I stare at the message, my heart racing, breath shallow.
What have I done? If this goes wrong, I could die. And if Lucien finds out I saw him behind his back he will never forgive me. Possibly kill me as well… I shake the idea away immediately. Lucien would never hurt me, not even if he were angry.
Stacy watches me, eyes glossy with fear. “You need to tell Lucien. Please. If something happens…”
I swallow, hard. “I will. I just need a minute to figure out how.”
She touches my hand, squeezing it a little. My cousin is concerned, and so am I, but I need to talk sense into Matteo. Give it one last chance to make him move on, before I had to, and not in New York.
“You aren’t alone. I’m right here, and if you want me to come tomorrow, I will.”
I nod again, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m scared,” I whisper. “But Matteo won’t hurt me so close to law enforcement, nor so publicly. He’s not that bold.”
“He’s a bully, so it’s no secret they’re spineless creatures.”
The Met seating charts blur. The security notes fade. I close my laptop slowly. Nothing matters now. Not the gala. Not the donors. Not the event.
Only survival.
Only the truth I’m terrified to speak.
Tomorrow everything could change. Tomorrow I could lose everything. Or save it. I don’t know which.
TWENTY-THREE
BRIAR
Matteo texts again midmorning.The message pops up while Stacy and I are reviewing the seating plans for the Met event. My stomach drops the moment I see his name.
Dinner instead. Seven thirty. Same place. Don’t be late.
The confidence dripping from the words turns my stomach. I want to throw the phone across the room. I want to pretend I never saw it. I want to delete the message and forget I ever agreed to meet him. But I type back anyway.
Fine.
The moment I hit send I regret it. A heavy, suffocating guilt sinks into my lungs.
All day in the loft I feel like I’m walking through water, every breath thick and tight. Stacy sits near me at the dining table, her hair up in a messy knot, laptop open, trying not to probe too deeply. I can tell she is desperate to ask if I told Lucien. The answer is written all over my face.
I did not.
I should tell him. He deserves to know. He would protect me. He would never let Matteo near me again. But if I tell him he will go after Matteo. Someone will die. Maybe both of them. I couldn’t live with that. I won’t be the reason everything burns down.
So I say nothing.
We work quietly. Emails. Seating charts. Catering confirmations. Security schematics. My hand shakes every time I reach for my coffee. The pain in my jaw throbs with every movement. My lip pulls against the stitches as it slowly heals.
Every time my phone lights up, I flinch.
The guilt is worse than the fear now. It settles like acid in my chest. If this doesn’t work tonight. If Matteo refuses to listen. If he refuses to let me go. Then I have no choice. I will have to leave New York. Leave Stacy. Leave everything. Maybe even leave Lucien without explanation. I will disappear again. It’s the only way everyone stays safe.
Lucien calls just before six. He tells me he has been called into an urgent meeting and won’t be back at the loft until late. His voice sounds strained but calm. He has no idea what I’m planning. The relief that floods me tastes bitter.
After we hang up, I sit frozen for several minutes, shaking. Then I stand and walk to the bedroom to change. I put on dark jeans and a soft, black sweater, nothing special. I look exhausted in the mirror. My bruises are fading but still visible. There is no way to hide what Matteo did.
Stacy watches silently as I pull a coat from the wardrobe. She knows. I don’t need to say anything. She walks over and wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly.
“Please be careful,” she whispers.
