Chapter 117
Chapter 117:
“It means everything,” Hilliard said. He stepped closer, backing her against the wall and planting his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. “I never let you go. You are still my wife. Legally. Bound to me p>
His eyes burned into hers. “And those children — if they are yours, they are mine. I don’t care about the DNA test. I don’t care about Ashely’s lies. My gut tells me you are hiding my family p>
“You’re insane,” Cailin breathed.
“I am persistent,” Hilliard corrected.
He leaned in. For one terrible second, Cailin thought he was going to strike her. Instead, he kissed her — not gently, but with possession, a claim pressed into her skin like a seal on a contract she couldn’t escape.
𝗜n𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗇t ac𝖼eѕs 𝗈𝘯 𝗀𝗮𝘭ոо𝘷𝘦𝗅𝗌.сo𝗺
Cailin turned her head at the last moment. His lips met her cheek, hot and demanding.
“Go to hell, Hilliard,” she whispered, pressing against his chest.
“I’m already there,” he admitted, his voice rough, his forehead coming to rest against hers. “It’s called life without you p>
He stepped back, breathing hard. He looked at the torn paper scattered across the floor, then at her. “I will prove they are mine. And I will take you all home p>
He turned and walked out into the night.
Cailin slid down the wall and buried her face in her hands. She was still married. The trap was tighter than she had ever allowed herself to imagine.
The city felt hostile the next morning. Cailin needed coffee to process the bomb Hilliard had dropped the night before. The legal reality of their marriage wasn’t new information — but his decision to wield it as a weapon was. His words still echoed in her skull.
She walked to the corner bodega on autopilot, moving mechanically, wearing jeans and a hoodie as if she could disappear into the morning crowd.
A sleek red sports car idled down the block, its engine purring with a low, aggressive rumble.
Inside, Charla gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. In the passenger seat, a nervous-looking socialite named Tiffany pressed herself against the dashboard.
“There she is,” Charla whispered.
“Just scare her, Charla,” Tiffany said, her voice tight with anxiety. “Don’t actually hit her. We can’t go to jail p>
“She embarrassed me.” Charla’s eyes were wide and unblinking, something manic burning behind them. “She needs to learn her place p>
Cailin stepped off the curb at the crosswalk. The walk signal glowed a bright, inviting white.
Charla slammed the gas pedal.
The engine roared. Tires screamed against the asphalt.
Cailin turned her head and saw the red blur hurtling toward her. It wasn’t slowing down.
Instinct took over — not thought, just survival. She threw herself backward onto the sidewalk.
The car’s side-view mirror whistled past her hip, so close it snagged the fabric of her hoodie. The force of the near-miss sent her spinning off balance, and she hit the concrete hard. Her coffee cup exploded on impact, splashing hot liquid across the pavement and up her hoodie. Pain cracked through her hip and shoulder.
The car swerved, its tires briefly mounting the curb before it tore off down the avenue.
“Crazy driver!” a passerby screamed.