I chewed my lip, rigging a rope from shredded bedsheets in Ethan's Hamptons bathroom.

Time to bail—full-on fugitive mode, no regrets.

I slid down the second-floor window, palms burning, heart pounding like a drum.

Outside, security cams blinked red, stalking every move.

I hugged the wall, muttering, "If that psycho catches me, I'm diving headfirst! He's no warden—I'm no prisoner!"

Almost to the ground, moonlight snagged a figure.

Ethan, bathrobe loose, leaning on an oak tree.

Chiseled danger in the dark.

It's 4 a.m.

I'm shivering like a leaf in the wind in the dark.

He stepped closer, steaming mug in hand, hair a mess.

Eyes heavy like I'd dragged him out of bed. 

"So, babe," he purred, voice low and lazy, "where you headed?

I froze mid-rope, plastering on a grin. 

"Sleepwalking. Family glitch. Climbing back now."

I scrambled up, panting, sweat dripping like I'd run a marathon.

By the time I hit the window, he was there—

lounging against the frame like he owned the night.

He snagged my arm, yanking me in hard.

I stumbled, my hand brushing his abs as his robe gaped.

My face flared, fingers buzzing.

I jerked back, diving under the covers.

'Night!' I mumbled, voice muffled.

The mattress sank. 

He leaned over, breath hot and ragged.

"Sophie, pull that again, and I'll chain you to this bed," he warned, voice low.

My heart skipped.

threat or tease?

The lights flicked off, his footsteps fading.

I peeked out, fanning my cheeks. 

"Bring it, psycho," I hissed under my breath.

***

Next day, word dropped—full-coverage cams in the backyard. 

Great! Plan B it is.

After lunch, Ethan was buried in calls, my room still a cage.

I hit the balcony, eyeing the next one over.

Deep breath—I gripped the drainpipe, climbing fast, sweat sliding down my neck.

If he nabs me again, I'll deck him! I've got real-world moves—this climbing crap's nothing!

I landed, grinning wide—until I saw him.

Ethan stood inside, phone to his ear, rubbing his temple.

His glasses sat crooked, face pale as ash.

"Handle it," he rasped, hanging up.

He locked eyes with me, grip tightening, breath hitching hard.

My stomach flipped.

Caught.

I rubbed my nose, faking a laugh. "Knew I'd track you down here, huh?"

He ripped off his glasses, lips curling like a cat with a cornered mouse. 

"Oh? What's my girl want now?"

I jutted my chin, beaming fake-sweet. 

"Just checking in. Bad dream—making sure you're alive."

He yanked me inside, dragging me to his desk. 

I stiffened, pulse spiking.

The laptop blared—KingTech stock soaring.

System chimed, "Target assets: $350 mil."

"See that?" he sneered, "Alexander's thriving without you."

I stared, gut twisting.

I'm supposed to drain him, you ass!

He paused, sliding his glasses back on, softening. "Island rent's yours soon, Sophie."

Door opens. James walks in, keys jangling, ushering me back to my "cell."

I trudged after him, rubbing sore arms, 

Where's Emma? This plot's flipping too faster than my jailbreaks.

***

Three days in, my brain's toast—no spark left.

James knocked, all proper-like, calling me down for dinner.

I shoved a bite in, smirking. "So, Ethan's been MIA today?"

"Mr. Blackwood's tied up in his office," he says, smooth and clipped.

I chewed slow, testing him. "With Emma Sullivan, maybe?"

"No comment, miss," he snapped back, icy but polished.

Gotcha—her again!

He paused, then added, "But, Miss Taylor, the young master's clean. You're the only woman he's ever brought here."

I narrowed my eyes, fingers drumming the table.

The second he turned, I struck—bam—a quick kick to his neck.

He crumpled like a ragdoll.

I brushed my hands off, grinning wide.

Got bullied as a kid, so I picked up some moves. 

Hated it 'til a chestnut-haired boy dragged me to lessons—his family had a coach.

Who was that kid anyway?

Screw it. 

Home's the only thing that counts now.