Andrew Lane's voice landed right above her, so close it felt as if he'd wrapped the air itself around her. His presence pressed in from all sides, sharp and unyielding, until all she could breathe was him—a scent and a weight she now found

suffocating.

Emily clenched her eyes shut, jaw locked tight. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to get away, to escape the arms she had once ached for, but now wanted nothing more than to leave behind. The embrace that had meant everything was now little more than a shackle.

In a matter of seconds, she lashed out, hands pushing, fists pounding against his chest in desperate resistance. “Andrew Lane, let me go!” she snarled, her voice ragged with anger and humiliation.

Andrew said nothing. His only answer was to pull her closer, the circle of his arms tightening with silent, stubborn resolve.

Each time Emily's fists landed against him, the dull thud echoed in her ears, but Andrew remained unmoved, giving no sign of pain or even acknowledgment.

She forced her head up, catching only the hard lines of his jaw and the sharp bridge of his nose; he wouldn't even look at her. He was making it clear: she wasn't leaving. Not unless he allowed it.

No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't break free. She used every ounce of strength she had, but Andrew was immovable—as cold and impassive as stone. "Andrew Lane, have you lost your mind?" she cried, her voice ringing through the vast, quiet airport. "Let me go!"

Her pleas seemed to echo through the empty terminal. Emily didn't need to look to know that the few scattered travelers were staring-she could feel all their eyes on her.

Across the polished floor, Emma George and Elizabeth Wilson raised their voices in outrage, their words harsher and more cutting than Emily's. Even Elizabeth's grandmother, usually gentle and kind, stepped forward and called out in a trembling voice, "Young man, let her go. This isn't right."

Andrew ignored every word, holding Emily fast, as if nothing could shame him into releasing her.

Tears stung Emily's eyes. She couldn't understand it—why wouldn't Andrew let her go? What was the point of this? Didn't he see that she wanted nothing more to do with him?

Her voice cracked as she tried again, "Andrew Lane, let me go."

Suddenly, Andrew lowered his head, cold eyes meeting hers. "Finished?" he asked, his tone clipped and icy.

Emily glared at him, her breath coming hard. "What do you want from me?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he gripped her wrist and said quietly, "If you're done, then come home with me."

Emily stood her ground, her voice low and trembling. "I don't understand. Why can't I just leave? Wouldn't that be better for both of us?"

Andrew paused, his hand still locked around her wrist. For a moment, he just looked at her-detached, as if she was nothing but a stranger in a crowd.

Emily's gaze flickered. She tried again, her voice barely above a whisper, "Andrew Lane, does Isabella Austin know you're here looking for me?"

Elizabeth Wilson stepped in, her face set and determined. "There's no use talking to him. If he doesn't let you go, we'll call the police."

Even as she spoke, three or four men in black suits-Andrew's bodyguards—

stepped forward, their faces grim as they fixed their eyes on Elizabeth.

Elizabeth held her ground, fists clenched. "What now? You planning to play gangster, too?"

Emily glanced at the bodyguards, then turned back to Andrew, her voice pleading but steady. "Andrew, I'm not important to you. Letting me go won't hurt you or your family's business. If I stay, there'll only be more chaos and drama. If I leave, we can both move on. Isn't that what you want? Why are you holding onto me?"