I close my eyes and let out a ragged exhale.
Hold on, baby. Just a little longer. I’m coming for you, and I’m not leaving without you.
The momentthe plane’s wheels kiss the runway, I’m on my feet. I don’t wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off. I don’t give a damn about the soft, polite voice over the intercom asking everyone to remain seated. I’m already grabbing for the overhead compartment when Maverick beats me to it, yanking my duffel bag free and tossing it at my chest.
“Suit up,” he says, grinning.
Reed moves in behind us, silent as ever, his bag slung over his shoulder like he’s walking into a wake. And honestly? If I don’t get to her in time, that’s exactly what this could fucking turn into.
We’re in a black SUV fifteen minutes later. Maverick pulled strings for the car, and I don’t waste a breath thanking him. My focus is locked on the dash, where the GPS glows with the destination I’ve burned into memory.
Ashby Estate.
I’ve stared at that address so long it’s etched into my brain. Every red light, every turn, every second feels like sand slipping through my fingers. I don’t register the glass towers or the billboards flashing things that don’t matter. All I see is the road ahead and the clock blinking mercilessly on the dash.
God, baby. Just hold on. I’m almost there.
The estate appears like something out of a designer fairytale—massive hedges, white roses lining the drive, and gold gates swinging open as the car approaches. Classical music floats through hidden speakers, soft and elegant, like the place is trying to lull everyone into silence while it strangles you with beauty. The second the wheels hit the driveway, I don’t wait.
I throw the door open before we’ve even stopped, and my boots hit the gravel with a hard crunch. The sun is brutal overhead, hot against my back, but all I see is the front entrance—and the two security guards standing just beyond it.
I’m running. Maverick’s beside me in seconds, matching my stride, his breath ragged but still finding room for commentary.
“You sure you don’t wanna try asking nicely first?” he pants between steps.
“Fuck no,” I snap, never breaking pace.
“Cool. Me neither,” he grins. “Was just hoping I could punch someone in a tux today.”
Behind us, Reed’s voice cuts through like calm steel. “Then keep moving.”
We hit the doors hard, slamming through the first set of glass, charging into the outer corridor. The sound of our boots echoes off marble as two security guards step forward, their hands outstretched like they think they can stop what’s coming.
“Sir, this is a private?—”
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I snap, my voice rough, nearly shaking with fury.
They don’t move.
Maverick steps in between us. “Look, I’d love to stayhere and debate protocol, but unless you want me to repaint this lobby in blood and regret, I suggest you move. Now.”
One of them reaches for his earpiece.
I lunge a step forward, teeth clenched, rage pulsing in every vein. “She doesn’t want this wedding,” I growl. “She’s being forced into it! If you keep me from her, I swear to God, I’ll tear this place down—brick by fucking brick!”
More movement draws my eye. Another guard rounds the corner. Then another. They fall into place like chess pieces, now standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the ballroom doors.
Music filters through from the other side, delicate strings floating above the disaster that’s unfolding.
The wedding march.
No. No. No.
I push forward, but one of the guards grabs my arm. I tear out of his grip and swing, my fist cracking against his jaw. He drops like a dead weight. Another lunges for me, but Maverick intercepts, slamming him into the wall with a grunt so forceful the mirror above the console table shatters on impact.
Voices rise—security radios crackle and somewhere down the hall, someone screams.
Reed bolts to the car, starting the engine, getting ready for our escape.
