Page 122 of PR Stunt

I nod once, my mind racing. He’s too close to the door. My phone is too far away. I need an opening. “I—I didn’t realize it was you,” I say carefully, shifting my weight just enough to test the space around me. “The ChapStick, the flowers… I just thought…”

His eyes light up, like he’s waiting for me to say something right. Something that proves I see things the way he does.

I force a soft, breathy laugh, as if I’m caught. “I just thought it was sweet.”

His lips part, a flush of color creeping up his neck.

“I mean, I never thought someone would pay attention like that.” I glance quickly at the knife before looking back at him. Make him think I’m not scared. Make him think I’m grateful.

His fingers twitch on the handle, but his posture softens. “You deserve someone who sees you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Not someone who parades you around like a prize. Not someone who only wants you when the cameras are flashing.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “You’re right…” My voice is soft, agreeable, but I don’t even know his name.

As if reading my mind, he smiles. “Freddy.”

“Yes. Of course.”

The room goes so quiet that I can hear the air conditioning hum. His breathing. Mine.

I nod, carefully shifting my stance. Just a little closer. My phone is still on the bed. So close. Inches away. If I can just…move.

As I lunge, fingers outstretched, my phone lights up with an incoming call. Grayson. The vibration feels like a lifeline. He is downstairs with Miranda and Anna, waiting for me in the car for his premiere, and relief hits sharp and immediate because if I can just answer, if I can get one word out, someone will know. I dive for my phone.

“Gray—”

“Charlie?” His voice floods the speaker.

Freddy moves. Fast. A blur of rage. I barely have time to scream before he slams into me, knocking the phone from my hands. I hit the floor hard, my hip slamming into the ground as his full weight crashes down on me. A jolt of shock ripples through me, stealing my breath and stunning my body from the impact.

The phone lands somewhere nearby, the call still open. Grayson’s voice is now frantic. “Charlie? Charlie—I’m on my way! Hold on! Charlie!”

Chapter 38

The tape stretches with a sharp, awful sound before it’s slapped over my mouth. I scream, or try to, but it comes out muffled and useless. My arms are yanked behind me, and then a rough rope digs into my wrists as Freddy ties it into a knot. I thrash, twisting, but he’s stronger. Tears blur my vision. My chest heaves as panic crushes down, heavy and suffocating, while scattered ivory feathers, torn from the hem of my dress in the struggle, drift across the hotel room floor around me.

“You’re ruining us,” he mutters, pacing now, hands shaking. “I only ever loved you. I did everything right. I wrote you letters. I sent you gifts. Your favorite flower, Charlie.” His voice breaks. He’s unraveling, muttering to himself as if I’m not even here. Just an idea, a fantasy slipping out of reach.

“What did you do?” he growls suddenly, spinning on me. “Why?”

I flinch, a sob catching in my throat, and I lean hard against the bedside table, my shoulder pressed into the edge for balance. My mind races. Begging, pleading, screaming inside for someone, anyone, to help. Please, please, please.

Then, from the other side of the door… “Open it!”

Grayson’s voice slices through the air like a blade. Muffled scrambling. A key fumbling in the lock.

“Faster!”

I scream again, but it’s buried behind the tape. My whole body shakes as I tug against the ropes, wrists burning. The door bursts open. Everything happens at once. Grayson’s voice, raw with panic. His body forcing into the room. And behind him, just barely, I catch the vague outline of a hotel staff member frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, shock written across his face. Then Grayson sees me. Bound. Gagged. On the floor.

His face changes, and I’ve never seen rage like that.

“Put it down,” Grayson says, his voice low and deadly. He takes a sure step forward. “I said put the fucking knife down.”

Freddy hesitates. One tiny, terrified hint of doubt, and that’s all it takes. Grayson lunges, seizing his wrist and twisting hard. There’s a crack, a scream, and the knife clatters to the floor.

Then Grayson’s fist collides with his face. Once. Twice. I lose count.

Finally, the man crumples to the floor, unconscious.