The ink on the intake form stared back at me. It was my signature. The sharp slant of the G, the hurried loop of the R—it was an exact replica of my handwriting. Except I had never seen this document before in my life. / Chapter 5 / 20

Chapter 5 - The Chase Down the Service Stairs"You're bluffing," Sloane shrieked, lunging forward to grab the flash drive from the console.

Marcus intercepted her, stepping directly into her path with a look of absolute disgust. "Back off, Sloane. The show's over."

"Get out of my way, you pathetic excuse for a friend!" she screamed, her designer nails raking across Marcus’s cheek, leaving a bright red scratch that immediately began to bead with blood.

Marcus didn't flinch, but he grabbed her wrists, pinning her arms to her sides. "I was an idiot for trusting you. But I’m not letting you ruin my best friend any further."

I didn't look back. Carrying Maisie, I bolted down the narrow concrete service stairs that led from the foyer directly to the underground parking garage. Every footstep echoed off the bare walls like gunshots. My heart pounded against my ribs. Above us, the muffled strains of wedding string music drifted down through the ceiling vents—a grotesque, mocking soundtrack to our escape.

We reached the subterranean level. The cool, damp air hit my face. My silver SUV was parked in stall 42, just past the exit gate.

I set Maisie down for a fraction of a second to swipe my key fob. The headlights blinked a welcoming amber.

"Daddy, are we running away?" Maisie asked, her big eyes looking up at me through unshed tears.

"We’re going for an adventure, sweetheart," I lied, sweeping her up into my arms again and opening the passenger door. I strapped her into her booster seat with trembling hands, making sure her stuffed rabbit was tucked safely under her arm. "Just put your seatbelt on and close your eyes for a minute. Daddy’s right here."

As I slammed her door and turned toward the driver's side, the screech of tires echoed off the concrete pillars.

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A white Porsche Cayenne tore around the corner of the garage ramp, its high beams blinding me in the dim light. The engine roared like a caged beast as it accelerated directly toward my SUV.

Behind the wheel, illuminated by the dashboard lights, was Sloane. Her veil was torn, streaming behind her head like a white flag of war, and her face was twisted into a mask of pure, unbridled fury.