Chapter 3 THE WOMAN WITH NO NAME

The headlights showed up in her rearview mirror before Arabella even knew someone was following her.

One car. Then another. Both black SUVs.

Her grip on the wheel tightened.

She glanced at the clock, then back at the road.

The first SUV was closing in.

Her heart pounded faster. She didn't have to check the license plate. She recognized them-Laurent security. Her father had found her.

"No."

She slammed her foot down on the gas.

The Mercedes shot forward, but the road twisted ahead, cut between trees and rocky hills.

Her wedding gown was still tangled around her legs. Her feet were bare and aching. She hadn't slept. She hadn't eaten. And now the men her father sent were almost on her.

The SUV flashed its headlights.

Arabella's heart thudded so hard it hurt.

She looked ahead. Through the darkness, a small sign appeared: PORT VARENA - 8 KM.

A coastal town. She'd never heard of it. Even better.

She whipped the Mercedes into a sharp turn at the next junction.

Tires screamed. The SUV stuck behind her.

She pushed the car faster.

The road sloped down toward the sea. Distant lights flickered.

Port Varena. A cluster of buildings along the shore. Fishing boats. Old stone walls. Narrow streets. The kind of place where a person could vanish-if she could make it there.

The Laurent security SUV loomed in her mirror.

She swung onto a narrow side road. The Mercedes scraped between two worn-down walls.

The SUV slowed.

Dead end.

Her breath stalled. She hit the brakes hard.

The car stopped by an abandoned warehouse.

She heard the SUV behind her-no time left.

She shoved the door open, snatched her purse, and ran.

Her wedding dress caught on the door. She yanked it loose-a loud tear. She didn't stop.

She ducked behind the warehouse, crouching under a wooden staircase.

Moments later, her Mercedes rolled a few feet on its own and tapped a barrier.

The SUV swung around the corner.

Arabella pressed herself into the shadows.

Two men got out.

"She ditched the car."

"Search around."

She held her breath as the footsteps drew closer.

Closer.

She looked out toward the sea. Another alley opened up between the buildings.

If she waited, they'd catch her. If she ran, maybe they'd see her.

She ran.

She slipped from under the stairs and sprinted down the alley.

"Hey!"

She didn't turn, just kept running as her wedding dress flapped against her legs.

Left, then right, then left again. She kept moving until the voices behind her faded. Only the sound of the sea filled her ears.

She stopped, leaning against a wall to steady her breathing, chest burning.

She looked down-her gown, dirty and torn. Her hair a mess, face streaked with tears. Nothing like the clean, perfect image the news would probably show by morning.

And that gave her an idea.

She couldn't keep running as Arabella Laurent.

She had to vanish, for good.

Arabella slipped deeper into Port Varena.

The town was winding down. Restaurants closing. A fisherman dragging a crate. Motorcycles zipped by on the waterfront. Nobody noticed her-finally, something good.

She found a tiny convenience store, lights still on.

The bell above the door jingled.

The old woman at the counter looked up, caught sight of the gown, and raised her eyebrows.

Arabella smiled, hoping it passed for normal.

"Do you have phones?"

A silent point toward a display.

Arabella checked-cheap phones, pay-as-you-go SIM cards, dusty chargers. Exactly what she needed.

She put cash on the counter.

"That one."

"Need a SIM?" the woman asked.

"Yeah."

She paid. Then a question: "ID?"

Arabella froze. Her mind blanked. One second, and it all could unravel.

The woman just sighed and pushed a handwritten form across the counter.

"Just fill it out."

Name.

Her real name throbbed inside her mind-Arabella Laurent, daughter to Julian Laurent, missing bride. A woman with too many eyes searching for her.

She couldn't use it.

She stared at the blank line.

Anna.

She paused for a second. Last name.

She glanced outside. The sea was black under the sky.

"Reed."

Anna Reed.

Nobody. No past, no family, no one looking for her.

She signed.

The woman barely glanced at the paper. "Here."

Arabella took the phone with trembling hands.

"Thank you."

She stepped out into the night-salt, rain in the air.

For the first time, no one knew who she was.

It should've felt terrifying, but instead it was like coming up for air after almost drowning.

She found a tiny guesthouse by the water.

One bed. One chair. One cracked mirror. A bathroom so small she could barely turn around.

Perfect. She loved it right away. Nobody picked it for her, nobody decorated it to impress clients, nobody expected her to act a certain way. Nobody could barge in.

She locked the door, slid down against it, and gave in. Hands over her face, sobbing until she ran out of tears.

When she looked up again, her own reflection gazed back-someone she barely recognized.

"Arabella Laurent is gone," she whispered. Then, almost to convince herself: "Anna Reed."

Her new phone buzzed-a news alert. She stared at the glowing screen, afraid to look, but finally tapped it.

MISSING HEIRESS ARABELLA LAURENT: FAMILY SAYS SHE IS "UNWELL"

Her blood went cold.

A photo-her face, taken at a gala, smiling, polished, untouchable. Not her, anymore.

She read on. "Laurent family representatives confirm heiress Arabella Laurent couldn't proceed with her wedding tonight due to a sudden personal health episode."

She blinked. Health episode? She kept reading.

"According to fiancé Victor Laurent, Arabella's been under heavy emotional pressure lately and is expected to return home once she recovers."

Her fingers nearly dropped the phone.

Victor. Lying to the whole country.

Another line: "The family asks for privacy during this difficult period."

A bitter laugh escaped her. They didn't say she ran. Didn't say she found out the truth. Didn't say she refused to marry him. They erased her choice. Painted her as fragile, broken, sick.

And now everyone would believe it.

Her phone buzzed again.

Victor Laurent addresses missing bride.

Arabella tapped the new alert.

A video popped up. Victor outside the Laurent estate, reporters everywhere.

He looked just right-brokenhearted and strong.

"We are deeply concerned about Arabella," he said.

Her jaw clenched.

"She's been under enormous pressure, and sadly, tonight was too much for her."

He added, making his voice softer, "I love Arabella. I just want her home safely."

She stared at his face, full of fake pain. He'd already stolen her wedding. Now he was stealing her story.

Arabella threw the phone on the bed.

"No."

Her chest rose and fell as she took in the cheap curtains, the cracked mirror, the beat-up chair, the phone that cost next to nothing.

Victor's face was still on the screen, frozen and smiling.

She picked up the phone, hovered over her father's number-deleted it. Victor's too. Everyone connected to her old life-gone.

Her finger paused over her own name.

ARABELLA LAURENT.

Delete.

Blank screen.

Arabella sat there, quiet.

The world thought she was ill. Her family thought she'd come home. Victor thought she had nowhere left.

They were wrong.

She stood up.

Tomorrow, she'd find clothes. Tomorrow, a job. Tomorrow, she'd figure out how to survive.

Tonight, she just needed to hold onto one thing-her new name.

Anna Reed.

She whispered it, switched off the light.

Far away, everyone at the Laurent estate waited for Arabella Laurent to come back.

But she was gone, and she wasn't coming back.

And she'd make sure they never found the woman she'd become.