His jaw tightens. “Because keeping you isn’t leverage anymore.”
The sting is immediate.
“So I’m useless,” I say.
Silence stretches.
“You’re free,” he says at last. The word sounds forced. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
I turn toward the window, watching streetlights slide past. “What happens now?” I ask quietly.
“This ends,” he says. “You go back to your family. I keep doing what I do.”
“And what is that?” I snap, anger finally breaking through. “Taking what you want and discarding it when you’re finished?”
His hand slams against the steering wheel.
“Don’t push me,” he says. “I’m doing this for you.”
Grateful sticks in my throat, sour and heavy. I don’t answer.
The city thins. Darkness closes in.
When we pull up to the iron gates of my father’s estate, Ridge kills the engine. He doesn’t look at me at first.
“They’ll come for you from here,” he says.
I hesitate, fingers curling around the door handle.
“Ridge—”
“Don’t,” he says. The word is rough. “Just go.”
I step out into the night. The gate opens. Two of my father’s men approach.
When I turn back, Ridge is already pulling away, his taillights disappearing down the road.
I sitin the leather club chair in my father’s study, too exhausted to move, too wired to rest. The grandfather clock ticks steadily against the far wall, each second loud in the dim, heavy quiet. My body wants sleep. My mind refuses it.
Just hours ago, I fell asleep in Ridge’s bed.
The thought lands wrong. Not because it’s shocking, but because it feels factual. Ordinary. I remember the weight of the mattress beneath me, the quiet order of the room, the way the space felt contained, deliberate. Controlled. I was calm there in a way I don’t understand and don’t want to examine too closely.
Now I’m home. Free, by any definition that should matter. And my chest feels hollow, scraped clean, like something essential was pulled out and not replaced.
The air here is thick with my father’s cologne and stale cigar smoke. Familiar. Overbearing. It clings to my skin,settles into my lungs. This room used to mean safety. Authority. Certainty. Tonight it presses in on me, heavy and unyielding.
My hands twist together in my lap. I can’t stop moving them.
Julio said my father was on his way. I don’t know what I’m bracing for. Relief. Fury. Interrogation. Maybe all of it at once.
The front door opens. Closes. The sound carries down the hall, solid and final. I know it’s him before I see him.
Laurent steps into the doorway, filling it without effort. The same presence he’s always had. Commanding. Imposing. His eyes lock on mine, sharp and searching.
“Coco,” he says. “Thank God you’re home.”
He closes the study door behind him. The click lands like a seal. Something inside my chest tightens in response.
