Turned out being imprisoned in a penthouse was basically the same as being imprisoned anywhere else. Just with better thread count.
Dad wasn't subtle about it. Security posted in the lobby. Check-ins every two hours. My phone—my real phone—had tracking enabled. He could see every text, every call, every goddamn Google search.
Wedding preparations consumed the next three days like some kind of beautiful, expensive cancer.
Dress fittings. Venue confirmations. Charles stopping by with his campaign manager to discuss "optics" and "messaging strategy" around our union. Because nothing said romance like focus groups.
"The narrative is redemption," his manager explained. Thirtysomething woman with severe glasses and zero sense of irony. "Adison's Texas experience humbled her. Brought her back to her roots. Now she's ready to be the partner Charles needs."
I smiled. Nodded. Played the role.
Charles barely looked at me during these meetings. Too busy checking his phone. Responding to donor emails. Being the future of American politics or whatever bullshit he told himself.
"You're quiet," he said one afternoon. We were alone for maybe five minutes. Rare.
"Just tired."
"Texas must've been rough." He didn't sound concerned. Just—factual. "But you're back now. That's what matters."
Back. Contained. Controlled.
"Yeah. Back."
He kissed my forehead. Brotherly. Passionless. Exactly what our relationship had always been—a business arrangement dressed up in engagement photos.
"I'm proud of you," he said. Like I'd accomplished something. "For doing what needed to be done."
What needed to be done. Like choosing my own happiness was rebellion that required correction.
I smiled. "Thanks."
That night, alone in my room, I pulled out the burner phone Tommy had slipped into my suitcase. Kid was smarter than he looked. Small flip phone, prepaid, untraceable.
One contact saved: Cowboy.
I stared at it for ten minutes before texting.
Me: Are you okay?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Cowboy: Fine. You?
Me: Trapped. Wedding prep. Dad's monitoring everything.
Cowboy: Good.
Good? What the fuck?
Me: Good?
Cowboy: You should marry Charles. Forget about me. Forget Texas. This was a mistake.
The words hit like a slap.
Me: You don't mean that.
Cowboy: I do. Your father was right. Age gap. Power imbalance. I manipulated you without meaning to. You deserve better.
Me: Don't do this. Don't push me away because you're scared.
Cowboy: I'm not scared. I'm realistic. Go live your life, Adison. The one you were always meant to live.
Me: What if that's not the life I want anymore?
No response. The dots appeared and disappeared three times before:
Cowboy: Then want something else. But not me. I'm done.
Done. Just like that. Two months of falling in love and he was done because my father had beaten him up and threatened him and made him feel like the villain.
Me: You're a coward.
Cowboy: Yeah. Probably.
I wanted to throw the phone. Wanted to scream. But security was right outside and losing control meant losing everything.
So I tucked the burner under my pillow instead. Careful. Hidden.
Manhattan stretched below my window—millions of lights, millions of people, none of them mattering—and the stars were invisible behind light pollution and I couldn't breathe.
Pressed my forehead against the glass. Cold. Grounding.
Jake was giving up. Pushing me away. Doing the noble thing or the scared thing or maybe both. And I was supposed to—what? Accept it? Move on? Marry Charles and pretend the last two months never happened?
Fuck that.
Fuck all of it.
I wasn't my mother. Wasn't going to choose safety because it was easier. Wasn't going to let my father write my story.
Decision crystallized. Sharp. Clear. Painful.
I'd go back. Tomorrow night. Wait until Dad's guard dropped. Book a flight, grab my shit, disappear. Jake could push me away all he wanted—I'd push back harder. Make him see that this wasn't manipulation or desperation. This was real.
Started planning. Credit cards Dad didn't monitor. Emergency cash in my closet. Private terminal schedules. If I timed it right—
Someone knocked. Two sharp raps.
"Miss Ward? Daily security check."
Shit. They'd been doing this. Random checks. Making sure I hadn't done anything stupid like try to escape.
"One second." Grabbed the burner phone from under my pillow. Where to hide it? Bathroom? No—they'd checked there yesterday. Closet? Too obvious.
Dresser drawer. Buried under winter sweaters. Best I could do in three seconds.
"Coming."
Opened the door. Two security guys. Professional. Blank faces.
"Routine check, miss. Won't take long."
They swept the room. Quick. Efficient. One checked my windows. The other—fuck—opened my dresser drawers.
Found the phone immediately.
"What's this?"
My stomach dropped. "Nothing. Just—"
"We'll need to hold onto this." He pocketed it. "Mr. Ward will want to see it."
They left. Door closing with a soft click that might as well have been a cell door slamming.
I sat on my bed. Breathing. Thinking. Panicking.
Dad would read everything. Every text. Every desperate message. Every plan.
Hours passed. I waited. Watched the clock tick toward midnight.
1 AM. Door opened without knocking.
Dad stood there. Burner phone in his hand. Face carved from stone.
"We need to talk."
He walked in. Closed the door. Sat on my bed like we were about to have some casual father-daughter chat instead of what this actually was.
"Interesting reading." He held up the phone. "Jake pushing you away. You planning to run. Very entertaining."
Oh fuck.
"Jake's pushing you away. That's good. He's smarter than I thought." Dad sat on my bed. Calm. Too calm. "But you're not listening. You're planning to run. Again."
"I'm an adult—"
"Who lives in my house. Uses my money. Wears clothes I bought." He set the phone on my nightstand. "Let me make something very clear, Adison. You have a choice to make. Tomorrow. Noon. Courthouse."
My chest tightened.
"You will marry Charles. Sign the paperwork. Smile for the photos. Or—" He paused. Let the word hang. "Or I will destroy Jake Sullivan so completely he'll wish he'd never met you."
"You can't—"
"I can. I will." Matter-of-fact. "I'll pull every investment. Call in every loan. Foreclose on the ranch. He'll lose everything."
"He'll fight—"
"And I'll file statutory rape charges. Corruption of a minor under his supervision. Won't matter that you'retwenty-one. I'll claim he manipulated my vulnerable daughter. My lawyers are very good, Adison. They'll make it stick."
The room spun.
"You'd lie? Send him to prison?"
"To protect you from making the biggest mistake of your life?" Dad's voice was steel. "Without hesitation."
He stood. Walked to the door. Turned back.
"Twenty-four hours. Marry Charles, Jake keeps his ranch and his freedom. Refuse—" He smiled. Cold. "Well. You'll get to watch me destroy the man you think you love. Your choice."
The door closed. Locked from the outside. Because of course it did.
I stood there. Breathing. Thinking. Panicking.
Tried the burner phone. Dead. He'd taken the battery.
Tried my real phone. Monitoring software flagged every keystroke. Couldn't warn Jake. Couldn't call for help. Couldn't do anything.
Security posted outside. I could hear them. Two guys. Probably armed. Definitely loyal to Dad.
Trapped. Completely.
Sat on my bed. The same bed I'd slept in fortwenty-one years. The same room where I'd dreamed about stars and science and freedom. And now it was a cell.
The choice was impossible. Marry Charles—sacrifice myself, my dreams, my entire future—and Jake survived. His ranch. His freedom. His life.
Or refuse. Fight back. Choose love. And watch my father systematically destroy everything Jake had built. Watch him go to prison on false charges. Watch him lose the only thing he'd ever really had.
Some choice.
The Manhattan skyline glittered. Beautiful. Poisonous. Everything I'd grown up with and everything I'd learned to hate.
My mother had chosen this. Chosen safety and security and the path that made sense. And she'd spent twenty years in a marriage that looked perfect from outside but felt empty from within.
Jake had told me I wasn't her. That I was brave enough to choose differently.
But was I brave enough to choose him knowing it would destroy him?
Or was the brave choice sacrificing myself so he could survive?
Twenty-four hours. Noon tomorrow. Courthouse.
I pulled my knees to my chest. Stared at nothing. Felt everything.
The astronomy book Jake bought me sat on my shelf. Spine uncracked. Pages unread. Dreams deferred.
But dreams could wait. Jake's life couldn't.
Or maybe—
Maybe there was a third option. Something Dad hadn't considered. Something that would save Jake and save myself and burn down everything that tried to cage us both.
I just had to be brave enough to find it.
The clock on my nightstand read 8 PM. Sixteen hours until Dad's ultimatum expired.
Sixteen hours to figure out how to choose love without destroying it.