Chapter 50
FIFTY
KEIRA
For the first time in years, I let myself daydream about tomorrow.
An actual future. Me and Hale and Tristan.
A life I never imagined could be mine.
It's beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, but I let my thoughts wander anyway while a stylist pins another section of my hair and a makeup artist blends color onto my cheekbones.
A house with a garden. A backyard where Hale can run through the grass, shrieking with laughter the way children are supposed to. Tristan standing in the doorway, watching with that soft expression he wears when he thinks I'm not looking.
Friday night pizza. Board games spread across the coffee table. Hale falling asleep between us on the couch.
And later, after bedtime, all the ways we'd make up for lost time.
I hope Tristan is ready for the life I'm already building in my head.
"Chin up, Mrs. Calder."
I tilt my chin while the artist dusts powder across my nose.
Butterflies swarm my stomach, nerves and excitement tangled together. I bite my lip to stop the smile threatening to break through.
Can't be grinning like an idiot.
By tomorrow, everything will be different. A beginning so fresh it flashes in my mind like something precious and new.
There's a chance it could all go to shit, but Tristan has thought about every possibility. I push the doubts down, bury them beneath the image of my two boys.
We're almost there.
The bathroom door opens and closes. One of the stylists excusing herself, probably. I don't really notice it until I catch a pair of striking eyes watching me in the mirror.
Right on cue, my heart flutters at the sight of Tristan, leaning against the doorframe of the walk-in closet, hidden from the main room's sightline.
"Could you grab the setting spray from my bag?" I ask the makeup artist, gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom. "The rose gold bottle. I think I left it by the window."
"I have one."
I glance at the bottle on the table. "That one will make me break out."
She gives me a look but turns and disappears.
The moment she's gone, I'm out of the chair.
He catches me halfway across the room, pulling me into the closet and pressing me against a rack of dresses I've never even worn.
"Zoe has eyes on the Langham." He kisses me between every word. "Hale's fine. Watching cartoons. Asking when he can see you."
The relief is overwhelming. "Thank god."
"Cat's in position. Service boat's ready. By midnight, you'll be in Connecticut with our son."
Our son.
I love hearing those words come out of his mouth. He says it so easily now, like he's been saying it from the beginning and we lost no time.
"And you? What happens after?"
He has a stupid grin on his face. "I handle Calder. Then I meet you at the safe house."
"Tristan…we talked about this."
"Fine." He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. "I'll do a little damage, then bring him to the fun house. You can meet us there."
"The fun house?"
"Yeah, where we take care of him…our way." He winks.
The thought of making Ewan pay for everything he's done, all the bruises he's left on my mind and body, makes a dark, satisfied feeling unfurl in my gut.
I've been fantasizing about revenge for far too long.
"Promise?"
"I promise." He kisses me deeply, and it reminds me of tomorrow. "I'll let you skin him alive if that's what your heart desires."
I smile against his mouth. "Kinky."
Footsteps approach, which means the makeup artist is coming back.
We break apart, and Tristan slips through a service door I didn't know existed. By the time she rounds the corner with the setting spray, I'm back in my chair, breathing normally again.
"That was nearly impossible to find."
"Sorry. It's the only one that works for my skin."
She nods. "Let's finish this look. You're going to look amazing tonight."
I smile, and for the first time in years, it's genuine.
I'm going to be free tonight.
Ewan appears at exactly nine.
Not a minute before, not a second after. Making me wait in full hair and makeup, unable to sit properly in my gown, forbidden from leaving the room until he arrives to inspect his product.
Tonight, his inspection takes longer than usual.
His gaze drags down my body like a physical touch—creepily appraising, the same way a collector examines a piece he's about to display.
"Perfect," he says finally. "You're going to make quite the impression."
I barely hear him.
My mind is still wrapped in daydreams—clinging to hope and the future I know is coming—but a part of me can't help running through every possible worst-case scenario. I guess that's trauma, fused into my cells, refusing to leave me alone.
I know it'll likely take years, and maybe some therapy. Healing isn't something I'll be able to fast-forward through. But I'm hopeful that one day, this will all feel like a distant, forgotten memory.
Ewan reaches for my emerald tree gown. He looks happy with his choice. Everything is always his choice. The silk clings to every curve before cascading into a dramatic train, back bare to the base of my spine, neckline bordering on obscene.
A trophy dressed in expensive fabric and borrowed jewelry. Polished and presented for his associates to admire—and maybe touch, depending on how Ewan is feeling tonight.
The thought sends a cold shiver down my legs.
"Beautiful," he mutters.
"Thank you."
"Nothing to say about your husband?"
I swallow the curse forming in my throat. "You look great."
"I know." He extends his hand. "The car is waiting. Let's go."
I take it for the very last time.
It's almost over.
The mantra loops through my mind as we descend to the lobby. As the doorman opens the entrance with a deferential nod. As night air hits my bare skin.
After tonight, I never have to touch him again.
I let myself sink back into the fantasy as we move through nighttime Manhattan.
The city blurs past in streaks of colored light—thousands of windows, millions of lives.
People walking dogs and hailing cabs and arguing with lovers, completely unaware that somewhere in the harbor, a yacht waits to welcome the type of people who deserve to be locked up and tortured until the end of time.
Disgusting, foul creatures who steal from everyone around them.
Ewan's hand finds my thigh. His fingers trace patterns through the dress, climbing higher with each pass.
I ignore it.
"You're going to love tonight. It's going to be a night you'll never forget," he says in a tone that makes me pause. There's something off-putting in a way I can't quite put my finger on.
When I turn to look at him, his eyes are already on me. His smile is all teeth, his eyes flat and cold despite the curve of his lips.
God, he is repulsive.
"Looking forward to it. It's an important evening for you. I want it to go well."
"Oh, it's going to exceed all expectations." His hand squeezes my thigh. "I've been planning this for a very long time."
That's a strange thing to say, considering how we got here—unless he's been working on this in the background for a long time.
I try to read his face, but he turns away, gazing out the window with that eerie half-smile still on his face.
It doesn't matter.
I shake off the feeling, staring out the window and thinking about Hale in his hotel room, waiting for me. About Tristan somewhere behind us, running through the plan, counting down the hours.
About tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that.
For the first time in my life, they'll belong to me.