“No, I need this. Just for a few minutes. Please.”
Chloe, always quick to adapt, nods enthusiastically. “Well, I finally got that promotion at the museum. Senior curator.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, forcing a smile that gradually becomes more genuine. “You’ve been working toward that for so long.”
“And I met someone,” Daisy says quietly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Nothing serious yet, but... he’s interesting.”
“Not Penn, I assume?” I tease gently, remembering Chloe’s comment earlier.
Daisy’s blush deepens. “No. His name is James. He’s a lawyer with that firm downtown.”
“She’s being modest,” Grace cuts in. “He’s absolutely smitten with her. He sends flowers to her office every week.”
For a brief moment, the tension in the air lifts. We’re just four friends catching up, sharing life updates.
“What about you, Grace?” I ask. “Any news?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “The gallery’s been getting offers from some corporate buyer. He keeps raising the price. I keep saying no.”
“Xavier Porter’s company,” Chloe supplies. “Grace hates him.”
“I don’t hate him,” Grace protests. “I just don’t trust him. There’s something off about a tech bro suddenly interested in art.”
As I listen to Grace talk about her gallery troubles, I find myself clinging to her words like a lifeline. This normal conversation—this mundane evening with friends—keeps the darker thoughts at bay, if only for moments at a time.
But they creep back in, unwelcome and persistent.
What is Liv enduring right now? Is she scared? Hurt? The image of her with Jax flashes through my mind—her back arching, her lips parting in what looked like pleasure, not pain. My stomach churns with dread.
You belong to me now, don’t you, Olivia?
Yes... I belong to you.
I blink hard, trying to erase the memory. What if she wasn’t just playing along to survive? What if something in her actually responded to him? The thought makes me physically ill, but I can’t deny what I saw with my own eyes.
Maybe it was just survival. Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. Or maybe there was something darker in my sister that Jax recognized and drew out.
I take another sip of my coffee, forcing myself to focus on Chloe’s animated hand gestures as she describes some gallery mishap. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here, safe with our friends. Protected. Sleeping in Hunter’s penthouse at night with its ridiculous thread-count sheets and panoramic views. I have security. Comfort. The man I love.
And Liv has... what? A monster? A cell? Or worse—what if she’s developing feelings for her captor?
The guilt is crushing. It should be both of us suffering or both of us free—not this half-measure where I get to sip lattes with friends while my sister remains in Jax’s clutches. Every moment of normalcy I steal feels like a betrayal.
But I need this. These slivers of ordinary life keep me from collapsing under the weight of everything else. They remind me of what we’re fighting to get back to.
Still, as Daisy laughs at something Grace says, I can’t help but wonder how Liv is coping.
24
EPILOGUE
AURORA
Six weeks later…
The elevator doors slide open to the penthouse, and I freeze. Every surface glimmers with candlelight, dozens of flames dancing across the space Hunter and I have shared these past desperate weeks. The dining table—usually covered with maps and surveillance printouts—is now draped in crisp linen, set with fine china and crystal glasses that catch the light.
“Hunter?” I call, setting my purse down. The scent of something delicious hangs in the air, a stark contrast to our usual hastily-prepared meals grabbed between search updates.
