Page 3 of Beautiful Villain
The lace caught on the porcelain.The silk tore with a soft, violent sound.
I froze.
Then I tore it more as I continued my climb.
The window groaned as I forced it open.Cold air rushed in, biting my skin.The drop outside wasn’t too steep—I could see green grass and a lawn beyond the window.
I hesitated only once.
Then I swung one leg through.
The veil snagged.Panic flared.I ripped it free from where it caught, pain biting at my scalp as pins tore loose and scattered across the tiles.I stared at half the fabric still trapped in the windowpane—white, shredded, useless—while my heartbeat roared loud enough to drown out the church behind me.
I didn’t look back.I won’t admit that for a moment my hips caught in the window, but I forced myself through with a hard shove.
The fall knocked the breath from my lungs.Pain flared up my side—sharp, but manageable.I knew immediately I’d survive, which felt deeply unfair.I gasped, pushed myself up, tossed my heels to the side, and ran.Barefoot.
My dress was ruined.My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
The lawn beyond the church was silent.Of course it was—everyone was still inside the church, clutching pearls and pretending not to place bets on how long my marriage would last.
I burst onto the sidewalk, wild-eyed and breathless, immediately drawing the attention of people across the street who absolutely did not sign up to witness this runaway bride.
Somewhere in my head, the plan unfolded beautifully.Cinematically.I ran.I hailed a cab.The driver didn’t ask questions because drivers never do in my imagination.We disappeared into the sunset, veil fluttering, freedom secured.
Reality, however, did not get the memo.
Because if no one ever told you—plans almost never unfold the way you rehearse them in your head.Especially not when you’re wearing a wedding dress and fueled entirely by panic and the worst idea you’ve ever had.
I was so focused on getting away that I forgot a minor, inconvenient detail: traffic exists.
I stepped off the curb without looking.
A horn screamed.Headlights flared white-hot.And then—briefly, spectacularly—I was airborne.
Oh.This is unfortunate.
I landed hard on the asphalt with a committed thump.So much for a graceful exit.The world tilted, spun, then slammed sideways.Pain ripped through my hip and shoulder as my body rolled to a stop.It wasn’t crushing or fatal, but the pain was enough to remind me that freedom, apparently, came with a deductible.Enough to steal my breath and blur my vision.
I groaned as people shouted.Someone swore.
I tried to move, but I couldn’t.
Black polished shoes stepped into my field of vision.
A man’s voice followed—calm, irritated, terrifyingly controlled.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said.“I just bought this car.”
Someone swore.Someone else said my leg looked wrong.
I blinked, vision swimming.
The man crouched.I saw him then—his dark hair and sharp suit, bright eyes like shards of glass.Annoyance flickered in his eyes.
“Is she dead?”someone asked.
“She’s breathing,” the man said.“Unfortunately.”
