Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO-Chapter 72: Don’t Run

ELIZABETH HERALD

Blake’s grip on my wrist was firm, his thumb pressing into my pulse point like he could measure the riot beneath my skin. Don’t run. As if I hadn’t spent half my life doing exactly that.

I yanked my arm free. "I’m not running." Liar.

His jaw ticked. "Then stay."

The fire crackled, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable. The taste of him still lingered on my lips—whiskey and something darker, something that made my knees weak. But Blair’s words slithered between us like poison. Rehab. Psychiatric facility. Crazy.

I backed toward the door. "Your guest just outed my entire tragic backstory. Pretty sure that kills the mood."

Blake moved faster than I expected, caging me against the bookshelf again. His voice dropped, rough as the spines digging into my back. "You think I care about any of that?"

"You should."

"Why? Because your sister thinks she can scare me off?" His breath warmed my ear. "I don’t frighten easily, Elizabeth."

My traitorous body arched toward him. "Blake—"

A shrill ring shattered the tension. His phone, vibrating on the mantel.

He exhaled sharply, forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat before pushing away. "I have to take this."

I slumped against the shelves, dragging air into my lungs as he snatched the phone. "Carter."

The voice on the other end was muffled, but Blake’s posture went rigid. "When?" A pause. "I’ll handle it." He hung up, fingers tightening around the device.

"Trouble?" I asked, because the alternative was acknowledging how badly I wanted him to kiss me again.

His gaze flicked to me, assessing. "You could say that."

"Let me guess. Another crisis only the great Winston Carter can solve?"

A humorless smile. "Something like that." He pocketed the phone. "I have to go."

"Of course you do." I pushed off the shelf, straightening his stupidly oversized shirt. "Wouldn’t want to keep your adoring public waiting."

He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "This isn’t over."

I wrenched away. "It never even started."

Twenty minutes later, I was in the mansion’s kitchen, raiding the fridge like a woman possessed. Blair’s little performance had left me raw, and nothing soothed existential dread like cold pizza and spite.

"You’re going to ruin your digestion."

I nearly dropped the slice. Sebastian. Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking like he’d stepped out of a villainous boyband.

I took a deliberate bite. "Go away."

He sauntered closer, snagging a grape from the fruit bowl. "Blake left in a hurry. You two have a fight?"

"None of your business."

Sebastian’s grin was all teeth. "He’s not the hero you think he is, Lizzie."

"Did you just call me Lizzie?" I fake-gagged. "I’d rather gargle bleach."

"Cute." He flicked the grape at me. It bounced off my forehead. "But you should know—Blake’s got secrets. The kind that bite."

I grabbed a knife from the block. "Sebastian."

He paused, eyebrow raised at the blade in my hand. "Yes, darling?"

"If you’re fucking with me, I’ll skin you and use your hide as a bathmat."

He laughed, bright and unhinged. "Oh, I like you." Then he was gone, leaving me with cold pizza, a knife, and too many questions.

***|***|***|***|***

The moment I stepped through the front door of Herald Manor, I knew I was walking into an ambush.

The foyer was too quiet. No maids bustling about. No classical music drifting from the parlor. Just the heavy tick of the grandfather clock and the scent of Estelle’s signature jasmine perfume clinging to the air like poison.

I toed off my shoes—Blake’s shoes, borrowed after mine had mysteriously vanished from his foyer—and braced myself.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Giselle.

My half-sister leaned against the staircase railing, her designer silk robe artfully draped to show off her legs, her blonde waves perfectly tousled as if she’d just rolled out of bed—or someone else’s. Her smirk was razor-sharp.

"Morning, sis." I dropped Blake’s shoes onto the marble with a deliberate thud. "Miss me?"

"Like a migraine."

I moved to brush past her, but she sidestepped, blocking my path.

"Where’s your dignity, Elizabeth?" Her voice was saccharine. "Or did you leave it in Winston Carter’s bed?"

I rolled my eyes. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Giselle."

Her manicured fingers dug into my arm. "You embarrass this family."

I wrenched free. "Funny, I thought that was your job."

A door clicked open upstairs.

Estelle.

My stepmother descended like a queen surveying her execution block, her ice-blonde hair coiled into a flawless chignon, her cream blouse buttoned to the throat. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

"Elizabeth." Her gaze flicked over me—Blake’s wrinkled shirt, the sweatpants rolled at my ankles, the hickey I’d definitely not noticed until now. "How... predictable."

I crossed my arms. "You summoned me back just to bitch about my love life? I’m touched."

Estelle’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "We don’t summon strays, dear. We put them down."

Giselle snickered, trailing a finger along the staircase banister. "Did you really think a man like Winston Carter would keep you?" She fake-pouted. "Oh, Bets... did you forget? Men like him don’t marry damaged girls."

The word damaged hit like a slap.

I clenched my fists. "At least I don’t buy my boyfriends."

Giselle’s face flushed. "You little—"

"Enough." Estelle’s voice sliced through the room. She stepped closer, her French-tipped nails tapping against her forearm. "Elizabeth, your behavior is unacceptable. Spending the night unchaperoned? With that man?"

I scoffed. "What century are you living in?"

"The one where reputation matters." Her eyes turned glacial. "Or have you forgotten what happened last time you disgraced this family?"

My stomach lurched.

Last time.

The gala. The pills. The fall.

I forced a smirk. "Aw, Estelle. You do care."

Her hand shot out, gripping my chin. "I care about this family’s name. And you will fix this."

I jerked back. "Fix what?"

Giselle’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and grinned. "Oh, this is perfect." She turned the screen toward me.

A gossip site. A blurry photo of me stumbling out of Blake’s car this morning, his jacket draped over my shoulders.

"HERALD HEIRESS’S SHAMELESS NIGHT WITH BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY"

My blood ran cold.

Estelle sighed. "And so it begins."

Giselle twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Daddy’s furious."

"Daddy can choke," I snapped.

Estelle’s slap came out of nowhere.

The crack echoed through the foyer. My cheek burned, but I refused to lift a hand to it.

"You will apologize to your father," she hissed. "You will issue a statement denying this filth." She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "And you will stay away from Winston Carter."

I laughed. "Or what?"

Estelle’s smile was venomous. "Or we’ll remind the world exactly why you were in rehab."

I stilled.

She knew.

She knew about the pills they’d planted in my bag. About the "overdose" that never happened.

Giselle giggled. "Blackwater’s got a lovely padded room with your name on it, sis."

The walls closed in.

I was outnumbered. Outmaneuvered.

Again.

Then—

The front door burst open.

All three of us turned.

Blake stood in the doorway, his suit immaculate, his expression lethal.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, voice like ground glass. "But I believe this belongs to Elizabeth."

He held up a single black stiletto—my shoe, the one missing from his mansion.

Giselle’s jaw dropped.

Estelle’s face went pale.

And I?

I grinned.

The silence in the foyer was so thick I could taste it—metallic and sharp, like blood on my tongue.

Blake didn’t move from the doorway, the morning sunlight haloing his broad frame, casting his shadow long and dark across the marble floor. His fingers dangled my stiletto carelessly, as if it were a mere afterthought, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked onto Estelle with the quiet intensity of a predator sizing up prey.

Giselle recovered first.

"Mr. Carter," she purred, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she slinked toward him. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Blake didn’t even glance at her.

Giselle’s smile faltered.

Estelle straightened, her manicured nails curling into her palms. "This is a private family matter, Mr. Carter."

"Is it?" Blake’s voice was deceptively mild. He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a click that sounded too much like a gun cocking. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re harassing Elizabeth."

Estelle’s lips thinned. "When is it your turn to discipline my stepdaughter? And I suggest you remember your place."

Blake laughed—a low, dangerous sound that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. "My place?" He finally looked at Giselle, his gaze raking over her with deliberate disdain before returning to Estelle. "Funny. I don’t recall taking orders from washed-up socialites."

Giselle gasped.

Estelle’s face went bone-white.

I choked back a laugh. Holy shit.

Blake closed the distance between us in three strides, stopping just close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. He held out the stiletto. "You forgot this."

I took it, our fingers brushing. His skin was warm, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"Don’t touch my people, or I’ll bankrupt the Witherstones today. So you better remember: Elizabeth is mine."

The words dropped like a bomb.

Even I froze, my pulse stuttering. What the hell?

Estelle dragged Giselle toward the staircase, but not before shooting me a look so venomous I felt it like a knife between the ribs.

I waited until their footsteps faded upstairs before rounding on Blake. "Are you insane?"

Blake stepped closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "You had two choices, Elizabeth. Let them destroy you—" His fingers brushed my waist, sending a shiver up my spine. "—or let me ruin them."

His thumb traced the bruise on my cheek—the one Estelle had left. His eyes darkened. "But this? This I’ll handle personally."

A door slammed upstairs.

Blake didn’t flinch. "Pack a bag."

"What?"

"You’re not staying here." His jaw tightened. "Unless you want to wake up with your stepmother’s hands around your throat."

I exhaled sharply. "You’re kidnapping me now?"

His smile was all teeth. "Call it a hostile takeover."

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