Gone in silk and Secrets

The silence was deafening.

A velvet hush draped over Blackwell Manor as the night ticked toward dawn, but Isabella was wide awake. The fire from the hours before still burned low in her bones—his touch, his mouth, the way he had unraveled her layer by layer like silk. She hadn’t meant to surrender. Not to the cold man with the ice-rimmed eyes. Not to the stranger she had vowed to hate.

And yet, here she was.

Lying in a bed that wasn’t hers.

Wrapped in a marriage that wasn’t love.

Naked, save for the ache in her body and the wedding dress half-draped over the edge of the bed like a ghost of what she’d once believed she wanted.

Sebastian slept soundly beside her, a sculpted silhouette against the pale sheets. His chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm—so calm, so unbothered, as if he hadn’t just set her world on fire.

But Isabella couldn’t sleep.

Her heart was a war drum inside her chest. And her thoughts? A storm. Her body still tingled, still ached from what they’d done, but the shame was louder now. Louder than the pleasure. Louder than his name still echoing in her throat.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She’d agreed to a contract. Not to intimacy. Not to need.

But last night had stripped them both of their facades.

And now, she had to run.

Before he saw her heart unraveling in her eyes. Before he realized that for one devastating moment, she had wanted him.

With trembling hands, Isabella pulled herself from the bed. The silk sheets whispered against her bare skin as she stood, staring down at him one last time. His hair was tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked less like the ice-cold mogul and more like a man.

A man she could’ve loved—if her life had been different.

She turned away before she could second-guess herself.

The wedding dress lay crumpled at the edge of the chaise. She slipped it back on, not bothering with the undergarments, the heels, the jewels. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper, and she winced as the fabric tugged across the bruises his mouth had left on her skin.

A sob caught in her throat.

Not now.

She stepped barefoot onto the cold marble floor and made her way toward the writing desk. There was nothing poetic about her escape. Nothing elegant. Only desperation. Only raw instinct.

She picked up the pen. Paused.

What could she possibly say?

What words could explain the mess inside her?

Forgive me. Or don’t.

She left the note on the pillow beside him. The same pillow where he’d kissed her shoulder hours before. The same pillow that smelled like him.

She didn’t look back.

Isabella slipped down the hallway, the hem of her gown trailing behind her like a ghost. The corridors were quiet, the staff still asleep. She moved like a phantom, her steps light, her heart loud.

She paused at the grand staircase, her hand clutching the railing for balance.

Just a few more steps.

She reached the front doors, pushing them open with both hands. The wind hit her like a slap—brisk and sobering. The night was still deep, the stars blurred by the clouds, the city below glowing like a sea of secrets.

No driver.

No car.

No plan.

Just escape.

She stepped outside, feet bare on the cold stone steps, her pulse roaring in her ears. The gates of Blackwell Manor stood tall in the distance like the bars of a gilded cage. She had to get past them. She had to breathe.

Every step forward felt like a betrayal and a salvation all at once.

The sky began to pale, the first light of morning creeping in, painting everything in cold silver.

She ran.

SEBASTIAN POV

Sebastian woke to absence.

The first thing he noticed was the cold.

The second—the note.

He sat up instantly, the bed around him empty, the sheets cool where her warmth should have lingered. The soft scent of her—jasmine and vanilla—still clung to the air.

He reached for the note with a grim set to his jaw.

Forgive me. Or don’t.

No name. No explanation. Just six words that struck him like a slap across the face.

He stared at them for a long moment. Then, slowly, he crushed the paper in his hand.

She had run.

And this time, he hadn’t seen it coming.

The woman who had kissed him back with fire had slipped out like a whisper, and that made him furious.

Not because she left—but because he felt something.

She was never supposed to get under his skin.

He threw the sheets off and stood, already reaching for his phone. “Find her,” he barked into the receiver the moment his head of security answered. “Isabella Moretti is missing. Track every camera. Every exit. I want to know the second she left.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.”

“And alert the press,” Sebastian added, pacing the room like a panther. “Tell them the bride needed rest. No scandal. No story.”

He hung up and stared out the massive windows as dawn painted the horizon in pale gray. The world thought they’d be honeymooning in the Hamptons. The press believed they were madly in love.

But the truth?

His bride was gone.

And Sebastian had never wanted to hunt something so badly.

Elsewhere, in the city that never slept, Isabella stood at a payphone.

Her wedding dress was filthy. Her toes were numb. The silence between the rings stretched out like a lifeline—and then, finally, a voice answered.

She closed her eyes.

“Luca?” she whispered.

A pause. Then his voice—hoarse, stunned.

“Isabella?”

She bit back a sob. “I don’t have time. I—I made a mistake.”

“I saw the news. You married him.”

Her silence was enough of a confession.

She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the booth. “Can you come get me?”

Another pause.

Then: “Where are you?”

She gave the cross-streets. He didn’t ask why. Didn’t press. Just said: “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

When she hung up, her hands were shaking.

It was a mistake to call him. A deeper one to run.

But something inside her—something wild and desperate—couldn’t survive another day behind Blackwell walls.

A gust of wind blew past her, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

She didn’t belong to Sebastian.

Not really.

She belonged to herself. Even if that self was a mess of longing and guilt and shattered promises.

And yet…

She still remembered the heat in Sebastian’s eyes. The way he made her feel things she hadn’t felt since Luca. The way her name had sounded like a vow on his lips.

She closed her eyes.

Forgive me. Or don’t.

She had meant it.

She just wasn’t sure who she was asking.

—

At Blackwell Manor, chaos bloomed beneath the marble floors.

Security footage. Guard check-ins. The staff interrogated in hushed voices. Everyone whispered about the bride who had vanished like mist.

Sebastian stood in the war room, eyes trained on the frozen screen. There she was. Isabella. Barefoot. In white. Running.

The image burned into his brain.

She hadn’t looked back.

“You said you’d never run,” he muttered under his breath, voice laced with something dark.

His assistant stepped closer, hesitant. “Do you want us to go to the press with a different story?”

“No.” His voice was steel. “She’ll come back.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. His fingers tightened around the crushed note in his pocket.

Because he knew one thing for certain.

He would find her.

And when he did?

She would have to answer for what she awakened in him.

No contract could control what they had unleashed.

—

Elsewhere, in the shadows of the city, a man watched from the car parked across the street.

He had seen her run.

Had followed her to the phone booth.

Had noted the address she gave to her forbidden lover.

And now?

He smiled.

“Got you, Moretti.”

He picked up his phone. “Mr. Blackwell. I believe I have something you’ll want to see.”