Then I dialed the number of the man who pulled me out of hell. Colt Blackwood.
When he answered, I said quietly, “I... I need a favor.”
I looked around at the Vanderbilt mansion. At the mafia empire built on blood and lies.
“I will destroy the Vanderbilt Group just like you wanted. This time I won't stop you,” I said. “In return, I want me and my son safe.”
And for the first time since my captivity, I meant every word.
Back in Ryle’s room, I moved quietly.
I folded his clothes. Grabbed our passports. Birth certificate. Bank cards. A few things I could not replace if I lost them again.
I did not take much.
I had learned what it meant to live with nothing.
When I finally lay down, I pulled Ryle into my arms. His body was stiff even in sleep, like he was afraid to relax. I kissed his hair and closed my eyes.
Footsteps stopped by the bed.
“Still sulking?” David’s voice came lazily out of the dark.
The mattress dipped. He reached out and dragged me against his chest, one arm locking around my waist. His tone softened, like he was soothing a child.
“Belle, calm down and listen to me,” he murmured. “That kidnapping was staged. I only did it so you would not get jealous and make trouble for Roxanne. You know how you are... And Westley is my friend. His people know the rules. No one would actually hurt you. I protected you the whole time.”
He sounded proud.
Like he had done me a favor.
If he had just looked, really looked, he would have seen the scars on my arms. The bruises that never fully faded. The way my body flinched when he touched me.
I swallowed everything down and turned my back to him, putting space between us.
“So what you are saying is that I should stay kidnapped. Let everyone think I ran off with another man. Let people call me the other woman. And let my own sister replace me as Ryle’s mother. Wow."
David stiffened.
His patience cracked, even though he tried to hide it. I kept my voice steady, but my mind betrayed me.
Because the dark remembered before I did.
Westley’s hands were never gentle. They were claims. Orders. Every night blurred into the next, a locked room that smelled of alcohol and sweat and laughter that was not meant to be kind. When I cried David’s name, when I begged like a fool who still believed in rescue, Westley only laughed. He told me David had handed me over. Told me I was free. Free like a thing no one wanted anymore.