Chapter 8
Vivian was arrested before noon.
Not for everything.
Not yet.
But enough.
Obstruction.
False imprisonment suspicion.
Evidence tampering.
Detective Mills wanted to move Claire to a hospital.
Claire refused.
I offered my estate in Westchester instead.
Private security.
Doctors.
No Ashfords.
The detective hesitated.
My lawyer explained what my lawyers always explained.
Resources could become useful when pointed in the right direction.
Claire agreed only after Dr. Patel promised no one would touch her without permission.
Grant watched from the foyer as Marcus brought a coat for her.
“Claire,” he said.
She stopped.
I felt her whole body tighten.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She looked at him for a long time.
“You grew up.”
His eyes filled.
“You didn’t.”
That broke him.
He sat down on the stairs and sobbed.
Melissa stood behind him, expression unreadable.
Claire did not comfort him.
She had spent twenty years with no comfort.
She owed him none.
In the car, she pressed herself against the far door and stared out the window.
The world moved past her too fast.
Gas stations.
Streetlights.
Holiday decorations.
People walking dogs.
A life continuing without apology.
“Too much?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop the car?”
“No.”
She gripped the seat belt.
“If I stop, I might beg to go back.”
My chest hurt.
“Why?”
“Because cages are terrible. But they are known.”
I looked out at the wet road.
“I understand more than you think.”
She turned.
“You were locked away?”
“No. I locked myself into work after my wife died.”
Her eyes softened.
“You had a wife?”
“Yes. Hannah. Cancer. Six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
For the first time, she looked at me not as rescuer, billionaire, or stranger.
Just as a man who also knew a room could stay haunted after someone was gone.
May you like
When we reached my estate, Claire stood at the door and whispered, “Are there locks?”
“Yes,” I said. “And you choose which side you stand on.”
