7. No Way Back
Chapter seven
No Way Back
The morning frost coated the cracked asphalt of the strip mall parking lot in a treacherous layer of white.
I stepped off the crumbling curb outside the Starlight Motel, keeping my head ducked.
A vicious gust of winter wind whipped across the open lot, stinging my bare cheeks and numbing my nose.
I pulled my heavy coat tighter around my swollen stomach, crossing my arms over my chest to block the chill.
The air burned my throat with every breath, but I forced myself forward.
“Just a little further,” I whispered into the collar of my coat.
I focused on the faded yellow parking lines passing beneath my feet.
A rusted sign hanging over a dingy storefront beckoned at the far end of the lot.
Leaving the luxury of the estate meant dealing with the cold, and I welcomed the bite of the frost. Cassian’s concierge doctors and heated private cars did not exist out here.
I navigated the icy patches on my own, relying on my balance to keep my daughter safe.
I reached the concrete walkway in front of the pawn shop.
I wrapped my bare fingers around the freezing handle.
The hinges shrieked as I wrenched the stubborn door open.
A wall of dry, suffocating heat rushed over my face, carrying the scent of old cigarette smoke and dust. I stepped inside the cramped store, letting the door slam shut behind me.
A man sat on a stool behind a tall plexiglass partition. He didn’t bother to look up from a faded newspaper, and I found his indifference reassuring. Nobody here cared about the Kensington dynasty or Octavia’s venomous social circles.
The complete anonymity of this room offered its own kind of comfort. Wealth and platinum meant nothing here beyond their raw cash value. I unclasped my canvas purse, reaching inside.
“Don’t overthink it,” I murmured, my fingers finding the velvet box.
I pulled it from the depths of my bag and popped the lid open.
The two-carat diamond caught the harsh glare of the overhead lights.
I stared at the center stone resting against the black fabric.
I refused to let the memories of our first Christmas weaken my resolve.
Earning my daughter’s escape required untraceable cash, and I needed a thousand dollars just to secure the legal retainer.
“It’s not as big as the jewelry my mother wears, but I saved my own bonus for it. I wanted to buy you something that didn’t come from the family trust.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Cassian. I’ll never take it off.”
The man behind the glass finally folded his newspaper and raised his chin, waiting for me to declare my business.
I lifted the delicate clasp, letting the cold metal pool in my palm.
If I held on to the chain for another second, the memory of his affection might undo everything I had sacrificed to achieve.
I pushed it beneath the scratched plexiglass, letting the memory go.
The clerk hooked a scarred finger over the platinum chain and dragged the necklace closer to his side of the partition.
Reaching across his cluttered counter, he flipped a switch.
A small desk lamp flared to life, throwing a sharp, concentrated light directly onto the jewelry.
He pulled a loupe from his pocket, securing it against his right eye before leaning down over the counter.
I kept my hands resting loose at my sides, watching him breathe on the stone. The silence in the cramped shop stretched, interrupted only by the aggressive hum of a space heater hidden beneath his side of the counter.
“Where did a girl in a coat like that get a piece like this?” he asked, not bothering to look up from the loupe.
“It was a gift,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “Just tell me what you’ll give me for it.”
He hummed a low, dismissive note, pinching the pendant to rotate the setting beneath the glaring bulb.
He searched for flaws, looking for any excuse to use my obvious desperation against me.
I stared at the cheap linoleum. In the past, this kind of relentless scrutiny would have sent me retreating toward the nearest exit.
The clerk pulled the loupe from his eye and tossed the necklace onto the counter. The metal hit the glass, discarded next to a pile of tarnished silver spoons.
“Look, lady, the clasp is scratched, and the cut is a little dated,” the clerk said, leaning back on his stool. “The absolute best I can do for this piece is four hundred in cash.”
Four hundred dollars. I stared at the necklace. The deliberate insult of the number rang in my ears.
Yesterday, I might have lowered my eyes, accepted the swindle, and absorbed the loss just to keep the peace. Octavia Kensington spent years training me to endure public humiliation in polite silence. But I was done taking whatever scraps anyone decided to hand me.
I stepped forward. I pressed my hands against the plexiglass and leaned closer to the slot.
“That is a two-carat VVS1 center stone set in pure platinum,” I said, meeting his gaze. “And we both know it’s worth at least five thousand. I want two thousand in cash right now, or I’m walking to the jeweler three blocks down the street.”
The clerk blinked, leaning away from the glass partition.
His indifference vanished, replaced by a sharp, wary calculation.
He glanced at the necklace, then back to my unyielding posture.
I kept my palms braced against the partition, making it clear I was completely willing to turn around and walk away.
I didn’t care if I had to march through the freezing wind for another mile. I wasn’t letting him win.
“Alright, alright, keep your voice down,” he muttered, dropping the tough-guy act. “I’ll give you eighteen hundred, but I’m taking a massive risk on the resale value.”
“Print the receipt for eighteen hundred,” I said, finally pushing myself off the glass. “I’ll sign the ledger right now.”
He let out a long sigh and reached beneath the counter. The till slid open with a sharp clatter. He wet his thumb and began counting out the bills, slapping them down one by one. The crisp snap of the money was the best sound I had heard in months.
He slid the stack of cash through the narrow slot, following it with a faded yellow appraisal slip and a cheap ballpoint pen.
I gathered the money, feeling the stiff edges of the currency against my skin. It gave me exactly what I needed to walk two doors down and hire a lawyer. Eighteen hundred dollars meant survival. I signed the worn ledger and dropped the stack of bills into my purse.
I pushed the pawn shop door open and stepped back out onto the asphalt.
The winter wind cut right through my coat, instantly stripping away the heat of the store.
I pulled the collar of the coat up against my chin, shivering as the freezing air cut through the fabric.
The bag slung over my shoulder held eighteen hundred dollars in cash. It was enough to fund the escape.
“Just two doors down,” I murmured into the wind.
I marched past a boarded-up storefront, keeping my boots steady on the slick concrete. I fixed my gaze on the sign hanging over the door. Cohen she just saw my daughter as a baby, not a piece of leverage. Hearing a stranger acknowledge my child without attaching her to a billionaire dynasty eased the tight grip I had on the purse strap.
I pressed my hand against the bag in my lap, feeling grounded by the stack of bills hidden inside.
“Yes, it is my first,” I said. “It’s just going to be the two of us from now on, so I’m trying to make sure the paperwork is locked down before I leave town.”
The toddler babbled, smacking a plastic toy against his mother’s knee. She didn’t flinch, but just bounced him higher and nodded at me with quiet understanding. She didn’t ask for details, and she didn’t offer fake sympathy.
“You’re smart to get the paperwork locked down early,” she said. “My ex dragged things out for years because I didn’t get a lawyer on day one.”
The reality of Cassian’s retaliation kept my resolve absolute. He would use his endless resources to build a cage around us the second he realized I was gone. Waiving my rights to the payout and demanding zero child support was the only way to sever his financial leash.