Ella POV
Great. The day that was supposed to be the best of my life had turned into an absolute joke. I’d graduated, yes, but at what cost? My carefully laid plans had crumbled to dust the mont my father showed up and made that speech. Now, my peaceful little existence was dangling by a thread, and knowing my father, that thread was about to snap.
As soon as I reached my apartnt, I parked Max’s motorcycle in the most inconspicuous spot I could manage. And by inconspicuous, I ant inside my living room. Yes, you heard that right—inside.
Why, you ask? Because my father isn’t just smart; he’s terrifyingly smart. Add in the fact that he has an endless pool of money, connections, and power, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for absolute disaster.
Here’s how this would go down if I didn’t cover my tracks:
Step one: He’d get his hands on the CCTV footage from the university’s exits. That was a given. I’m sure his team was already combing through the files as I stood here contemplating my next move.
Step two: He’d trace the motorcycle. Max’s family na was plastered on that bike like a neon sign. If my father tracked the bike’s registration—and of course, he would—he’d know it belonged to Max. Then, he’d start connecting dots, and it wouldn’t take him long to figure out who was riding it.
Step three: He’d find the bike, find , and show up on my doorstep like a storm in a tailored suit.
And the final nail in the coffin? This place wasn’t exactly a fortress. My rickety apartnt scread "low budget," and the bike outside might as well have been a giant blinking sign that read Money Was Here.
So, yeah. Inside the apartnt it went.
With the bike safely tucked away (though my living room now slled faintly of gasoline), I took a mont to catch my breath. Not that it helped much. My mind was still racing a mile a minute, and I couldn’t stop running through all the possible ways my father could track down.
And let’s not kid ourselves—the man was relentless.
He’d made it abundantly clear during his speech that he wasn’t thrilled about going off the grid for so long. And now that he’d found , he wasn’t going to let slip away again. The man didn’t just let things go. Ever.
I sat on the edge of my worn-out couch, trying to figure out my next move. My heart was still racing from the whirlwind of the day, and the weight of my father’s inevitable retaliation was pressing down on like a boulder.
I couldn’t stay here.
That much was obvious. This apartnt was already compromised, and it was only a matter of ti before my father’s people were knocking on my door—or worse, breaking it down.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over a na I hadn’t called in years.
No. I couldn’t go there. Not yet.
Instead, I dialed Max.
"Hey," he answered on the second ring, his voice as casual as ever. "Safe and sound?"
"For now," I muttered.
"Good. Jason’s losing his mind, by the way," he said with a chuckle. "You should’ve seen his face when you took off. Priceless."
"Yeah, well, I don’t have ti to deal with Jason’s dramatics right now," I snapped, instantly regretting the sharpness in my tone. "Sorry. I’m just... overwheld."
Max’s tone softened. "No need to apologize. I get it. What do you need?"
"A favor."
"Another one? Man, I must be your favorite today."
"Max," I said, my patience wearing thin.
"Alright, alright," he said, the humor draining from his voice. "What’s up?"
"I need a place to lay low for a while. Sowhere my father won’t think to look."
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"You’re really serious about this, huh?"
"Dead serious," I replied.
He sighed. "Alright. I’ll see what I can do. But, Ella... are you sure running is the answer? Maybe it’s ti to—"
"Don’t," I cut him off. "Don’t even say it."
"Got it. No lectures. Just... be careful, okay? Jason’s not the only one who’d lose his mind if sothing happened to you."
"I will," I promised, even though I wasn’t entirely sure how true that was.
After we hung up, I leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, my mind spinning with plans and contingencies. This wasn’t how I imagined my graduation day ending.
But then again, nothing in my life ever went the way I planned.
I know what you’re thinking: why Max? Why not Jason, the guy who’s been hovering over like I’m so fragile piece of glass ever since he found out about my connection to my father? Or Dylan, who might’ve had so clever quip to distract from my current ss?
The answer is simple—Max didn’t confess.
What I need right now is a friend—just a friend. Max fits that role perfectly. He’s steady, no strings attached, and just... there.
I don’t have the energy for anything more than that, not right now. Sotis, what you need most is a safe harbor, not another storm to weather.
Jason, on the other hand, wears his emotions like a neon sign. Even when he tries to hide it, the way his jaw clenches or his eyes follow like a hawk says everything. And as much as I appreciated him and his attempts to change from the jerk he used to be, I couldn’t deal with his feelings right now.
I don’t have the energy to tangle myself in romantic drama, especially not with soone who might try to play the role of a knight in shining armor. I’ve had enough of n swooping in like they’re the answer to all my problems. What I need right now is a friend—soone who can help think straight without trying to save or confess their undying love. Soone who can listen without expectations, without ulterior motives, and without making feel like I owe them sothing for their help. I don’t need grand gestures or soone trying to prove their worth through drama.
That’s where Max cos in.
He doesn’t overanalyze everything I do. He doesn’t make things weird with stolen glances or tension-filled silences. He’s just Max—straightforward, reliable, and, most importantly, not in love with .
At least, I hope not.
Right now, I need clarity, not complication. I need soone who will hand a helt and a smirk and say, "Let’s ride," without attaching a thousand layers of aning to it. I need soone who can just be without expecting anything in return.
Jason... well, Jason doesn’t know how to do that.
I could already imagine the lecture I’d get if I’d asked him for help. The worried tone in his voice, the subtle—or not-so-subtle—questions about why I was running and whether it was worth it. He’d want to protect , to fix things, and as sweet as that might sound, it’s not what I need.
What I need is space to think, to breathe, and to figure out my next move without anyone trying to shoulder the burden for .
Max is that space.
For now, anyway.
Just as I was starting to feel like I could breathe again, there was a knock on the door.
I froze.
I knew that knock. Confident, deliberate, and just the right amount of force to make it clear the person on the other side wasn’t going away until I opened up.
Jason.
Of course, it would be Jason. It had to be Jason. Who else would storm their way into my life like this, determined to fix sothing they didn’t even understand?
I sighed, walking toward the door, already ntally preparing for the confrontation. My fingers hesitated on the handle for a mont before I pulled it open.
Except... it wasn’t Jason.
It wasn’t Dylan, either, or even Max.
It was him.
"Ella," my father said, his voice smooth and commanding, the way it always was. His eyes, piercing and calculating, scanned from head to toe like he was assessing the damage. "We need to talk."
Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe throw my father at just as I was trying to disappear?
I didn’t respond imdiately. My mind was already racing through a thousand possibilities. How had he found so quickly? Did he track the bike? Did soone tip him off? Or had he always known where I was and just waited for the most dramatic mont to make his entrance?
"Are you going to invite in, or should we do this here in the hallway?" His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath.
I stepped aside reluctantly, and he entered my tiny apartnt, his presence instantly making the space feel even smaller. He took a slow look around, his expression unreadable as he took in the modest furniture, the stack of books on the table, and the motorcycle helt sitting conspicuously by the door.
"You’ve been busy," he said, his gaze finally settling back on .
"What do you want, Dad?" I asked, crossing my arms defensively. I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries or small talk.
He raised an eyebrow at my tone but didn’t comnt on it. "I want to know why you’re still running."
"Running?" I scoffed, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I’m not running. I’m just... living my life."
"Living your life," he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "Is that what you call hiding in a dingy apartnt and working jobs far beneath your potential?"
I bristled at his words, even though they weren’t entirely untrue. "I’m not hiding."
He sighed, looking almost... tired. It was a rare expression for him, and it caught off guard. "Ella, I’m not here to force you into anything. I’m here because I’m your father, and I’m worried about you. You’ve spent months trying to prove you don’t need or anyone else, but where has that left you? Alone, and running from shadows that don’t even exist."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got caught in my throat. I hated that he could still get under my skin like this, that he could make question everything I thought I knew about myself.
"I’m fine," I said finally, though it sounded weak even to my own ears.
"That’s good because I am not.....I am dying"
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