Chapter 2

Elena's POV  

My throat burned as I tossed to the side; my hands hit a warm body. I shook slightly, pushing open my eyes. I glanced around the unfamiliar room, trying to recall last night's occurrences.  

A stifled gasp escaped my lips, causing me to jolt backward. This wasn't my room; in fact, this wasn't my house. I ran my fingers through my hair as beads of sweat rolled down my temples. My eyes lingered on the body before me—smooth, sexy, hot! We were both naked.  

Heat flushed through my cheeks as I recalled everything: the divorce, the bar, getting drunk, and finally having sex with this man I hardly knew. My throat went dry, and a frown settled on my face. My heart was aching now. What have I done?  

I swallowed a lump, pulling myself away from his clutch. Gently, I bent, picked up my clothes, and whatever was left of my belongings in the room. I wriggled into my clothes and took slow, cautious steps as I walked out of the room, engulfed with shame.  

How could I have let myself make such a mistake—a one-night stand? That was far beneath me. I froze with my hand resting on the doorknob as he muttered some words in his sleep. Cold chills ran down my spine.  

I took one long, lasting glance at him. Caspian… that was his name. Sex with him was great. He understood me; he was gentle and loving. But I wouldn’t have to see him again. This was something I could never face.  

Pushing the door open gently, I bit my lip, drawing struggled breaths. It creaked before finally shutting closed. Perking up my ears, I listened for noise, a yell, for him to realize I had left. But nothing came—just brief moments of silence. He was still asleep. Good.  

Without further hesitation, I sprang across the floor, picking up my purse, which lay sprawled on the ground. I grabbed my heels in my hands before dashing out the main door.  

My heart sank, and my belly twisted in knots. Where would I go? I was divorced now, but I couldn’t wallow in self-pity. I had an urgent situation at the moment. The ache between my thighs was a reminder of last night’s foolishness.  

I pushed forward, running as fast as I could down his street and toward the road. I hailed a cab, my heart beating so loudly I could hear it through my eardrums.  

“Blue Quill Hotel,” I directed the taxi driver, opened the door, and settled into the car. Beads of sweat rolled down my temples, now gliding to my cheeks. My eyes closed shut as I relived the moment. It was over now. I didn’t need to see him or speak of it again. It was all a mistake—a night that never happened, I convinced myself.  

A startled scream escaped my lips as the driver suddenly pumped the brakes, causing me to flinch forward. It was blurry at first, but then I could see it. A car had parked right outside, blocking our path.  

“You maniac! You rich folks need to learn manners. Should I teach you some?” the driver yelled, cursing at the top of his lungs.  

I shook as chills ran down my spine. The door flung open—those legs… hands… and finally, his face. It was him.  

I made a silent prayer. This should be a mistake, a coincidence, a misunderstanding. But my hopes were dashed as the door to my taxi was pushed open and his face bent to peer at mine.  

“Running from me, wife?” he questioned. I lost my ability to speak; the words rumbled in my throat but refused to part from my lips.  

He yanked my arm, pulling me out of the taxi. The man whisked me into his arms. I shoved my palm into his chest repeatedly.  

“Let me go!” I screamed. He finally came to a halt, set me down on my feet, and turned back toward the taxi to pull out my bag. Now the taxi driver stared at us. He tossed a hundred-dollar bill to the man.  

“Take it. Leave,” he ordered firmly. The taxi driver sped off without question, leaving us both by the roadside. I felt trapped, cornered. Fine, he could have my bag.  

Once again, I took to my feet to run off, but he grabbed my arms, pulling me against his body. My face buried into his massive chest.  

“You can’t run from me. You married me last night, remember?” he asked. I froze, hearing his words. My mind raced toward the papers I had signed last night.  

“That… it... It was a joke, right?” I asked, stuttering as I spoke. Yet the look on his face contrasted with my hopes. He smirked, grinning from ear to ear.  

“Is it?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words as he dragged me behind him.  

“I’m not going with you. You can’t force me. I signed that when I was drunk. It has no effect,” I lied, knowing the law would call my excuse nonsense. Who signs a marriage contract when drunk? Well, I did, and no one would believe it.  

“We had sex last night, Elena. We got married, then we had a heated night. Don’t tell me you forgot all that?” he asked again, his face mere inches away from mine. His breath fanned against my skin, and my fingers twitched with the need to rake through his hair.  

“Fine,” I murmured, settling into the seat. His smirk widened now as he tucked my seatbelt in place, shut the door, approached the other side of the car, ignited the engine, and began to drive back home.  

If he wouldn’t let me go, if he decided to keep up with this nonsense, then I might as well irritate him until he realized I wasn’t worth the stress.  

The drive was silent, although he glanced once or twice in my direction. Finally, he pulled over and we alighted, walking sideways until we were back at the house I had fled from.  

“I’ll get your bag. Get yourself a drink or anything. This is your house now, wifey,” he said. I rolled my eyes at his remark. Touché.  

I did need a drink, though. The effect of the alcohol was wearing off. I made my way around, hoping to find the kitchen. But then I stopped. A room had its door open, books and files stacked around. My curiosity got the best of me as I headed in its direction.  

My gaze dropped, my insides clenched and unclenched as I stared at a plaque engraved on the wall. Caspian's name, his family name… was the same as Caleb’s. They were related?