Chapter 7

Serena's POV

I stood under the lobby lights. My clutch held only the velvet box and a phone nearly out of battery.

I turned my ID over in my fingers and pressed my thumb over my own photo.

This card used to tell the world who I was.

Now it only told me that Ethan had decided I wasn't allowed to be anyone.

After dark, I sat on a bench outside.

The fabric of my pants rubbed against the cuts on my knees. The welts from the night before pulsed with heat across my back.

I had nowhere to go. I scrolled to the bottom of my contacts and stopped on my best friend's name.

I didn't call.

She had built that flower shop from nothing, dollar by dollar. White roses in the window year-round.

If Ethan could freeze my ID and my bank accounts, he could reach a flower shop.

A black Bentley pulled up in front of me.

The window came down. Ethan sat in the back. His expression was colder than the night air.

"Get in."

I didn't move.

His security man climbed out of the front seat and took hold of my arm.

I struggled. My knee hit the car door.

Ethan's brow creased.

"Don't hurt her."

I looked at him.

"You couldn't say that last night?"

He turned away.

The car door closed. The city lights disappeared behind tinted glass.

Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of a luxury apartment building.

The elevator went straight to the top floor. The door opened into warm light. Slippers set neatly side by side. A bowl of hot soup just delivered, still steaming on the dining table.

Ethan dropped his jacket on the couch and handed me a mug of hot water.

"Drink something."

I looked at the mug. I didn't take it.

"What is this place?"

"You'll live here from now on."

"Locked up?"

Something passed briefly across his face and was smoothed over.

"Don't make it sound worse than it is. Serena, as long as you stay out of Cassandra's way, this is your home."

I let out a short laugh.

"My home just got repainted pink."

His hand tightened around his mug.

"I'll make it right. The apartment. Money. A position at the company. Whatever you need."

"What about being your wife? Publicly?"

Ethan said nothing.

I watched him.

"Acknowledging me openly. Is that really so much harder than giving me real estate?"

He set the mug down and kept his voice quiet.

"What we have is real. I can give you everything except that one thing. The public recognition."

Those words settled into the apartment and turned every light into a lock.

I grabbed his hand and bit down, hard.

Ethan yanked back with a sharp sound.

I lost my footing. My lower back hit the coffee table. My temple caught the glass edge. A line of warmth moved down along my brow.

Ethan's expression shifted. He reached toward me.

I shoved his hand away and ran for the door.

"Serena."

I didn't look back.

Before the elevator doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of him standing in the living room light, the back of his hand dark with the marks I had left.

Half an hour later, I pushed through the door of an internet café.

I found a seat at the back, powered up a computer, plugged in my phone, and began compressing the files I had saved into a single archive.

I opened my email.

The screen went black.

Not a power outage. The computers around me were still running. Someone nearby was yelling into a headset about a game.

Only mine went dark.

My phone buzzed once on the desk.

Unknown number. One line of text.

Don't waste your energy.

I stared at those words. The back of my neck went tight, one vertebra at a time.

Footsteps at the café entrance.

Two police officers walked up to where I was sitting.

"Serena Walsh?"

I looked up.

"Yes."

They showed their badges.

"You are suspected of misappropriating funds from Hartley Group. Please come with us."

My hands were still resting on the keyboard.

The draft email waited behind a dark screen.

Not one word had been sent.