“We’re all dying to know,” he continues, gaze intensifying. “How did you escape?”
With no help from you.
“A couple found us,” I say, searching for a way out of this conversation without implicating Ash further. “I had to chainsaw through a tree, but we, uh, made it.”
“We’re so, so glad,” he replies, then turns to greet someone else.
“I thought we were going to die,” I add. “I kept thinking… ‘this will cost much more than rent.’”
A nervous ripple of laughter moves through the room, but Alistair’s expression hardens. His chin lowers as his lips pull tight. I’ve done it again. He had drawn some invisible line and I’ve toed it, pretending it isn’t dangerous.
He steps up to my piece. “This is not what I’d imagined,” he murmurs.
Déjà vu strikes with the memory of the last time Alistair used that phrase. His warning might be my opportunity.
“I’ve disappointed you,” I say, seizing the opening. “Maybe another artist would do better in my place.”
Alistair turns, the corners of his mouth twitching. He can’t quite hide how much he enjoys dangling me over the edge of a game I don’t want to play anymore.
“No,” he says, voice flat, another command. “I like it. I think you’ll be with us for a long time.”
“And what if I don’t want to?” I ask, everything on the line now that the final boss has revealed his second phase.
Alistair gestures toward the door. “My patronage has no strings. I always wish my people well, whether their leaving is their choice or mine.” He pauses just long enough for it to sink in. “Of course, stepping away can come with… complications. Access dries up. Reputations fray. Sometimes HR has to make difficult decisions. It’s never personal.”
The words land softly, almost politely, but I can hear it’s a threat—to my future, to Ash’s job, maybe even to his safety. I came here to cut ties, and wound up tangled worse than ever.
And now Ash is too. Alistair’s trying to turn him into the one thing I swore to avoid—an anchor.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up, like it knows what to do even if I don’t. It starts trying to dig him out of me, to pull him free before this gets any worse and before my disaster drags him down with me. I stand there, face steady, trying to dismantle all the ways Ash makes me happy, but it’s no use.
Ash is already lodged too deep in me to pull out clean. And worse than that, somehow, horribly, I’ve become weight around his neck too.
Jamal would be disappointed, because instead of punching Alistair and running for the door, I accept defeat, smile, and step in front of my work.
Let Alistair think he’s won. Men like him need that.
I didn’t paint this for him anyway. I painted it for my boyfriend, and I’m not ready to let this be the ending.
CHAPTER 26
ASH
Planningan art gallery is a surprising amount of workand money.
The location’s secured at Tom’s adorable Mission Bay studio, with its brick entrance painted in octopus tentacles and a 65 Bluxome sign charming enough to make even my inner spreadsheet unclench. Jenny pulled the strings with him. I knew they’d met through some lawyer loaner program, but I hadn’t realized she’d literally saved his space. Of course she had. Tom even made the expensive invitations, which still left me with the challenge of spreading the word without spilling the secret.
Jamal helped me smuggle some of Kael’s artwork out of the studio, his eyes glued to my biceps the entire time I explained the plan. It was reassuring that Kael’s best friend found the whole thing romantic, especially since mine compared it to gambling. The food will be light appetizers, the bar open, and, in a moment of either vision or budgetary self-destruction, I’ve even splurged on a giant balloon arch for the photos I’m hoping people will post.
Now, with two days left, the whole thing is starting to feel real. Every detail I lock in makes my excitement climb and thesecret harder to keep. It’s Wednesday, the gallery is Friday, and Kael still has no idea.
He’s been distracted, still reeling from leaving Alistair. He told me the breakup went badly but didn’t offer many details, and I haven’t pushed because the important thing is that he’s free. I keep telling him how proud I am, how happy I am for him, and he keeps giving me muted reactions.
The gallery will help. At least, I need to believe it will.
“Let’s celebrate,” I say, looking up from my laptop. Kael’s sprawled across the ottoman, a comfortable barrier between me on the couch and the TV. “Friday’s one month since you broke things off with Alistair.”
In my mind, when he walks into that gallery, his face will light up with a mixture of surprise and relief. He’ll see his art on the walls being admired by people who think he’s incredible. He’ll feel proud, independent, and seen in a way Alistair never let him be.
