I sat in Dad’s office while he signed the agreement that I would become an Oakridge. I was a pawn in a game I had no experience playing. They all saw me as a little girl—innocent and stupid—yet they didn’t realize I’m as intelligent as they are. I knew how to do my homework—I would snoop into my father’s documents, read up all I could, and I taught myself what the business my dad dealt in truly was.
He had friends in bad places. They weren’t the average businessmen you saw walking into high rises in the city. They were the men who hid in the shadows until nightfall to take what wasn’t theirs to take.
I pick up the mug I set down earlier, taking a sip of the now-cold coffee. I can’t tear my gaze away from the computer screen, yet I’m zoning out, thinking back to all those times I found more and more information on what my father was doing.
When he got arrested, I wasn’t angry because I knew he wasn’t a good man. Anyone who works with Herbert isn’t good. But this stranger, he’s not like them. Then again, I don’t know if I can trust my gut right now.
SB: I want that, but . . . It’s only been two days. I wanted to see your face to know who you are. Is that so wrong since you know who I am? I’ve grown up around bad men, but when I was with you, near you, I didn’t get the feeling you were all that bad. Why do you persist on warning me away from you? I may only be twenty, but I’m far from stupid. I had to grow up fast, and I have a feeling you know more about that than you’re letting on. If you know so much about me already, you’ll know I’m hiding. I’m running from my past. But then again, so are you. Aren’t you?
I hit send, unsure what he’s going to say to that, but I want the truth. If he can’t give me that, then this ends right here. Confusion settles in my mind. I sip the coffee, wincing at the coolness of it, but I don’t get up to heat it or grab a new mug. Instead, I sit and watch the screen until the ding sounds.
BP: I know more about running than most. And yes, I do know you’re hiding. The question is—why would you trust me when you’re running from a man? What if I’m working for him? What if I hurt you, physically? I want nothing more than to steal you away, Beauty. I’d like to take you to a place where no one will ever find you, but the moment I do that, you’re putting your fragile life in my hands. Is that something you can live with?
He’s right. He still could hurt me, kill me even. But that would happen the moment Herbert walks in here and takes me anyway. A man like that won’t accept that a woman doesn’t want him. He’s ruthless, but I have a feeling this man, this stranger, is not the same. I can’t explain what I feel for my Broken Prince.
SB: Then, I’ll take my chances with you rather than him. You don’t understand the danger my life is already in. You may know things about me, but you can never fathom the perils I could face if these people find me. Do you work for him? Perhaps. Would you kill me? Maybe. But you had the chance only hours ago, yet you didn’t take it. Why is that?
I hit send before I get up and head to the kitchen. I’ve done stupid things before, but this is by far the most intense of them all. Since running away, I’ve been careful about who I contact, knowing anyone could be working for the Oakridges.
I wish I had someone to call. Someone I could trust. But there’s no one in my life. My father made sure I was alone, and when I left, I walked out with nothing except the money Herbert didn’t know about.
If my father ever did one good thing in his life, it would be that. The message I’ve been waiting for comes through at that moment, and I settle on the sofa, pick up my laptop, and set it on my crossed legs.
BP: I had a chance to do a lot, but I’m not that kind of man. When I take you, it will be because you want it. I’m worried that you’re walking into this with your eyes closed because you think you know what bad men do. Maybe you do, but you have to take care of yourself. Think about the future rather than the need you have right now. If I were at your door right this minute, would you run, Beauty?
I ponder this. I’m very aware that this is dangerous, yet I can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know this man. More so than I already do. But I don’t respond just yet, I shut my laptop and curl up on the couch with my blanket and close my eyes. It’s dark out, and today has been tiring. My eyes flutter, and a familiar shiver trickles its way down my back.
I startle awake, a noise drawing me out of dreams of a faceless stranger. I blink once, twice, and by the third time, I open my eyes to find I’m still on the couch. But the curtain is blowing in the early morning breeze, causing me to shiver.
The sun is just about peeking over the horizon, and the sky is a strange purple-orange blend of shades. Furrowing my brow, I push off the cushions and head to the window, shutting it with a loud thud.
My heart catapults when I see a shadow moving from the building, where the fire escape ladder squeaks, as the figure races down the road. I can’t make out who it is, but I have a feeling it’s someone I know. Perhaps not personally, but I know him better than he thinks.
I head into the kitchen once the window is latched and flick on the Keurig machine. Setting the mug under the drip, I look out the kitchen window and stare at the gray clouds fighting their way in front of the rising sun.
I think back to last night and the message from the stranger. I wonder what his name is. He hasn’t told me that. And I figure I need to ask him again. When I brought it up before, he brushed it off, refusing to answer my question, yet he knows who I am.
In the living room, I grab my laptop and set it on my desk before settling into my chair. Opening the lid, I turn it on and log in. I open my emails first, finding one from my lecturer asking about my assignment. I’m falling behind, and I blame my intrigue on the stranger. Once I’ve responded asking for an extension, I allow my Word app to open while I tap out the website address I’ve wanted to visit since I first logged in.
The moment my profile blinks on, a messenger window opens, and I see he’s online. My heart thrums against my ribs, reminding me of why I’m awake so early. The noise, the window, and the shadowy figure racing from my apartment building.
BP: Good morning, Beauty.
I smile at the name that he’s taken to calling me, but then a frown mars my happy face.
SB: Were you at my window this morning?
BP: Cutting right to the chase? I like it. Yes, I was.
Again, my heart attacks my ribs. Did he break into my apartment?
SB: Why? You woke me up with a noise. Did you mean to?
BP: I didn’t. I like watching you sleep. Do you remember the first time I told you about my desires?
SB: Yes.
BP: Well, one of them is watching you sleep. I . . . I have an affliction. I’m not sure where it comes from, or why I feel it, but when I see a woman asleep, unconscious, it turns me on.
SB: So, you’re stalking me and watching me sleep while you’re . . . turned on?
BP: Long answer or short answer?