Chapter 2
The physician photographed my cheek in the back of my father’s black car.
Her hands were gentle.
That almost broke me.
For seven years, I had learned to make myself smaller around anger.
Now kindness felt louder than shouting.
Russell sat across from me, tablet glowing in his lap.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“No.”
“Your father will ask.”
“I know.”
“And I will tell him the truth.”
I looked out at Chicago slipping past the rain-streaked window.
“Then tell him I said no for now.”
Russell studied me.
“You still sound like you think this is a negotiation.”
I turned back.
“It is my body.”
His face softened.
“Correct. Then I will tell him you declined medical transport and accepted examination by Dr. Sloane.”
That was Russell.
Precise.
Loyal.
Terrifying in court.
He handed me a warm pack for my cheek.
“At midnight, Victor’s apartment access ends.”
“He’ll call building security.”
“The building security contract is with Hartwell Residential.”
“He’ll call Meridian.”
“His company phone will be suspended at six.”
“He’ll call his attorney.”
Russell’s mouth tightened.
“His attorney is already under review.”
I almost smiled.
Then I remembered Victor’s hand on my face.
Kendra’s smile.
The suitcase.
The locked door.
My throat closed.
Russell noticed.
“Olivia.”
“I gave him seven years.”
“You gave yourself seven years to learn something painful.”
“That sounds kinder than foolish.”
“Both can be true.”
I looked at him.
He did not look away.
My father’s people had never lied to make me comfortable.
That was why I trusted them.
At the Hartwell Tower, the private entrance opened before the car stopped.
My father stood inside the lobby.
No umbrella.
No coat.
Just Arthur Hartwell in a charcoal suit, face carved from quiet fury.
For a moment, I was thirty-five years old.
Then I was twelve again.
A motherless girl trying not to cry because my father looked like he might shatter if I did.
He crossed the lobby.
His hand lifted toward my cheek, then stopped.
“May I?”
That question undid me.
I nodded.
He touched the edge of the red mark with two fingers.
His eyes changed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But the room seemed to grow colder.
“I should have stopped this years ago,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have let you.”
“I know.”
That hurt more.
He did know.
He had respected my choice even when he hated it.
That was love.
Not control.
Not ownership.
Not Victor’s gratitude wrapped around a leash.
My father turned to Russell.
“Schedule?”
“Moved forward.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
My father nodded.
Then he looked back at me.
“Victor ends tomorrow. But you come home tonight.”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know where home is anymore.”
For the first time that night, his face broke.
Only slightly.
May you like
Enough.
“Then we build it again.”
