“You really thought she just wound up here? She’s hiding from people who don’t like to be disrespected. Dangerous people.”
My breath leaves my lungs like it’s been punched out. “Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” I snap. “It matters. Lorenzo said things . . . stories. About how she always ran. Always looked over her shoulder. Are you saying you know who she’s running from?”
He checks his watch.
“You’ve got nineteen minutes left,” he says. “Use them however you like.”
He spins on his heel and walks off.
Just like that.
Like I’m disposable.
And to him, I am.
My legs almost give out. I grip the wall until the spinning slows.
Then I run.
I check the servant wing—empty. The kitchen is silent. It’s barely dawn.
Shit. What do I do? I need to tell Lorenzo.
I check the staff stairwell and even behind the laundry room. My heart pounds so violently that it shakes my ribs.
Then I see her.
Angela. Holding a tray. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Miss Victoria—”
“I need you to give him this.” My voice breaks, splintering in the middle. I snatch a notecard from the counter and scribblesomething on the back, my hands shaking hard enough to smear the ink.
They’re sending me away. I don’t want to leave you. I love you.
I press it into her hand. “Please. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I didn’t want to leave.”
Her eyes go glassy. She nods slowly. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
I turn and run again.
Because if I stop, I’ll break into pieces too small to ever glue back together.
By the time I reach the front entrance, the car is already waiting—sleek and black. It’s still dark out. How is this happening?
My suitcase sits beside the door. This was planned. I’m a foregone conclusion.
We never stood a chance. I just need him to find me.
The driver opens the door.
I climb in, trembling.
The engine rumbles. The estate gates groan open.
