Earth has lost its gravity, and I can’t find my balance.
My gaze snaps to the security camera on the ceiling. The familiar red light winks at me.
He’s watching.
I turn back to the room, but that’s too little a word for what this apartment-sized space is.
Roses fill my vision everywhere I can see—dark reds, lush oranges, soft pinks—they grow on lattices built into the walls and in pots of all sizes spread throughout the area. Gold filigree wraps around the ceiling in the shape of a lone rose, and dark green ivy climbs up the walls, interspersed with birds of paradise and peonies, flowers I didn’t even know could coexist.
It’s an indoor garden.
Myindoor garden, the dream I shared with him all those years ago.
I strain in a breath, my eyes already filling with tears as I stagger inside and survey this secret shrine he’s been hiding from me, this emblem of our past.
There are large arched windows in the far corner, wrought-iron lattice grids stretching from floor to ceiling where a skylight sits. Under it rests a lavender chaise lounge and an antique coffee table matching the desk in my room, stacked with books.
I walk over and pick up the volume.
The Unending Love of Hades and Persephone.
Greek Myths and Romance.
They’re all books about my favorite story—the goddess of spring who changed the king of darkness.
A shadow crosses the floor, and I look up, finding a thousand stars smiling at me from the night sky, a stray cloud moving aside for the moonlight.
“An indoor garden,” I say. “Like a greenhouse filled with roses, more books, a comfortable chair, the best hot chocolate, and big windows I can watch the stars from.”
Everything. He’s done it all. The wish I let go of—but he never did.
My heart bangs against my ribs, aching to find the man behind it all.
Then I spot it.
A cordoned-off space to the far right—a wall of glass and a room so different from the rest of this paradise.
Monitors—a full wall of monitors.
My chest tightens as I move toward the dark side, recognizing the images on the screens—the dungeon, my New York City apartment, my bedroom here, the library, my office inside The Orchid.
The floor sways and I grip the doorframe. A corkboard tacked with paper scraps awaits me.
Love your smile. Thanks for the extra coffee.
A busy day for you. Here’s an extra tip for your troubles.
Life is full of surprises. Today’s storm may be tomorrow’s rainbow. Hang in there. If you ever need help, call this number.
All receipts. All from me. He’s amassed stacks of them—from my coffee runs in New York to my hastily scrawled notes to a chef in Paris.
I don’t know how he got them, but as I flip through the stacks, I see the dates going back years before he joined my family in New York.
Years.He’s been watching me for years.
Amonitor flickers, drawing my attention, and a cursor hovers over a folder, like someone is accessing the monitor remotely.
The folder name:Anderson Strategy
