his house pretty."

He was watching my face while he said it.

"And that's why you smashed a glass across his face?" I asked, looking at his bruised knuckles. "Because he called me a trophy?"

Lucian let out a short, dark laugh. "No. I don't care enough about your reputation to go to jail for it."

"Then why?"

"He said it about my mother," he said, and his face went totally still. "He used the same words. He said she was just a pretty object my father used until she broke."

I went quiet. The air felt heavier all of a sudden.

"Oh," I said. It was the only word I could find.

Lucian looked at me... really looked at me. The "oh" seemed to surprise him. He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. "You’re not going to tell me I overreacted? You’re not going to give me a speech about how violence doesn't solve anything?"

"No," I said, looking up at him.

"Why not?"

"Because," I said, choosing my words carefully, "some things deserve a reaction. Some people only understand things when they’re hurting."

He stared at me for a long beat. "You’re a lot darker than you look, aren't you?"

I didn't answer that. Then he just turned and walked toward a black motorcycle parked at the edge of the lot. He didn't offer me a ride. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just put his hand on the throttle and waited. I looked at the bike, then at my high heels, then at the empty street.

"I'll get a cab," I said, already reaching for my phone.

"I'm not waiting for a cab," he said, the engine suddenly roaring to life. It was loud, and shaking the air between us.

"I didn't ask you to wait, Lucian."

He tilted his head, the helmet over his arm. "Get on, Zara."

I hesitated. Every instinct I had told me to run the other way. I was a girl who played it safe. I was the girl who stayed inside. I didn't get on motorcycles with dangerous men in the middle of the night. But Zara would get on that bike. Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I just wanted to see what it felt like to be reckless.

I walked over and climbed onto the back. My palms were wet with sweat. I didn't know where to put my hands, so I just sat there, stiff as a board.

"You might want to hold on," he said, his voice barely audible over the engine. "Unless you want to end up on the pavement."

I reached out and grabbed the sides of his leather jacket. I felt him go still for exactly one second. It was like he hadn't expected me to actually touch him. I could feel the heat radiating off his back, the solid strength of him under the leather. He felt like a wall, something that couldn't be broken.

Then, he took off.

The world turned into a blur of neon lights and cold wind. I gasped, my fingers digging into the leather, my chest pressed against his back. I was terrified. My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. Then... the fear started to change.

It was electric.

I realized then that I was holding onto a man who didn't even know my real name. And the scariest part wasn't the speed or the man. The scariest part was that I wasn't afraid of him. I was afraid of how much I liked the feeling of being someone else. I was afraid of how much I didn't want to go back to being the girl in the shadows.

The city lights blurred into a crown of fire as we sped down the highway. One thought kept spinning in my head, over and over, faster than the wheels on the road.

This is not Zara’s life. This is mine now.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, feeling the power of the bike beneath us. I was Ivy Carter, and for the first time in my life, I was moving too fast for anyone to catch me.

But as Lucian leaned into a turn, his body moving perfectly with mine, I couldn't stop the next question from surfacing.

What does Lucian Hale actually want with me?