Chapter two

An hour later, I sat in the back seat of a sleek black town car with the contract in my bag and the weight of my decision pressing into my chest.

The Romano estate sat on the edge of the city like a palace built to intimidate. The iron gates opened without a sound. The driveway curled through manicured gardens and glowing lanterns until the car stopped in front of a mansion that didn’t belong in this century.

The front door opened before I stepped out.

A woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and a tighter bun greeted me. “Ms. Bennett?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dalia. House manager. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

The word quarters made me want to laugh. This wasn’t a job. It was a sentence.

She led me through high-ceiling halls, past cold art and colder marble, until we reached a private wing.

“Everything you need is inside,” Dalia said, opening a door. “Mr. Romano has a strict schedule. You’ll be given tasks in the morning. Dinner is served at seven sharp.”

“Do I eat with him?” I asked.

She looked at me like I’d grown another head. “No one eats with Mr. Romano unless invited.”

“Right.”

She left without another word.

The room was massive. King bed. Fireplace. A view of the gardens through wall-to-wall windows. More luxury than I’d seen in my entire life and not one bit of it felt comfortable.

I walked to the mirror. My reflection looked like someone pretending. Makeup faded. Hair limp. Eyes dull. This wasn’t me.

Not the version I used to be.

Not the mother I’d become.

I hadn’t even seen my son today. I’d left him with a sitter I couldn’t afford, praying this would be worth it.

Praying Kent would keep his promise.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number: You left your keys in the elevator.

Unknown number: Try not to lose yourself next.

I stared at the messages until the screen blurred.

Kent Romano was already in my head.

And I hadn’t even lasted a full day.

By seven, I was dressed in the black silk slip dress the housekeeper had left on the bed. No tag, no size label but it fit perfectly.

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified by that.

Downstairs, the dining room was lit like a film scene. Candles. A long, dark table. Kent sat at the head, a glass of red wine in hand, unreadable as always.

“Sit,” he said, nodding to the seat across from him.

I obeyed.

Two plates were already served—roasted lamb, grilled vegetables, some delicate sauce I didn’t recognize. My mouth watered, but I didn’t touch it.

“Eat,” he said simply.

I picked up my fork, heart pounding.

For a few minutes, the only sound was silverware. I could feel his gaze, though. Like heat on my skin. I looked up finally, and he didn’t look away.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said.

“I didn’t think you brought me here for conversation.”

His lip twitched. “You’re right. I brought you here to keep an eye on you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what Daniel told you—”

“You think this is about Daniel?” he cut in, voice sharp.

I froze. The air shifted. He leaned forward slowly, elbows on the table.

“You ran, Faye. You disappeared. And now you’re back, knocking on the wrong doors, asking for favors from the wrong people. That tells me you’re desperate. And when people get desperate, they make mistakes.”

My fingers tightened around my wine glass.

“So you want to punish me?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Make me your little pet until I pay off a debt you made up?”

Kent laughed. It was quiet. Cold.

“You think I need to invent reasons to keep you here?”

I looked away.

He stood suddenly, rounding the table. My breath hitched as he stopped behind me, one hand brushing the back of my chair.

“Tell me, Faye,” he murmured near my ear. “When exactly were you planning to tell me about the child?”

My blood froze.

He knew.

I turned, standing too fast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just certain.

“You should know by now, I don’t make guesses.”

I backed away.

“It isn’t your business,” I whispered.

Kent stepped closer. “Everything about you is my business.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. I wanted to scream, to shove him, to demand he stay away. But I couldn’t. Because a tiny part of me had waited for this. For him to care. For him to look at me like he once did, before I ran.

“Why now?” I asked. “Why drag me back just to make me feel like this?”

His expression didn’t change. “Because I deserve the truth. And so does he.”

He. My son.

“You’ll sleep in the east wing,” he said. “For now.”

“What happens when the for now is over?”

His eyes held mine.

“Then you’ll come to my room.”

I sank to the floor.

He knew.

And he wasn’t going to let me go.