Elara's POV
I forced my way through the crowd, pushing past flashing cameras and trembling guests until I reached the exit. My chest was tight, my breath quick.
What happened tonight was enough to scare the hell out of Camila. And I didn't even have to try too hard.
Stay alive, bitch, don't die yet - I thought with a smirk. The worst is yet to come.
Before I could reach the door, I collided with someone — hard chest, warm body — and fell flat on the marble floor. My bag slid a few feet away. I snatched it up quickly, ready to bolt, when a hand appeared in front of me.
"Here," the man said.
I looked up.
Sharp suit. Neat undercut. Cool eyes.
And damn — he was beautiful.
"I'm Liam," he said, his voice smooth as sin, still holding my hand like it belonged to him.
For a second, I forgot why I was even running. My pulse skipped, but I quickly pulled my hand back. Without a word, I turned and walked away.
He frowned, but I didn't care. It wasn't arrogance — just survival.
But before I could leave, I realized something was wrong.
Guards had blocked the main entrance, checking every single guest before letting them out.
Panic stirred in my chest. I scanned the room, searching for another way. That's when I spotted a man wheeling a clothing rack backstage.
Perfect.
I hurried to him and slipped a few bills into his hand. "I need a dress and that purple wig," I whispered.
He looked at me, confused. "I'm sorry, miss, it doesn't work that way—"
But I was already pulling the wig over my head. My makeup smeared as I messed up my own face — deliberate, chaotic — to make recognition harder.
By the time I reached the guards, my heart was pounding in my ears.
"You with the purple hair — wait," one of them said.
I froze , turned around slowly and looked at him.
He looked at the picture on his phone, then at me without blinking. For a heartbeat, I was certain I'd been caught.
Then he frowned. "What happened to your face?"
I let out a small laugh. "Oh... my face, It's the new viral look — trending makeup for high-end shows. You know, avant-garde stuff. No one can afford this kind of look except elite designers."
He finally blinked, shrugged, and waved me through.
I smiled, calm on the outside — chaos on the inside — and walked to the parking lot.
Inside my car, I yanked off the wig and looked in the mirror.
"Holy shit, Elara," I muttered, laughing. "You look like a clumsy clown from the '80s."
I wiped the smeared paint off my face, started the engine, and drove out of the gala.
*******
The streets of California blurred past. My thoughts were a storm.
A dark car followed behind me.
"Ian," I whispered bitterly.
I pressed harder on the accelerator, weaving through traffic and cutting down a narrow side road.
I wasn't the same frightened girl he'd married five years ago - the one who trembled at the ignition and begged someone else to drive because she was terrified she'd kill an innocent with her lousy steering. "I don't want this, babe..." I'd said. Fuck! Those words crawled under my skin and burned like acid in my skull.
"Not this time," I muttered. "Even if I have to drag you to hell myself, Ian, I'll make you pay with my last breath. "
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
Pull yourself together, Elara. They're the ones who wronged you.
When I checked my rearview mirror again, his car was still there. Persistent bastard.
I swerved onto a rough side road leading toward a small town and parked in front of the first house I saw.
Heart hammering, I ran to the door and banged hard. "Help! Somebody, please help me!"
A woman opened the door, wearing a white robe, her hair straight and loose down her back.
"Please," I panted, "someone's following me."
"Should I call 911?" she asked, startled.
"No. Just let me hide. If he comes, tell him you live alone — he'll leave."
She hesitated but finally led me into a small empty room.
Moments later, Ian appeared at the doorway. My heart nearly stopped.
And then—
"You again?" the woman said sharply. "Stalking me in the middle of the night? You refused to take my number earlier and now look at you, that ugly face at my doorstep"
My face scrunched in confusion as I peeked through the crack in the door, watching their little drama unfold. The woman folded her arms and scoffed. "I thought moles couldn't see at night, but look at you - forcing your half - blind self to stalk me all the way home. Should I clap or call animal control?"
I froze. Wait. That voice…
She was the same woman from the gala — the one Ian had mistaken for me earlier.
"I— I'm sorry—" Ian began.
But the woman slapped him. Hard.
Ian's face darkened, shock flickering in his eyes. He wasn't used to being humiliated.
"You're going to explain this to the police," she snapped. "Breaking into my house while I'm naked? Are you insane?"
"You wouldn't dare," Ian said, his voice low and sharp.
"Try me," the woman shot back, arching a brow with a smirk that could cut glass.
She picked up her phone, dialing. Ian's jaw clenched — then he turned and stormed out, red-faced. "Wow... such a drama I just enjoyed this evening."
I waited until he was gone before stepping out of hiding.
"Thank you," I said, smiling.
She crossed her arms. "Glad I could help that retard get what he deserves."
I chuckled softly. "Trust me, he deserved worse."
As I stepped outside, someone grabbed me and pulled me into the shadows, a hand covering my mouth.
I struggled until I looked up — and froze.
Liam.
The man from the gala.
He slowly let go. "Don't scream," he whispered.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I hissed.
Before he could answer, he nodded toward the street. Ian stood beside his car, scanning the area.
Liam's voice dropped to a whisper. "You're welcome. I just saved your ass."