“I was trying to protect you?—“
“From what? From your family? From the truth?” I shake my head. “You were protecting yourself, Kaiden. From me.” I close my eyes to stop the tears. “Did you think I was in it for the money?”
A black car pulls up to the curb. George steps out, takes one look at my face. Opens the back door without a word.
“Emma.” Kai says my name like a prayer. Like a plea. “I love you.”
The words stop me cold. Three words I've been waiting to hear. Three words that should change everything.
But right now, they just make it worse.
“If you loved me,” I say quietly, “you would have trusted me with the truth.”
I get into the car and close the door.
George slides into the driver's seat. In the rearview mirror, I see him assess me with quiet concern. He pulls a small packet of tissues from the center console, passes it back without comment.
“Where would you like to go, Miss?”
I open my mouth to answer, but no words come. Where do I go? Not the penthouse. Not my old apartment, empty and cold.
“Just drive,” I manage. “Please. Just drive.”
“Yes, Miss.”
As the car pulls away from the curb, I look back once. Kaiden is standing on the steps, jacket still in his hands, watching me disappear into the night.
I don't cry until the car turns the corner and I can't see him anymore.
Then I shatter completely.
CHAPTER 38
THE ADDRESS
KAIDEN
The car is tooquiet without her.
George meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. He's been my driver for six years. He knows when to talk and when to stay silent.
“Where did you take her?”
“Her friend's apartment, sir. Miss Reyes.”
Zoe. Of course. The only person Emma trusts completely.
I could go there. Knock on the door, demand she talk to me, explain everything. Make her listen.
But I know Emma. When she's overwhelmed, she retreats. If I push now, I'll lose her for good.
“Take me home.”
The penthouse is dark when I arrive. I don't bother with the lights. Walk straight to our room and stop in the doorway.
Her suitcase is open on the floor. Half-packed. The toothbrush is gone from the bathroom. Her sketchbook. The little things she reaches for every day.
She left the shoes I bought her, sitting neatly by the closet door. That's somehow worse than if she'd taken everything.
