Chapter 22
T he shower is scalding, the steam thick in the air as I methodically move through each step of my routine—washing, exfoliating, massaging lotion into my skin. This ritual calms me, resets me.
In light of everything going on, it still does the trick.
There is still a pang in my heart when I think about the bakery.
Soon, it won’t hurt so much. I know I’ll find something else.
I’ll still make my dream come true. It will just look a little different than what I’ve been dreaming about.
I step out of the shower, toweling off before wrapping another around my damp hair. Picking up my seaweed mask, I remember the other day when I was getting ready for our first night out with the Calloways.
It seems like a year ago, but it’s just been a week.
Damien came back to the penthouse, and I didn’t know. He nearly scared me half to death.
Before I get back to my skincare, I peek my head out of my room and call out, just to be sure.
“Hello?”
I wait. Silence is the only thing answering me.
And something unexpected.
A large, pristine white box sits on the kitchen counter, wrapped with a sleek black satin bow. On top of it, an envelope with my name written across it in bold handwriting.
It must be from Damien.
I reach for it slowly, running my fingers over the thick cardstock before slipping it open.
“Five o’clock.”
Signed simply: Damien.
The corners of my lips lift despite everything weighing me down.
Lifting the lid, my breath catches at the sight of what’s inside.
A gown.
Not just any gown—a masterpiece.
The fabric shimmers under the soft light, deep red with an almost liquid sheen, pooling like molten silk as I unfold it. The cut is breathtaking—sophisticated but daring, with delicate straps and a plunging neckline, a slit that promises just enough temptation without being obvious.
I trail my fingertips over the fabric, savoring the feel of it, my stomach twisting in an unfamiliar kind of excitement.
I don’t try to suppress the small smile curving my lips. No one is here to see it, so I allow myself to feel the moment, to enjoy the beautiful gown.
Returning the lid, another envelope catches my eye.
My name is also written on this one.
Perhaps it’s more instructions for this mystery night Damien is slowly letting me in on.
As soon as I pull out the contents, I know who this is from.
A cold shiver races down my spine as my fingers tighten around the stack of glossy photographs.
My pulse slows, my mind struggling to process what I’m seeing.
A night I’ve worked so hard to forget.
The strip club.
Dim neon lighting. The grainy quality of a surveillance camera.
A shot of the VIP lounge.
And me.
A younger version of myself—barely nineteen, still so na?ve, still believing I had control over my world.
The next photo makes me tremble.
I’m straddling the lap of a man whose face I can’t forget, no matter how many years have passed.
The man who took everything from me.
Who left scars no one could see.
There are a dozen pictures here.
Me, dancing. His hands on my hips. The exact moment before everything changed.
The moment before the door locked.
The moment before I lost all control.
The moment I stopped belonging to myself.
A wave of nausea rolls through me, my breath shuddering as I force myself to look at the last image and the note scrawled across the bottom in sharp, slanted handwriting.
“Thursday. Ten o’clock.”
No name.
No signature.
But I can hear Adrian’s voice saying it, dripping with smug satisfaction.
My fingers tremble, the photographs crinkling in my grip.
He’s not just threatening me.
He’s reminding me.
Reminding me of what he did—what he allowed to happen.
The bargain he made, including me in the price without telling me.
He wants me to relive it.
To feel small. Helpless.
Like I did that night.
My pulse thunders in my ears, and I clutch the envelope tighter, my breath suddenly too shallow, my skin crawling.
How did this get here? How did he get this here?
A chill rakes down my spine. I rub my arms, a sick feeling settling in my gut as I glance around the room, half-expecting to find him lurking in the shadows.
The Hamptons felt like a shield, a bubble of safety where Adrian’s reach couldn’t touch me. But this? This is different. This is an invasion. A threat. A message, clear as day.
I grab my phone with shaking fingers and dial Lucian’s number.
Fuck.
No answer. Again.
“Lucian,” I rush, my voice uneven. “I don’t know where you are, but I need you to call me back. This—this is getting worse.” I exhale sharply, gripping the phone tighter. “Call me, please.”
I hang up, pressing my palm to my forehead, willing myself to stay calm, to breathe.
I’m still on my own for this.
I can do this. I’m trying to convince myself more than anything. But I can’t solve every problem today. I still have time before Thursday.
I can figure this out. Lucian will call me back by then, and we’ll figure something out together.
Damien just secured the merger, but there is no ink on the contracts yet. Things could still turn to shit, and if Adrian gets what he wants, that’s exactly what will happen.
The clock on the wall reads three forty-five.
I don’t have time for this right now.
I fold the note and tuck it back inside the envelope, carrying it to my dresser and shoving it into the bottom drawer.
Later. I’ll deal with it later.
For now, I need to focus.
I check on the cheesecake, running my fingers lightly over the smooth surface before adding the final drizzle of salted caramel. The dark chocolate espresso filling is rich, the crust perfectly crisp, the scent curling around me like a warm embrace.
It’s perfect.
Satisfied, I slide it into the fridge, my chest rising with a deep breath.
The weight of the envelope still lingers in the back of my mind, a splinter pressing into my thoughts, but I push it aside.
Not now.
Instead, I reach for the large white box, fingers skimming over the black satin bow. My smile returns, softer this time, but still real.
I pick up the gown and head toward my room, anticipation curling low in my stomach.
As I step into my room, I let the fabric spill through my fingers, the silky weight of it grounding me, reminding me of something beyond the shadows creeping at the edges of my mind.
Tonight, I don’t have to think about Adrian. About threats scrawled across old photographs or ghosts clawing their way back into my present.
Tonight, I can focus on Damien.
On whatever he has planned.
Helping him enjoy the victory of winning his merger.
I smooth my hands over the gown one last time, exhaling slowly.
For the next few hours, I’ll let myself have this.
Tomorrow, I’ll fight my battles.
Tonight, I’ll let myself forget.