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Cora's mention of Mason being in a bad mood and leaving early from his party had set off warning bells in Grayson's head. Mason wasn't one to duck out of parties early, and his charm was always a sure bet.

When the taxi rolled up to his hotel, something immediately struck Grayson as odd. A row of sleek black cars were parked in perfect formation right by the entrance. The unease in his gut grew, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong. Ignoring the feeling, he headed towards the lobby.

Inside, he noticed fewer staff members bustled about, and the usual crowd of guests had dwindled. Where was everyone? he wondered as he made his way to the elevators. The unsettling silence seemed to amplify his growing sense of unease.

The elevator doors chimed open, and Grayson ventured down the dimly lit corridors toward his room. However, he abruptly stopped when he reached a bend, a sudden shiver running down his spine. "Grayson!" He heard a voice calling his name urgently. "Grayson!" 

Emily, he thought. The voice abruptly fell silent, and he swore he heard hurried footsteps echoing through the corridor. He kept moving toward his room, hesitant to hear from Emily again. "It's not real," he whispered under his breath. "It's not-" His hand reached for the doorknob when the voice called out again, much clearer this time. "GRAYSON!" He knew he wasn't imagining it, and it definitely wasn't Emily's voice.

He spun to his right, and around the bend in the corridor came Alison. Grayson hadn't expected to see Alison so soon, especially considering her recent decision to keep her distance. There were a million reasons that Grayson could think of for her choice, but one particular thought lingered in his mind as the main reason: Emily. In a way, he thought, it was probably for the best that she had chosen to keep her distance. 

For a moment, Alison was bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath, attempting to shout something. It was too distant to hear; all he could make out was "don't" and "move" as she quickly stood up and continued sprinting toward him.

Don't Move? Grayson thought, puzzled. Amidst the chaos and confusion, he managed to open his room door, and a faint beep filled the air. Don't Move. The words echoed in his head. The beeping grew louder and faster, prompting Grayson to step back instinctively. Don't Move.

Alison pulled him out into the corridor just as the floor beneath them seemed to give way. They fell to the ground, tumbling a few meters away from his room. Grayson's body throbbed from the impact, his back taking the brunt of the fall, leaving him momentarily winded. 

He forced his eyes open, seeing Alison lying on top of him. She glanced back toward his room, her eyes widening in horror. 

Grayson followed her gaze. 

Fire was tearing through his room, flames everywhere."Who-" But he didn't need to ask the question out loud; he could practically taste the bitter truth. That explained why Mason had made an early exit, he was the one who planted the bomb, set off by his doorknob. 

"That was close," Alison heavily breathed. "Too close." 

Grayson shifted his gaze from the raging inferno in his room to Alison. Her dress from before were smudged with soot, and there was a smear of blood on her forehead, partially hidden by a lock of dishevelled hair. He reached out and gently brushed aside the stray strands of hair to reveal the small, bleeding cut on her forehead. "You're hurt," his voice was filled with guilt. His fingers lightly touched the wound, and Alison's gaze shifted from the fire down to him.

The fire continued to crackle and roar behind them, its heat and intensity reminding Grayson they couldn't afford to stay here for long. "We have to go." 

He and Alison scrambled to their feet, racing away from the inferno that had once been his room. Their hearts pounded in their chests as they fled, narrowly escaping the fiery trap that had been set for him.

They ventured down dimly lit corridors, putting distance between themselves and the raging fire. Smoke filled the air, making each breath a struggle.

Alison stumbled slightly, her pace faltering as they hurried through the labyrinthine hallways. Grayson instinctively reached out to steady her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She flinched at his touch and he quickly withdrew his hand. "I'm okay," she reassured, trying to mend the moment.

As they turned a corner, Grayson expected sirens, fire engines, or the sprinklers to burst, but instead, there was only the dim flickering light of the corridors. It occurred to him that's why there were fewer people around, and Mason had used the party as a distraction to clear the building. 

They reached the elevators, and just as it opened, Alison yanked Grayson back. Her voice was strained as she coughed through the thick smoke. "Mason is down there," she managed to say between coughs. "We should take the emergency stairs."

How did she know that? Grayson furrowed. It made sense because she was with Mason, suggesting he wasn't far behind. But still, the stairs and the elevator both led to the lobby. Mason would either be there waiting or not, so why did it matter, unless she was leading him somewhere?

He nodded in agreement, and without further discussion, they quickly turned and headed for the emergency stairwell, hoping it would lead them to safety, Mason or not.

With Alison's guidance, they navigated through the smoke-filled corridors, occasionally encountering locked doors and dead ends. Finally, they reached a stairwell, and with trembling legs, they began their descent, the lights flickering ominously. 

"You knew," Grayson's voice was firm and edged with a sense of betrayal. He stopped in his tracks, and Alison did the same, just a few steps further down the stairwell.

Their eyes locked, and Grayson saw her pupils widened slightly, akin to the instinctive response of a wild animal sensing danger.

She sighed heavily and leaned against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell, the flickering emergency lights casting eerie shadows on her face. "Gray-"

"You knew, and you didn't tell me." His words were sharp, punctuating the growing tension between them. 

Alison's gaze shifted away, her guilt evident in her expression. She knew that her actions, or rather her inaction, had put Grayson in grave danger.

"Why are you here, Alison?" Frustration tinged Grayson's voice as he closed the distance between them, step by step. "If you're here because Mason allowed it, then why?" Another step. "You wanted this," he continued advancing until they were one step away. "You pushed for distance, but now you're here."

Alison looked down at her feet, unable to meet Grayson's gaze.

"You put me on the board," Grayson's voice remained ice-cold.

"And I don't regret it,"Alison's shoulders slumped even further, sunk into a crouch, as if the weight of her confession pressed down on her like a heavy burden. "I needed you to stay in the game-"

"You needed me in the game?" Grayson's voice was a bitter snarl, laced with the raw edge of his frustration. "So, all those secrets, the risks you took, it was just a game to you?"

Was this all part of her twisted game? Grayson's thoughts raced, his internal voice a crescendo of frustration and anger. She had known about the bomb in my room and kept it from me. She was aware of Mason's impending arrival down these very stairs, yet she chose not to warn me. And did she predict my abductions and ordeals as well? Grayson couldn't help but fume inwardly. Alison, he thought bitterly, as the flames raged around them and breathing became a challenge. What other cards are you holding, and what part of this twisted narrative is truly yours?

Alison finally met Grayson's gaze again, a soft smile gracing her lips as if she had plucked his doubts right from his mind. "Would you believe me if I told you that every choice I've made, every secret I've kept, it was all to protect you? But yet, here we are," her voice gentled.

Grayson clenched his jaw, torn between wanting to trust her and needing more answers. She had her secrets, just as he had his, but she had placed him in a dangerous game without him knowing the rules. 

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from somewhere above them, and the stairwell trembled slightly. The realization that their lives were still in peril snapped him back to the urgency of their situation. 

"We need to find a way out of here," Grayson said, his voice devoid of earlier anger but still cold.

Alison rose to her feet, revealing a wound on her right shoulder with a piece of wood lodged in it. A pang of guilt washed over Grayson, but his anger toward Alison still simmered just beneath the surface.

Grayson kept his thoughts to himself for now, not daring to voice his suspicions aloud. With every step, the tension between them deepened until the reached the lobby.

The lobby was empty except for a few figures near the entrance. 

"I brought you into this game not as a pawn,"Alison suddenly spoke beside him, her gaze locking onto his. "It's your move."

Grayson just stood there, his piercing grey-silver eyes locked onto Alison's blue sapphires. In that moment, it was as if a flood of understanding washed over him. She hadn't used him as a pawn; instead, she had placed him in the most vital role on the board, the king. Alison was the queen, and as queens do, she protected her king. Now, it was Grayson's turn, and in life, just as in any game, the course of events or rules depended on the choices you made. When it was your moment, you weren't meant to be a mere game piece; you had to be the one to make the move. 

Without a word, Grayson took Alison's uninjured arm, guiding her toward a side exit in the kitchen. As they reached the back door, Grayson pushed it open, revealing a narrow alley bathed in the distant glow of street lights. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the raging inferno they had left behind in the building.

Grayson glanced around, tension gnawing at his gut. From the entrance of the tunnel leading to the streets, several voices echoed. He pressed his back against the cold, damp wall, signalling for Alison to stay quiet.

He strained to listen, his hand still in Alison's, and they both recognized the unmistakable voice of Mason Valentine. 

"Any signs of Grayson?" Mason's voice cut through the air like a blade, cold and demanding.

"No," an unfamiliar voice replied. "Alison's nowhere in sight either."

A tense silence settled over the scene, suffocating in its stillness. Mason's voice returned, colder and more detached than before. "I wonder if she knew about the bomb," he mused callously, "Ah, well, I suppose that's just one more secret I can take to the grave."

Alison's hand slipped from Grayson's, and the faint rustle of her movement echoed in the silence. 

Grayson turned towards Alison. Her features remained hidden in the dim light, but her posture spoke volumes. She seemed more fragile, shattered by the cruelty of Mason's words. But there was no time for comforting words now.

""What was that?" questioned one of Mason's henchmen, an unfamiliar voice to Grayson.

Mason immediately reacted, having heard it as well. "Check the alleyway," he commanded.

Grayson didn't waste a moment. With a swift motion, he swept Alison off her feet, knowing her injured shoulder would slow them down, and he ran down the other end. 

As Grayson raced through the dimly lit alley with Alison in his arms, his thoughts swirled with a mix of emotions. He couldn't shake the guilt that had settled in his chest like a heavy stone. Alison hadn't known about the bomb in his room, that she had been trying to rescue him from. The idea that he had misjudged her actions gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for jumping to conclusions about her intentions. The thought that she had taken risks to save him weighed heavily on his conscience. 

Alison wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice barely more than a whisper, reaching his ears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated softly, her whispered apologies tugging at his heartstrings. Her grip tightened around him as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm sorry."

Grayson could hear the distant shouts growing closer, and he knew that they had been spotted. 

His heart raced as he reached the other side of the building and onto the road. Desperation gripped him, and he scanned the area for any possible escape.

Just as doubt clouded his choices, a black taxi screeched to a halt before him. The driver, a middle-aged man with friendly features, bushy brows, and a bright yellow hat, swiftly lowered his window. "Need a ride?" He reached for the door, inviting Grayson to enter.

Instincts warned Grayson of the potential danger, but with Mason and his relentless pursuers hot on his heels, he had little choice. 

Alison clung to Grayson so tightly that he didn't have a chance to settle her inside the car. Instead, he slid into the taxi with Alison still in his arms.

The taxi driver glanced at them through the rear-view mirror, and asked "Where to?" 

"Harvard University," Grayson said firmly, not offering any more information than necessary. 

The driver nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and pulled away from the curb.