Page 3 of Claim Me, Colt

Outside, the storm breaks like a warning.

And I know—somehow—she’s going to turn my world upside down.

Chapter 2

Simone

Iranawayfrommy own engagement party.

The thought hits me like a physical blow as I stand dripping on this stranger's hardwood floor, my Oscar de la Renta dress clinging to my body like a second skin.

Who does that?Who abandons three hundred guests, a fifteen-piece orchestra, and enough champagne to float a small yacht just because—

Well, because I discovered the man I’m supposed to marry tongue-deep in a campaign volunteer's mouth in the hotel's utility closet.

And my darling fiancé had the nerve to look at me with dead eyes and say, “Don’t act so surprised, Simone. It’s not like you’re marrying me forlove.”

There’s some truth in that.

From the moment I met Jonathan, I knew we’d get married. He’s wealthy, attractive, politically connected, and the man my parents chose for me. Ilikehim well enough.Well, I did before today, anyway.

We have a lot in common, and we never run out of things to talk about.

I thought we’d have a marriage built on a foundation of trust and thosefamily valuesthat Jonathan likes to talk so much about in his political speeches. I certainly didn’t expect to find him feeling up another woman at our engagement party.

But earth-shaking, can’t-live-without-you, passionate love?

No, I wasn’t marrying him for that. I’m not surethateven exists.

The cabin smells like cedar and woodsmoke, nothing like the cloying floral arrangements and imported caviar I left behind at the Willard Hotel. Everything here is simple, honest—dark leather furniture worn soft with use, bookshelves lined with actual books instead of decorative props, and a stone fireplace that looks like it gets regular use.

And there’s not a single camera or microphone in sight.

Colt moves past me without a word, disappearing into what I assume is the kitchen. His presence fills the space even when he's not in the room—something solid and unshakeable that makes the constant anxiety I've carried for years ease just a little.

I catch my reflection in the dark window and almost don't recognize myself. My carefully styled updo has come completely undone, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, lipstick long gone. The dress is now see-through and torn at the hem.

I look like I've been through a war.

He returns with a thick towel and a bottle of water, setting both on the coffee table without ceremony.

"You're not going to ask questions?" I find myself saying.

He shrugs, his dark eyes steady on mine. "Not my business.”

“There’s really no cell service here?” I ask hopefully.

“Nope.”

I exhale slowly, and it's probably terrible that the thought comforts me more than it should. No texts from campaign managers. No calls from Mother asking if I remembered to smile for the photographers. No updates from the wedding planner about floral arrangements and seating charts.

"Good," I whisper. "I think I want to disappear for a while."

He watches me with unreadable eyes—dark brown, almost black, with lines at the corners that speak of squinting into harsh sunlight. There's something about his stillness that settles me. He doesn't rush to fill the quiet spaces or offer empty reassurances.

"Bathroom's down the hall," he says finally. "Clean towels in the linen closet. I’ll find you something to wear, too. Everything I have will be too big, but at least you’ll be dry and warm."

I hesitate at the kindness, so different from the calculating politeness I'm used to.

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