6. Somewhere Real #2
That was his answer for everything. Every boundary crossed, every private moment sacrificed, it all served the marketing strategy.
If I stayed and handed him these photos tomorrow, Eleanor would calculate the PR damage.
She would view my pregnancy as a liability to his box-office draw, a complication that would ruin his marketability as Hollywood’s newest heartthrob.
Hayes wouldn’t protect us. He would just hand the problem over to his mother to solve, just like he always did.
They would demand I stay hidden inside this house. They would hire private doctors to sneak through the service gates, ensuring the press never caught a glimpse of my growing stomach. They would raise my baby as a corporate secret, managed by publicists and NDAs.
I gripped the edge of the sonogram, the paper crinkling under the pressure. The mindless packing stopped, replaced by a fierce need to shield my child.
I refused to let my baby grow up invisible. I refused to let my child believe they were a burden to a man who cared more about his co-star’s approval than his own family.
I looked down at the printed image.
“They are never going to hide you,” I whispered. “We are going to start over somewhere real, and I will give you the life he can’t provide.”
I slid the photos back into the paper sleeve. I tucked the envelope deep into the lining and pulled the strap over my shoulder.
I gripped the handle of the suitcase. The wheels dragged against the carpet as I pulled the luggage off the mattress. I adjusted the strap of my purse, keeping the bag pressed against my hip, and walked out of the master bedroom.
The dim hallway waited for me.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” I whispered to the empty walls.
I dragged the luggage over the floorboards. The wheels bumped over the threshold, creating a low, hollow rattle that echoed through the massive house. Every step away from the bedroom severed another invisible tether to his empire. I reached the dining room archway and stopped.
The wax from the table candles had pooled over the candlesticks, hardening into deformed lumps.
The roasted chicken sat where I had left it, the gravy congealed into an unappetizing brown film.
I let go of the suitcase handle. I stepped closer to the edge of the table, my shadow stretching over the placemat.
I looked down at my left hand. The large diamond caught the light from the kitchen, glinting sharply against the plate. I reached over with my right hand and pinched the band.
“With this ring, I promise to protect you above all else,” Hayes had said, his voice echoing in my memory. “You are my priority, Sutton, today and for the rest of our lives.”
I twisted the jewelry. The metal caught slightly on my skin. I pulled the band over my knuckle, the cold ring dragging against the joint. It resisted for a second before popping free.
Taking off the ring left a pale, indented mark on my finger. My hand felt light, stripped of the weight I had carried to prop up his career.
I set the ring down directly next to the cold dinner. It hit the table, sounding dull and hollow. The expensive diamond sat beside the ruined, unwanted meal I had spent hours preparing. He traded this room for the flashbulbs outside a restaurant, choosing his co-star over me.
“You broke every single promise you ever made to me,” I said, staring at the jewelry. “I refuse to let you erase our child the way you erased me.”
Leaving the band on the table wasn’t a negotiation. It was final. I picked up the suitcase handle, my bare hand gripping the strap. I turned my back on the table and walked out of the dining room, leaving the diamond to collect dust in the dark.
I stepped through the front doors into the humid Los Angeles night.
The luggage wheels rattled over the porch, the noise loud against the quiet estate grounds.
I walked down the steps to my car, parked near the edge of the driveway.
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my keys and unlocked the trunk.
I hoisted the suitcase over the bumper, dropping it inside.
I slammed the trunk shut, the impact echoing over the pavement.
I walked around to the driver’s side and got in. The interior of the car smelled faintly of old coffee and vanilla. I set my purse on the passenger seat, ensuring the envelope holding the sonogram was safe, and shoved the key into the ignition.
“Just get on the road,” I whispered, turning it.
The engine rumbled to life, the headlights sweeping across the hedges lining the property. I shifted the car into gear and steered down the long, winding driveway. The estate sat quiet and dark in my rearview mirror, a fortress built to protect an illusion I was no longer willing to uphold.
I reached the end of the property line. The iron gates stood closed across the asphalt, blocking the exit. I braked near the call box, rolling my window down. The cool night air rushed into the cabin, carrying the damp smell of the coast. I reached out and pressed the intercom button.
A burst of static crackled through the intercom.
“Mrs. Gallagher,” David, the overnight security guard, said. His voice echoed through the grate. “It’s late for you to be driving out. Do you want me to call a car service or have one of the guards tail you?”
He was following standard operating procedure. I was a VIP liability, and he was paid to ensure my safety within the perimeter. But I didn’t want a security detail trailing my escape.
“That won’t be necessary, David,” I said, leaning toward the box. “I am just taking a trip up the coast to see some family. Please open the gates.”
“Understood, ma’am,” David replied. “Have a safe trip, and we’ll keep the grounds secured until you get back.”
The intercom clicked off. A low, mechanical hum vibrated from the stone pillars. The iron bars began to retract, sliding along their tracks to clear the exit.
I hit the gas, steering the car out onto the empty main road. As soon as my tires cleared the gates, I glanced up at my rearview mirror. The gates slid back into place, sealing the estate shut behind me.
My life in Hollywood ended with the sound of that final lock.
I didn’t have a concrete destination yet, but I knew I needed distance from the flashing cameras and the noise.
I rolled my window up, shutting out the wind.
I gripped the wheel, the leather stitching digging into my palms as I drove north up the dark coastal highway to build a new life.