Their generosity overwhelms me. These women, who have stood by me through years of Eli’s abuse, who have watched me shrink and fade and still refused to give up on me. I don’t deserve them.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “Both of you.”
“Don’t thank us,” Mia scoffs. “Just promise you won’t back out this time.”
I think about the masked man, about Anthony, if that’s really his name. About how he made me feel tonight. Wanted. Desired. Seen. I think about Eli and his cold eyes, his cruel words, his indifference to my happiness. The choice seems so clear now.
“I promise,” I say, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything. “I’m done with Eli. For good.”
Valerie raises her glass. “To Lila’s freedom.”
“To freedom,” Mia echoes, lifting her own glass.
I clink my glass against theirs, the sound ringing out like a bell. “To freedom.”
We spend the next hour planning the details, what time to go to the house, what to prioritize packing, how to ensure Eli doesn’t track me down afterward. I’ll need to change my phone number, close any accounts he has access to, be careful about my routine. It’s exhausting to think about, but necessary.
“What about your parents?” Mia asks as we start to wind down, the wine nearly gone. “Will you tell them?”
I haven’t spoken to my adoptive parents in ten years, not since I eloped with Eli against their wishes. They told me they wouldn’t speak to me until I left him. Pride and shame have kept me from reaching out all this time.
“Maybe,” I say, not ready to think about that yet. “One step at a time.”
Valerie yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “We should sleep. Tomorrow we can make a proper list, figure out exactly what we need to do.”
We make up the guest bed together, Mia finding extra pillows while Valerie hunts down a spare toothbrush for me. It’s nearly four in the morning by the time we say goodnight, all of us exhausted but buzzing with a strange energy.
Alone in the guest room, I sit on the edge of the bed and check my phone for the first time in hours. No texts from Eli, which isn’t surprising. He rarely checks in during his “trips.” One missed call from a spam number, but no voicemails.
I set my phone on the nightstand and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years, I feel a flutter of hope in my chest. Three days from now, I’ll be free. Free from Eli, free from fear, free to discover who I am without his voice in my head telling me I’m worthless.
And maybe, just maybe, free to explore whatever this thing is with the masked man. Anthony. The thought of him sends a shiver through me. Is he thinking of me right now, the way I’m thinking of him? Is he lying awake somewhere, replaying our encounter the way I keep doing?
I close my eyes and let myself drift toward sleep, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin. For the first time in ten years, I’m not dreading tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.
23
Anthony
Ijolt awake tothe sound of my phone buzzing against the coffee table. Sunlight streams through the windows, hitting my face at just the right angle to make my eyes water. I blink, disoriented, trying to piece together where I am. My living room. The couch. I must have passed out while watching Lila’s phone cameras. The clock on my phone reads 9:27 AM. Shit. I’ve slept longer than I meant to. Dillian’s name flashes on the screen, and something in my gut tells me this isn’t a casual check-in.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out rough with sleep.
“Morning, sunshine. Hope I didn’t wake you from your beauty rest.” Dillian’s tone is light, but there’s an edge to it that has me sitting up straight.
“What’s up?” I rub a hand over my face, trying to clear the fog from my brain.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “We need to talk about yourfriendEli.”
My stomach tightens. “Please don’t use that word. Sarcastic or not.” I say. “What about him?”
“Remember that escort from the quarterly meeting? The one you pointed out to me a few months back when we started tracking his movements?”
I do remember. Tall, blonde, looked expensive. Eli had his hand on the small of her back as they walked into the hotel bar. I was there for a GameStream executive meeting, one of the rare ones I actually attend as the silent owner, and he didn’t know who I was. Just another suit in a room full of suits.
“Yeah, what about her?”
“Her name is Amanda Finley. And she’s missing.”
