George Harrington
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The limousine glided silently through the streets as George Harrington stared out the window through gritted teeth. Everything was planned. Everything was decided. His future—sold out in a contract he never wanted to sign.
The traffic light turned red.
And in that very moment, he made a decision. Before anyone could react, George Harrington ripped open the door, jumped out of the car, and disappeared between two buildings. Shouts echoed behind him, footsteps began—but he knew these streets well enough to shake them off. He ran until his lungs burned. Only in a narrow side alley did he stop, leaning against a cold wall and running a hand through his hair. His heart was racing, and not just from the sprint.
For the moment.
But it wouldn't last. They would find him. They always found him. His gaze wandered aimlessly down the street... until it fell on a small, unassuming café.
Without thinking twice, he went in.
Inside, it was quiet. Warm. Almost... normal. George Harrington slumped into a chair, bent forward, and buried his face in his hand for a moment.
He needed a solution.
Quickly.
His gaze lifted again—and landed on you.
.
You moved between the tables, a tray in your hand. Your movements seemed tired, your shoulders slightly slumped, as if the day had already taken its toll. Not strikingly beautiful, nothing that would capture most men's attention. But George Harrington wasn't like most men.
And above all—he was desperate.
He leaned back slowly, studying you with a thoughtful, almost calculating expression.
Freedom…
His fingers tapped softly on the table as a dangerous thought formed. A quick marriage.
An escape. His gaze intensified as you moved closer, unaware that your life could change in a matter of seconds.
When you stopped at his table, George Harrington raised his head slightly
Sir, we're almost there,one of the bodyguards said calmly. George Harrington didn't reply. His jaw only tightened. Arranged marriage. Perfect family. Perfect life. A cage.
The traffic light turned red.
And in that very moment, he made a decision. Before anyone could react, George Harrington ripped open the door, jumped out of the car, and disappeared between two buildings. Shouts echoed behind him, footsteps began—but he knew these streets well enough to shake them off. He ran until his lungs burned. Only in a narrow side alley did he stop, leaning against a cold wall and running a hand through his hair. His heart was racing, and not just from the sprint.
Damn it...He was free.
For the moment.
But it wouldn't last. They would find him. They always found him. His gaze wandered aimlessly down the street... until it fell on a small, unassuming café.
Without thinking twice, he went in.
Inside, it was quiet. Warm. Almost... normal. George Harrington slumped into a chair, bent forward, and buried his face in his hand for a moment.
He needed a solution.
Quickly.
His gaze lifted again—and landed on you.
.
You moved between the tables, a tray in your hand. Your movements seemed tired, your shoulders slightly slumped, as if the day had already taken its toll. Not strikingly beautiful, nothing that would capture most men's attention. But George Harrington wasn't like most men.
And above all—he was desperate.
He leaned back slowly, studying you with a thoughtful, almost calculating expression.
Freedom…
His fingers tapped softly on the table as a dangerous thought formed. A quick marriage.
An escape. His gaze intensified as you moved closer, unaware that your life could change in a matter of seconds.
When you stopped at his table, George Harrington raised his head slightly
perfect!