My Husband Wants An Open Marriage (Julie and Ryan)
Open Billionaire 70

CHAPTER 070: Deer Caught In Headlights

CHAPTER 070: Deer Caught In Headlights

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Today's not going as planned. I've bribed a child for information, thrown a perfectly good pair of heels in the middle of the street, and am currently chasing down an ex-convict like I'm auditioning for the Olympics.

My lungs are screaming, my legs are burning, and yet I can't stop. Every time I close the distance between us, Sara glances over her shoulder and picks up speed. I feel like a predator chasing prey, except the prey has better cardio. "Hey," I scream. "Stop running."

She turns sharply into an alley, and I push harder, adrenaline overriding my common sense. When I round the corner, she trips on a crack in the pavement. I'm so close I can't stop myself, and we both go tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and spilled groceries. "Good Lord!" I gasp, struggling to pin her down without crushing her.

"Please, don't hurt me!" she yells, thrashing beneath me.

"What?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"I'm not here to hurt you!" My voice comes out sharper than intended. "I just want to talk. Promise if I let you go, you'll be cool."

She freezes, her wide, terrified eyes meeting mine. Slowly, she nods.

"Great." I push myself up and immediately regret it. My knee squishes into something sticky. "Oh, for God's sake," I mutter, lifting my leg and replaceing what looks like a wad of gum stuck to my pants. Of course.

While I'm distracted, Sara scrambles to gather her sunglasses and her scattered groceries. A bag of rice, some bruised apples, and a can of beans roll into a sad little pile. She shoves them into her bag without a word, her movements hurried and defensive, like I might snatch the food away.

When she's done, she stands and faces me. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Julie," I say, brushing gravel off my clothes and grimacing at the gum still stuck to my knee. "My name is Julie. Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

She stares at me, her dark eyes narrowing with suspicion For a moment, I think she's going to bolt again, but then she sighs. "I need to drop this off at the house first. There's a café nearby."

"Fine."

She turns and starts walking back toward the house, and I follow, still trying to scrape the gum off my pants. When we reach the door, the little girl from earlier is still standing there, leaning against the frame with a smirk.

I grab my shoes from the porch, slipping them on as Sara speaks in Spanish to the girl. The girl responds, her tone sharp and sassy, and Sara shoots her a warning look before handing her the grocery bag. The girl huffs, says something else in Spanish, and disappears inside, but not before throwing me one last pointed look.

"Alright," Sara says, turning back to me. "Let's go."

+25 BONUS

CHAPTER 070: Deer Caught in Headlights

I gesture toward my car. "Hop in."

She hesitates, her body stiffening. "We can walk. It's just a few blocks from here."

"No offense," I say, "but I'm not leaving my car here."

Sara's lips press into a thin line, but she nods. She climbs into the passenger seat like it's a torture device, arms crossed over her chest.

"Where to?" I say.

"Take a left at the light."

As I drive, the silence between us is heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine. I steal glances at her out of the corner of my eye.

Sara looks different from what I expected. She's beautiful, sure, but in a way that feels raw and untamed. Her hair is long and dark, falling over her shoulders in loose waves, and her face is sharp, all angles and shadows. She doesn't look like someone who makes careless decisions. Then again, what does such a person look like?

"You're not a cop, are you?" she asks.

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I told you-I just want to talk."

She snorts, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "Yeah, sure. You chased me down an alley and tackled me to the ground because you wanted to talk."

"Look, I'm not here to fight or accuse you of anything. I need you to answer some questions. That's all."

"About what?"

"Let's get to the café first."

Her eyes fall on me, searching for something. Truth? Weakness? I can't tell.

"Right here," she says, pointing to a small building.

I park, and we get out.

The café looks as though it's been forgotten by time, a relic from the days before chain coffee shops took over the world. The paint on the exterior is peeling in strips, revealing layers of old colors beneath-a kind of accidental mural. The awning is faded to a sad shade of beige, and the "Open" sign blinks like it's powered by a dying battery.

Sara strides in without hesitation, and I follow, letting the door close behind me with a soft chime. The inside smells like stale coffee and grease, and a jukebox in the corner wheezes out a faint tune. The place is mostly empty save for an older man in a booth, nursing a mug of something that looks like it's been reheated one too many times.

Sara slides into a booth by the window and picks up a laminated menu.

+25 BONUS

CHAPTER 070: Deef Caught In Headlights

"I won't talk without food first," she says, her voice casual like we're old friends meeting for brunch.

"Fine. Order whatever you want."

"

She waves over a waitress who looks like she's been doing this job since the Nixon administration. " Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake," Sara says, snapping the menu shut and sliding it across the table.

"Make that two," I add, because if I'm going to sit here and pretend I'm not spiraling into some kind of existential crisis, I might as well eat.

The waitress scribbles our order down and waddles off, leaving us in a silence that feels heavier than it should. Sara leans back in her seat, her arms crossed, her gaze darting to the window every few seconds like she's plotting her next escape route.

I sit stiffly across from her, pretending to study the café's décor. There's an old clock on the wall that's permanently stuck at 3:15, a bulletin board covered in faded flyers, and a shelf filled with chipped mugs. I try not to fidget, but my fingers keep drumming against the table.

The food takes forever, or at least it feels like forever. When it finally arrives, Sara digs in without hesitation. She eats like someone who hasn't had a proper meal in years-which, I realize, is probably true. Her movements are quick and purposeful, her eyes darting around the room between bites, as if she expects the world to snatch her plate away.

I watch her, trying to imagine what it must be like to adjust to food that doesn't come on a plastic tray and taste like cardboard. Does she savor it? Or has she forgotten how to enjoy something as simple as a meal? Suddenly, I've lost my appetite.

When she's finished, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and leans back. "Alright," she says. "I'm ready to talk now."

I clear my throat, my mind scrambling to replace the right words. I'd rehearsed this in my head on the way here-

a carefully crafted statement that felt professional and convincing. But now, sitting across from her, the script in my head feels flimsy and inadequate.

"I'm a friend of Lucas Martinez," I say.

A

The change in her is instant. Her face twists in anger, her body going rigid like a deer caught in headlights. Did he send you here to kill me?"