Chapter 2

I couldn't sleep that night.

Sitting on my tiny Brooklyn apartment bed, I stared at my phone screen. $347.36 in my bank account. Barely enough for groceries, let alone escape.

But I had to try.

I pulled out my battered suitcase and started throwing clothes inside. Everything I owned fit in this single bag. Ronald's words echoed in my head: "This time, you're not going anywhere."

Fuck that. I got away once, I could do it again.

I opened the airline website. Newark to Chicago—$340. I clicked purchase.

TRANSACTION DECLINED.

I tried again. Same result.

My blood turned to ice. I called the credit card company with trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Reed, but your account has been frozen due to suspicious activity."

I hung up and tried my debit card. Frozen. My backup card. Frozen.

No. No, no, no.

I was frantically searching for my passport when I heard it—a soft knock on my door.

My heart stopped. Past midnight. Nobody knocked at midnight unless...

"Irene." Ronald's voice was muffled but unmistakably calm. "I know you're in there."

I pressed my back against the door.

"I have something that belongs to you."

Paper rustled under the door. My passport corner peeked out.

"You can't do this!" I yanked the door open. "You can't just imprison me!"

Ronald stood in the dingy hallway, looking completely out of place in his expensive coat. He held it up like a playing card.

"I'm not imprisoning you," he said, stepping inside uninvited. "I'm ensuring your safety."

"By stealing my passport? By freezing my accounts?"

"By making sure you don't make another impulsive decision you'll regret." His eyes swept over my packed suitcase. "Where were you planning to go this time?"

I grabbed for the passport, but he easily held it out of reach.

"Six years ago, you left too hastily. This time, we're going to talk properly."

"Give me my passport, Ronald."

"No."

"This is kidnapping!"

"This is love."

The casual way he said it made me want to scream. "You don't get to decide what love looks like!"

"Don't I? I've spent six years learning exactly what love looks like." He moved to my window. "Get your coat."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Yes, you are. Because the alternative is me carrying you out of here."

He would actually do it.

Ten minutes later, I sat in his black Tesla watching Brooklyn blur past. When we pulled up to a gleaming Upper East Side high-rise, my stomach dropped.

"No," I whispered.

"You remember."

How could I forget? Where I'd spent countless nights. Where I'd left him six years ago.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse, and I almost fell to my knees.

Nothing had changed.

The living room was exactly as I'd left it. My throw pillows on the couch. My coffee table books. Even the half-dead succulent I'd been nursing—now thriving.

"You kept it," I breathed.

"I kept everything."

In the kitchen, my favorite mug still sat in the cabinet. In the bedroom, my clothes still hung in the closet.

Ronald stepped into the room, and suddenly I was transported back six years.

"Baby, please don't go," Ronald had begged, grabbing my hand. "We can work this out. I can change everything."

"You don't understand. I have to go."

"Then I'll come with you. Wherever you want to go."

"No, Ronald. You can't."

He'd dropped to his knees then, this proud man reduced to desperation. "Irene, please. I love you. I'll do anything—"

"Don't make this harder than it has to be."

I'd walked out with his cries following me.

"You begged me to stay," I whispered.

"I did." Ronald's voice was different now—harder, controlled. "I got down on my knees and begged like a pathetic child."

"You weren't pathetic—"

"I was. But I'm not that man anymore, Irene. This time, I'm not begging. Because this time, I have the power to keep you."

The difference was stark and terrifying. Six years ago, Ronald had been vulnerable. Now he stood with absolute certainty, like a man who'd learned to bend the world to his will.

"You've changed," I said, backing toward the balcony doors.

I stepped onto the terrace. The familiar view of Central Park spread below us.

Ronald followed. "Do you know how I spent these six years?"

I didn't answer.

"Every night, I sat right here. I'd imagine you walking through that door. Coming home to me."

"Ronald..."

"I hired twelve private investigators. I bought a controlling interest in the hospital where your foster mother was treated. I had people watching you in Chicago, making sure you were safe."

"You had no right."

"I had every right. You're mine, Irene. You've always been mine."

"I chose to leave!"

"You chose to run. But did you ever ask yourself why I let you? Why someone with my resources didn't track you down sooner?"

Cold dread pooled in my stomach. "What are you saying?"

"I knew where you were within a week. I could have dragged you back anytime I wanted."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I needed to become someone worthy of keeping you. The man you left was weak. Powerless."

This powerful, dangerous man suddenly looked vulnerable again.

"I can destroy anyone who hurts you now. I can buy companies, ruin careers, make people disappear. But I can't destroy my love for you. It's the one thing I have no power over."

Ronald stepped closer, his hands gripping the terrace railing on either side of me, trapping me against the cold metal.

"You think you can just walk away again?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "You think I'll let you disappear into some middle-of-nowhere town and pretend we never happened?"

"Ronald, I—"

"No." His gray eyes had turned cold as winter steel. "You made your choice six years ago. You took my money, broke my heart, and ran. But this time is different."

Tears streamed down my face. "What do you want from me?"

"Everything." His thumb traced my cheek, the gesture both tender and threatening. "Your time, your attention, your fucking gratitude for everything I've done for you."

"And if I refuse?"

Ronald's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Then you'll learn exactly what happens when you cross someone like me. Your foster mother's medical bills? Gone. Your little journalism job? Disappeared. Every connection, every safety net I've built for you over six years—all of it vanishes."

I stared at him in horror. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." He stepped back, straightening his coat with calculated calm. "You have until tomorrow night to decide, Irene. Come back to me willingly, or watch everything you care about crumble."

"You're not the man I fell in love with."

"No," Ronald agreed, heading toward the elevator. "I'm much more dangerous now. And you created me."

The elevator doors closed, leaving me alone on the terrace with the city lights blurring through my tears.

Yes, Ronald. I still love you.

And that's exactly why I have to find a way to destroy what you've become.