I walk until my feet go numb, until the designer heels I'm still wearing cut blisters into my skin. The dawn light creeps over New York like something reluctant, grey and cold, matching the hollow feeling that's carved itself into my chest.
I left the estate with nothing but my purse and the clothes on my back. Walked right past the guards stationed at the gate, and for the first time since I married him, they didn't stop me.
That was the deepest cut. He hadn't just pushed me away—he'd actually let me go.
My mind replays the office scene on an endless loop, every word a fresh knife wound.
He didn't trust me. After everything, after I'd learned to kill for him, after I'd memorized the sound of his breathing in the dark… he'd looked at me and seen Vincent Castellano's daughter.
He'd seen my father instead of his wife.
All those nights by the piano, all the brutal training sessions that forged something unbreakable between us—shattered because his paranoia was stronger than his faith in me.
Ivy won. She'd poked at the one crack in his armor, that festering wound his father left behind. The belief that he was cursed to destroy what he loved.
And like a coward, he'd destroyed it first just to prove ‘the curse’ right.
I shiver, though the morning isn't that cold. The rage that kept me moving drains away, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous.
Panic.
Where do I go? I'm a woman without a name now. To the underworld, I'm a Castellano traitor. To my family, I'm a Greyhaven asset. No allies, no friends, no resources.
The irony tastes bitter on my tongue. I'm married to one of the richest, most feared men in the country, and I don't have enough cash for a decent hotel room.
I duck into a 24-hour diner, the fluorescent lights harsh after the dim streets. The bathroom mirror shows me someone I barely recognize—smudged makeup, tangled hair, eyes that look haunted.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to think. What did he teach you?
He taught me to survive.
A hotel, then. Somewhere cheap and anonymous where I can use the lobby Wi-Fi. Maybe I can access those private accounts he set up for me—if he hasn't already frozen them. Buy a plane ticket to somewhere no one knows either of my names.
The plan is thin, desperate, but it's something.
I step back outside, pulling my phone from my purse. The battery's at fifteen percent, and the ride-share app keeps spinning, searching for drivers that don't exist at this hour in this neighborhood.
I'm standing under a streetlight when a black sedan glides to the curb. Too clean, too expensive for this part of town. My stomach drops.
A man in a tailored suit gets out, his movements precise and professional. "Mrs. Greyhaven?"
His voice is polite, almost courteous.
I tense, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife that's no longer strapped to my thigh. Cassian's knife. The one he gave me on our first training session.
Gone, like everything else.
"I'm not," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "What do you want?"
The man smiles, thin and professional, exactly like my father's lawyers. "Your father, Mr. Castellano, would like to see you."
The blood in my veins turns to ice.
"Tell my father," I say, my voice low and shaking with fury I can barely contain, "to go to hell."
I turn to walk away, but he's instantly in my path. The politeness vanishes, replaced by the flat, dead-eyed look of a soldier who's done this before.
"He said you'd say that." He nods toward the car, and a second man gets out. "This isn't an invitation, Miss. It's a summons."
"Get away from me." I step back, but there's nowhere to go.
The wall of the diner is at my back, the street empty except for us. Before I can scream or run, he grabs my arm in a steel grip. I twist, stamp down hard on his instep—exactly the way Cassian taught me.
But the second man is already there, catching my other arm.
"Don't make this difficult," the first one says, his tone almost bored.
I fight. God, I fight. Elbow to the ribs, knee aimed for the groin, every dirty move Cassian drilled into me during those early morning sessions.
It's not enough.
They're professionals, and I'm exhausted, heartbroken, running on empty. The second man wraps an arm around my waist, lifts me clean off my feet.
"Let me go!" I scream it, desperate for someone—anyone—to hear.
But the street stays empty, and even if someone saw, who calls the cops on men in thousand-dollar suits?
They shove me into the back seat. I try to grab the door handle on the opposite side, but the locks are already engaged. Child safety locks. The irony would be funny if I wasn't so terrified.
The first man slides in beside me, blocking any escape. The second takes the driver's seat.
"This is kidnapping," I say, trying to keep my voice level. "You know who I'm married to, right? What he'll do to you when he finds out?"
The man beside me doesn't even look at me. "Mr. Castellano was very clear about the risks."
His tone says he's not worried. That my father has this handled, whatever this is.
The car pulls away from the curb, smooth and silent. I press my back against the seat, my mind racing. The phone in my purse—can I call someone? Rafael? But even as I think it, I know it's useless.
Who would I call? Cassian just kicked me out. Rafael follows Cassian's orders.
I have no one.
The realization settles over me like a weight. I escaped one prison only to be captured by another. Walked out of Cassian's estate straight into my father's trap.
The city blurs past the tinted windows, familiar streets leading somewhere I don't want to go. Back to the mansion where this all started, where Aaron betrayed me, where Kaia destroyed everything.
Back to Vincent Castellano, the man who sold me like livestock and never looked back.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, though I already know.
The man beside me finally looks at me, and there's something almost like pity in his eyes. "Home, Miss Castellano."
Not Greyhaven.
Castellano.
Like the past six months never happened. Like I was never his wife, never learned to fight, never fell in love with a monster who taught me to be dangerous.
The car turns onto a familiar street, and I see the iron gates of my father's estate in the distance. My chest tightens, panic claws up my throat.
I tried to escape. Walked away from Cassian's paranoia and Ivy's poison. But freedom was an illusion, and now I'm being delivered back to the man who started this nightmare.
The gates swing open, and the sedan glides through like I'm coming home. But this isn't home. This is where innocence went to die, where my fairytale shattered against the reality of who my family really is.
The car stops in front of the main entrance. The man beside me opens his door, gestures for me to get out. "He's waiting for you," he says.
I look at the mansion, at the windows glowing with warm light that promises nothing but cold calculation inside. My father's inside, probably in his study with his expensive scotch and his empire of lies.
I have two choices: go in willingly, or be dragged. Either way, I'm going in.
I step out of the car, straightening my spine. If I'm walking back into hell, I'm doing it on my own feet.
The door opens before I reach it. Vincent Castellano stands in the foyer, perfectly composed in a silk robe and pajamas that probably cost more than most people's cars.
"Esther." He smiles, warm and paternal, like I'm his prodigal daughter returned. "Welcome home."