"There was a deposit. A large one. Made before your application came through. With instructions not to rent to you specifically."
My stomach drops. "Who made it?"
"I can't?—"
"Who made the deposit, Diana?"
Silence. Then, she gives me the truth. "Ashford Holdings."
The phone falls from my hand.
I don't remember ending the call. Don't remember getting out of bed. Don't remember crossing to the window.
But I'm here now, forehead pressed to cold glass, staring at the dark shape of the main house on the hill.
Ashford Holdings.
His company. His money. His instructions.
No one named Liberty Cole.
The truth hits me like a bullet.
He blocked the apartment. He blocked the jobs. He's been herding me, closing every door, eliminating every option, backing me into a corner so slowly I never saw it coming.
My parents. The new roof. The medical bills.
The "grant" my mother couldn't explain.
All of it. Every single piece of it.
Him.
He's been orchestrating my life for god knows how long.
Moving the pieces, controlling the board, making sure that no matter which direction I ran, I'd end up exactly where he wanted me.
Here. On his land. In his cage.
My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking.
This isn't fear. This is rage.
It erupts through me like a detonation, white-hot and blinding. My vision goes red at the edges. My jaw aches from clenching. I want to scream until my throat tears apart.
I want to march up to that house and put my hands around his throat and watch his eyes bulge while I squeeze.
Heknowsme.
That's the worst part.
He knows what coffee creamer I used at eighteen.
He knows what sparkling water I like.
He knows every scar on my body, every nightmare that wakes me, every shameful secret I've ever tried to bury.
He's been inside my life for eight years, watching, remembering,collectingme like I'm something that belongs to him.
