The Runaway Heiress's Accidental Contract Marriage

The elevator descended with a mechanical hum. Annabelle gripped the plastic handle of her suitcase so tightly her fingers ached.

With a soft ding, the doors slid open to the ground-floor lobby. A blast of over-conditioned air hit her face. She stepped out, keeping her head down, eager to reach the street.

She walked briskly toward the revolving glass doors. Suddenly, a tall figure stepped out from behind a marble pillar, blocking her path.

Annabelle's heart slammed into her throat. She jerked to a halt.

Archer stood there. He dropped a half-smoked cigarette onto the pristine floor and crushed it under the toe of his expensive leather shoe. A dark, predatory smirk twisted his lips.

"Going somewhere, Anna?" he asked, taking a slow step toward her.

He reached out to grab her wrist. Annabelle flinched, violently jerking her arm back. The physical revulsion made the hair on her arms stand up. "Don't touch me."

Archer's smirk vanished, replaced by a hard scowl. He looked down at her suitcase. "Where do you think you're going? You have no money, no job, and no friends who will cross me."

"I'm going somewhere you can never reach me," Annabelle said. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact.

Archer laughed-a harsh, barking sound. He stepped closer, his large frame casting a dark shadow over her. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. He put it on speaker.

"Sloane," Archer said into the phone.

"Hey, babe," a woman's voice purred through the speaker. Sloane was his ex-girlfriend and current business partner, a woman who hated Annabelle.

"Did you take care of the local galleries?" Archer asked, keeping his eyes locked on Annabelle.

"Done," Sloane laughed maliciously. "No one in this state will buy a single sketch from Annabelle Jenkins. She's blacklisted."

The sound of their shared cruelty made bile rise in the back of Annabelle's throat. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from showing how much it hurt.

Archer ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Last chance, Anna. Apologize, come back to my apartment, and I'll make a few calls to fix this."

Annabelle took a deep breath. Her hand slipped into the deep pocket of her trench coat. Her fingers wrapped around the cold, cylindrical canister of her pepper spray.

"I'd rather die," she whispered.

Before Archer could react, she whipped her hand out and pressed the nozzle. A thick stream of orange liquid shot directly into his eyes.

Archer let out a guttural scream. He threw his hands up to his face, stumbling backward. "You crazy bitch!"

Taking advantage of his blindness, Annabelle raised her heavy boot and stomped down on his expensive leather shoe with all her body weight.

Archer groaned, bending double.

Annabelle didn't wait. She shoved past him, hitting the heavy glass door with her shoulder. She burst out onto the busy sidewalk. The noise of the city traffic washed over her.

"I'll kill you!" Archer roared from inside the lobby, his voice muffled by the glass.

Annabelle frantically waved her arm at the street. A yellow cab slammed on its brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

She yanked the back door open, threw her suitcase onto the seat, and dove in after it.

"JFK Airport! Hurry!" she gasped, slamming the door shut.

The driver hit the gas. Annabelle twisted in her seat, looking out the rear window. Archer was stumbling out of the building, his face red and streaming with tears, but he was shrinking rapidly in the distance.

She collapsed back against the cracked leather seat. Cold sweat soaked her shirt, making it stick to her skin. She dragged in huge gulps of air, trying to calm her racing pulse.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was an email from her landlord, confirming the immediate termination of her lease due to 'unforeseen complaints'. You have 24 hours to vacate. Tears of pure adrenaline pricked the corners of her eyes. There was no turning back now.

An hour later, the cab pulled up to the departure terminal. She paid the driver in cash and dragged her suitcase into the crowded building.

She printed her boarding pass at a kiosk. Her thumb traced the letters: JFK - NEW YORK.

She walked through the security checkpoint. With every step, the invisible chains around her chest loosened.

She sat at her gate, listening to the boarding announcements. She looked down at her phone. The local number displayed on the screen tied her to Archer.

She popped the SIM card tray open with an earring, pulled out the tiny plastic chip, and dropped it into a nearby trash can. It was over.

She walked down the jet bridge and found her window seat. She buckled her seatbelt and closed her eyes. The plane engines roared to life. The aircraft surged forward, pressing her back into her seat, and lifted off into the clouds, carrying her toward a city she had never seen.