Chapter 2
The car was silent.
Milo sat between us, already asleep, his head on my lap.
Damian hadn’t taken his eyes off him since we got in.
Every few minutes he’d reach out.
Then stop.
Like he was afraid touching him would make him disappear.
The city lights blurred past the windows.
I didn’t recognize the route.
“Where are we taking us?” I asked.
“Home,” Damian said.
“Your home,” I corrected.
“Ours,” he said.
He didn’t look at me when he said it.
Like he was testing the word.
Seeing how it fit.
“It’s been five years, Damian,” I said.
“You don’t get to rewrite history.”
He turned to me then.
His eyes were dangerous.
“I’m not rewriting anything.
I’m just finally getting back what was stolen from me.”
“I didn’t steal him,” I said, my voice rising.
Milo stirred.
I lowered it immediately.
“I didn’t steal him,” I repeated quietly.
“I saved him.”
“From what?” Damian snapped.
“From me?”
“Yes!” I whispered harshly.
“Look at your life, Damian.
Look at the things you do.
The people you kill.
Did you really think I’d raise my son in that?”
He flinched.
Like I’d hit him.
“I’m not a monster, Elena.”
“Your enemies don’t know that,” I said.
“And they don’t care.
If they found out about him… they’d use him to get to you.
They’d hurt him.
Or worse.”
Damian went very still.
“Has anyone ever threatened him?”
The question was quiet.
Too quiet.
I looked away.
“Elena.”
His hand closed around my wrist.
Not hard.
But firm enough I couldn’t pull away.
“Has anyone ever threatened my son?”
I swallowed.
“Not directly.”
“Then who?” he said, shaking my arm slightly.
“Who made you so scared you ran in the middle of the night with nothing but a backpack and a ring?”
I couldn’t tell him.
Not yet.
Not until I knew whose side he was really on.
“Nobody,” I lied.
“I just… I woke up one morning and realized I didn’t want this life.
I didn’t want our son to have this life.”
Damian stared at me.
For a long time.
Long enough I thought he’d call me out.
Long enough I thought he’d see right through me.
Then he let go of my wrist.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, looking back at Milo.
“Right now, all that matters is he’s here.
He’s safe.
And he’s mine.”
The car turned through massive iron gates.
Up a long winding driveway.
Toward a house so big it looked like a hotel.
I’d seen pictures of it in the papers.
The Stone compound.
Impenetrable.
Luxurious.
A prison with gold fixtures.
We pulled up to the front door.
Damian was out of the car before it stopped.
He opened my door.
Reached for Milo.
“I’ve got him,” I said, shifting to pick him up.
Damian blocked me.
“Let me.”
His voice left no room for argument.
He lifted Milo carefully.
So carefully.
Like he was made of glass.
Milo mumbled something and snuggled into his shoulder.
Damian’s whole body went rigid.
Then relaxed.
Like he’d just been given absolution for every bad thing he’d ever done.
He carried him up the stairs.
I followed.
The house was even bigger inside.
Marble floors.
High ceilings.
No pictures on the walls.
No sign anyone actually lived here.
A woman in a crisp uniform waited at the top of the stairs.
“Mr. Stone,” she said, bowing slightly.
Her eyes widened when she saw Milo.
“Prepare the blue suite,” Damian said.
“Everything a five-year-old boy could want.
Toys.
Clothes.
Books.
And make sure the bed has safety rails.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hurrying away.
He carried Milo down the hall.
Into a massive bedroom.
The same one we’d shared once.
Five years ago.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Same dark furniture.
Same view of the city.
Same empty feeling.
He laid Milo on the bed.
Pulled the covers up.
Brushed the hair off his forehead.
He stayed there for a long time.
Just watching him sleep.
I stood by the door.
Unwilling to get closer.
Afraid if I did, I’d never be able to leave again.
“You can sleep in here,” Damian said, not turning around.
“I’ll take the guest room down the hall.”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I said.
He finally looked at me.
“It’s just a bed, Elena.
And Milo’s in it.
I think you’ll both feel safer if you’re here when he wakes up.”
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
“Fine,” I said.
“But if you so much as touch the doorknob—”
“I won’t,” he said, holding up his hands.
“I give you my word.
This room is yours.
Completely.”
He walked toward the door.
Stopped next to me.
He was so close I could smell him.
Same cologne.
Same dangerous warmth.
“Elena?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not getting rid of the ring,” he said quietly.
“For giving him my name on that bear.
For keeping a piece of me with him, even when you hated me.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t hate him.
I’d never hated him.
That was the worst part.
I’d loved him so much it had almost killed me.
And leaving him had been the hardest thing I’d ever done.
He left.
Closed the door softly behind him.
I heard the lock click.
Not from my side.
From the outside.
He’d locked me in.
I ran to the door.
Tried the handle.
Locked.
“Damian!” I banged on the wood.
“Open this door right now!”
His voice came through the wood.
Calm.
Unbending.
“Go to sleep, Elena.
We have a lot to talk about tomorrow.
And right now, the only way I can be sure you won’t run again… is to make sure you can’t.”
I banged harder.
“Damian!”
Nothing.
He was gone.
I turned back to the room.
To the massive windows.
Floor to ceiling.
I ran to them.
Tried to open them.
Locked.
Reinforced glass.
I was trapped.
In the lion’s den.
With my son asleep on the lion’s bed.
And the lion himself just down the hall.
I slid down the wall.
May you like
Buried my face in my hands.
And for the first time in five years, I let myself cry.
