Lottie
My emotions were running on high. In the afterglow, I hadn’t thought about filtering my
words, but once they left my mouth I instantly snapped back to reality. Hunter lifted his head
from where he’d buried it in the crook of my neck. Over his shoulders, my leggings held my feet
together, a silly sight amid the sudden tension. He blinked down at me, his eyes darting
between mine.
He didn’t say a word. My eyes burned with every passing second. He stayed there, still as a
fucking statue, his cock getting limper by the minute inside of me.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake— “Lottie—” But I was already moving. I squirmed out
from under him, raking the bare parts of my body against the twigs and stones beneath me. I
pulled my leggings up, my nails tearing a hole in the calf from the urgency and fought my way to
my feet on unsteady legs.
Hunter sat there on his knees, his flaccid dick hanging between his thighs, his eyes trained
on me. “Lottie,” he tried again.
My throat was closing in. “Don’t,” I choked. The moment he made the move to get up, get
dressed and approach me, I turned. I ran. I’d told myself so many fucking times up until that
moment that running wasn’t what I was supposed to do, but fuck, running was the only thing I
could do. I needed space. I needed time. I needed to go back and pull those words back into
my mouth, erase them from history, and scrub them from the air.
“Wait!” I knew these woods like the back of my hand. He didn’t. I burst through the other
side, the open field back to my home an easy jog even in the mud. My eyes burned, my vision
blurred, but I didn’t let a single fucking tear fall. I couldn’t cry over him. I wouldn’t.
Slamming the back door open, I checked over my shoulder. No sign of Hunter. Who knew
how long it would take him to find his way out of there, and even then, I wasn’t going to talk to
him. I didn’t want to hear his excuses or his lamenting about how I never should have let it get
that far.
“Charlotte?” Dad looked me up and down. I couldn’t have cared less if he could gather what
I’d been up to outside. “I’m going to my room,” I said simply, the words barely managing to get
out. “Have you got him, Sarah?”
His nurse nodded to me. “Charlotte—” “Sorry, Dad,” I croaked, pressing a kiss to his
forehead before taking off for the stairs.
The tears finally came as I stood in front of the sliding doors of my closet. Flowing from a
shimmering gold hanger, was Mom’s wedding dress.
My knees slammed into the rotting old wood of my bedroom floor. Pain rippled from them,
but I didn’t care. I was numb but overflowing, tired and yet way too aware. I choked back a sob,
my nails scratching along the wood, my tears dripping down from the tip of my chin.
I couldn’t breathe. Dad must have had Sarah grab it from the attic while we were out. A
surprise, a gift, whatever its intention, it was doing me more harm than good.
Why doesn’t he want me? The thought hit me like a fucking train. Another sob wracked my
body, forcing me all the way down to the floor.
What would Mom think? I wrapped my fingers around the horseshoe necklace, needing that
little bit of comfort.
How did I let this happen? Never in a million years had I imagined falling for Hunter Harris. I
wished I could take it back, take it all back. That fucked up part of me that Jared had shaped
screamed at me, telling me I wouldn’t be in this situation if I’d just agreed to marry him.
Maybe fucked up me was right. Is this worth making Dad happy? I cried until my throat was
sore, until my eyes were so puffy I could barely see out of them. Twigs and leaves still clung to
me, and when I finally picked myself up off the bedroom floor and started to undress for a
shower I desperately needed, I found them in far too many places. I peeled each leaf from my
skin, the veins and ripples leaving little, pretty indents.
But there were also finger-shaped bruises on the backs of my thighs. A harsh reminder.
A text from Dana illuminated my phone in the waning daylight. I grabbed it as I made my way
into my ensuite and turned on the shower.
Have you seen this?? She’d sent a link to an article that had been published no less than
five minutes ago. Hunter Harris and Charlotte Hammersmith: A Modern Day Arranged
Marriage?
I nearly dropped my phone. It had to be Hunter. What the fuck had he leaked? And why? Did
he think this was enough to teach me a lesson to not fall for men like him, or was it just to put
that inch of distance between us?
A way out of the deal. That had to be it. If not that—if not him—then what, or who fucking
else?