Chapter 4
Sweetheart.
The word made my burned skin pulse.
Derek always became gentle when he was most dangerous.
I put the phone on the table.
Maya started recording.
“What did I find?” I asked.
He sighed.
“Natalie was unstable.”
There it was.
The same sentence men like Derek kept in their pockets.
Unstable.
Dramatic.
Confused.
Greedy.
All the words used to make women disappear before they were gone.
“She wrote a detailed letter,” I said.
“She was obsessed with me after the divorce.”
“You told me she died.”
A pause.
Small.
Deadly.
“I told you what I needed to tell you so you wouldn’t get dragged into old pain.”
I looked at Maya.
She rolled her eyes silently.
Derek continued.
“Come home. We’ll talk calmly.”
“You threw boiling coffee in my face.”
“You escalated a family conversation.”
I closed my eyes.
“Derek.”
“What?”
“You are still trying to make my burns my fault.”
His breathing changed.
“Listen carefully. If you give that flash drive to anyone, I will tell the police you stole private client files from my office.”
“Too late.”
Silence.
Then his voice went cold.
“What did you do?”
“I went to the hospital. I filed a report. I gave my attorney copies.”
“You stupid—”
He stopped himself.
Maya smiled.
I did not.
Because I knew what came after his control slipped.
“Skylar,” he said softly again, “you do not want to make me your enemy.”
“You became my enemy at breakfast.”
“My sister needs that money.”
“Then Suzanne can get a job.”
His laugh was sharp.
“You always thought you were better than us.”
“No. I thought marriage meant I wasn’t an ATM.”
“You own one apartment and think you’re a queen.”
“I own the apartment. That is the part you should remember.”
He went silent.
Good.
He had counted on that apartment.
The Edgewater view.
The equity.
The title in my name alone.
Olivia had checked everything before I married him.
At the time, I thought she was being dramatic.
Bless dramatic women.
Derek whispered, “You’re going to regret this.”
Maya leaned toward the phone.
“Mr. Vale, this is Maya Torres, licensed investigator. That threat is recorded.”
The line went dead.
Five seconds later, Olivia texted.
Emergency protective order hearing at 3 p.m.
I looked at my reflection in the dark phone screen.
Burned.
Afraid.
May you like
Alive.
“Good,” I whispered.
