Chapter 6
Escape
Caitlin
When consciousness clawed its way back, the world was blurred and spinning.
The bedroom was empty. Jason’s cologne hung in the air—faint and nauseating.
Somehow, she was alive.
She crawled to her knees, forcing her body to move. Adrenaline surged, clearing the fog just enough for instinct to take over. Get out.
Barefoot and shaking, she stumbled through the hall, down the stairs, into the garage. She grabbed her keys and the small duffel from the shelf—the one she’d packed earlier that week for their long weekend in Aspen. The irony cut sharp.
Moments later, the BMW shot out of the driveway, tires squealing against the brick. The gated street blurred past in streaks of light and shadow. Only one thought burned through her mind—go, go, go.
Officer Jackson
The midnight shift in Denver’s Cherry Creek neighborhood was usually quiet—sprinklers hissing, porch lights glowing behind security gates.
When Officer Eli Jackson saw the BMW fly past doing nearly fifty in a thirty-five, instinct kicked in. He flipped on his lights and pulled out.
The car slowed, wobbling to the shoulder. He approached cautiously, flashlight slicing through the dark.
“Evening, ma’am. License and registration, please.”
She handed them over. The beam caught her face—a bruise forming along her cheek, a cut at her temple, pupils wide with shock.
“Ma’am, are you hurt?”
She swallowed hard. “No. I need to get somewhere safe.”
He glanced at the license: Caitlin West, 1 Cherry Creek Drive North. He knew the address—one of those estates with sculpted hedges and men who thought money bought forgiveness.
“You sure you don’t want me to call someone?” he asked quietly.
Tears welled, but she shook her head. “Please don’t. Just let me go.”
He hesitated, every instinct screaming to dig deeper—but she was terrified and clearly running. Pushing might only send her back.
He handed the license back. “All right, Mrs. West. Drive safe. And if you ever need help—call. Anytime.”
She nodded, voice breaking. “Thank you.”
As the BMW pulled away, he stood under the streetlamp watching the taillights disappear. Another rich man with a temper. He’d seen too many.
“Hang in there, lady,” he muttered, climbing back into his cruiser. “Get somewhere safe.”
Hours later and miles away, the city had already moved on.
Izzy Moreno
Izzy Moreno lived in Denver’s River North Art District—RiNo to locals—a patchwork of murals, lofts, and rooftop lights that pulsed with color long after midnight.
Italian by heritage and fire by nature, she carried herself with quiet confidence: dark curls, olive skin, eyes that missed nothing.
Tonight had been special—her thirty-first birthday. Dinner downtown, too much red wine, the kind of laughter that made the world feel simple again. She’d kicked off her heels the second she got home, humming as she poured a glass of water and fed her cat.
The pounding on the door made her freeze—three hard knocks, urgent and desperate. She set down the glass.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me—Cate.” The voice was cracked, barely recognizable.
Izzy rushed to the door, unlocking it fast—and stopped cold. Caitlin stood in the hallway barefoot, her silk nightgown creased and spattered with blood. Her lip was split, one eye already darkening, hair a tangled mess.
“Oh my God, Cate,” Izzy breathed, pulling her inside. “What happened?”
Caitlin tried to speak, but the words splintered apart. “He… he tried to kill me.”
Izzy froze. “Who?” The question came out sharp, disbelieving. “Jason?”
Caitlin nodded, tears spilling. “I saw him with another woman. Then he—” she pressed trembling fingers to her throat “—he choked me. I thought he was going to kill me.” The words broke on a sob. “It was terrifying.”
Izzy caught her shoulders. “Oh, bella,” she whispered. “We have to get you to a hospital. You could have internal injuries. We need to call the police—”
“No.” Caitlin’s voice came hard and small. “If it gets out—Jason will find me. He’ll ruin me. I can’t face that, Izzy. Please.”
Izzy’s chest constricted. Every part of her wanted to dial 9-1-1, to drag the world’s light onto him until there was nowhere for him to hide—but one look at Caitlin’s face told her that exposure might break her all over again.
Izzy swallowed, blinking back her own tears. “Okay. Not tonight. But you’re staying here. And we’ll get help—when you’re ready.”
She eased her onto the couch, tucked a blanket around her shoulders, and forced her hands to steady.
“You’re safe here, do you hear me? He’s never going to touch you again.”
Caitlin nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. “What am I going to do?”
Izzy’s voice hardened. “First, you’re going to rest. Then we’ll figure the rest out. I don’t care how powerful he thinks he is—he doesn’t get to keep you afraid.”
She brushed a curl from Caitlin’s forehead, softer now.
“You survived tonight, Cate. That’s what matters.”
Caitlin sagged against her, exhaustion dragging her under. Izzy held her close, staring at the city lights beyond the glass, fury simmering beneath her calm.
She’d never thought Jason West capable of this—the golden boy of Denver construction, builder of palaces, breaker of lives. But he was going to wish he’d never laid a hand on her.
Outside, Denver glittered—oblivious. Inside, under the dim glow of a single lamp, one woman shook, and another kept watch.