The second was fear.
A woman like Savannah Whitmore had never hidden from anyone in her life. She was the only daughter of a powerful real estate developer in South Carolina, heir to properties, investments, and family holdings that people in Charleston mentioned in lowered voices. She had been raised in elegance, discipline, and expectation. Even after her parents died, her grandmother taught her never to bend, never to beg, and never to let the world see her crawl.
And now, on the day she was supposed to become a wife, she was curled in the trunk of her own wedding car, trying not to cry in the dark.
Then she heard footsteps.
A man’s voice came from outside, smooth, easy, confident.
Trent.
Her fiancé.
“Daniel, good. Car’s ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Trent laughed under his breath. “Beautiful day for it. Beautiful day to get rich. I mean… married.”
Savannah went still.
The remark was ugly, careless, and nothing like the polished, charming man she thought she knew. She pressed a hand over her mouth and leaned closer, straining to hear.
“Same route?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah,” Trent said. “But swing by Mill Creek first. I need to take care of one last thing before the church. And turn the radio up. I’ve got a few calls to make.”
The car pulled away.
Inside the trunk, Savannah was tossed gently from side to side. She braced herself against the walls, sweat gathering at the back of her neck. The air was hot and thinning fast, but she forced herself to listen.
The radio was loud, but Trent’s voice still carried through it with arrogant ease.
“Yeah, Howard, everything’s on schedule. In a few hours the ring’s on her finger, and once the paperwork is signed, we’ll have access to her father’s holding accounts. Wire your fee tonight? Absolutely. No, she has no idea. Savannah’s sweet, but she’s blind. She still believes in love. Poor thing. She thinks she’s getting a husband. I’m getting out.”
The words landed harder than any slap.
Savannah shut her eyes and felt something split wide open inside her.
Not just heartbreak.
Humiliation.