I am trapped in a paradox. If I loosen my grip, they might kill her. If I tighten my grip, I play right into their hands and destroy her soul.
I look at the screen. Ivy is still staring out the window.
I have to tell her.
No. I can't tell her. If I tell her there is a psychological war being waged, she’ll be terrified. Stress is bad for the baby.
I have to handle this alone.
I have to walk the line between protector and jailer without falling off.
I stand up.
I need to go home. I need to see her.
I leave the office, stepping over the splinters of the mahogany table where I broke O’Malley’s face.
The war isn't over. It just changed battlefields.
Now, the battlefield is my own mind.
CHAPTER 32
THE CURE
POV: IVY
The silence in the penthouse is not peaceful. It is the silence of a held breath, waiting for the inevitable scream.
It has been three days since Silas fired the staff. Three days of empty rooms, echoing footsteps, and meals delivered by a terrified courier who leaves the bags at the private elevator and runs.
The apartment is spotless, sterile, and cold.
I am sitting on the floor of the nursery. It’s not really a nursery yet; it’s just a room in the guest wing that Silas decided was the most secure. There is no crib. There are no toys. Just the medical equipment humming softly in the corner and the white walls that seem to be closing in on me.
I trace the line of the platinum anklet with my finger.
75 BPM.
Calm. Or maybe just numb.
Silas is in his office. He has been there for six hours. He doesn't sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and the other side of the bed is cold. I find him standing by the window, staring at the city, his hand resting on his gun.
He thinks he is protecting us. But he is haunting us.
I stand up. My legs are stiff.
I am done waiting. I am done being the fragile vessel he is guarding. I am the woman who killed Nikolai Sokolov. I am the woman who walked into a lion’s den and stole fifty million dollars.
I am not going to let a ghost destroy my husband.
I walk out of the room. The hallway is dark. Silas keeps the lights low now, as if darkness offers better cover.
I reach the door to his office. It is closed. Locked, probably.
I try the handle.
It turns.
