The phone buzzed against her thigh, a furious insect demanding her attention.
Kian’s words hung in the air, heavy and real. You don’t have to go back.
For one impossible second, she let herself believe him. She could stay. She could sit here in the dark wood and whiskey-scented safety of this bar and never see the inside of that condo again.
She could just… disappear into a life where men with stormy eyes understood 18th-century trade routes.
Then the image of the two pink lines burned behind her eyes.
The choice wasn’t hers anymore. It had been made for her in a sterile marble bathroom three hours ago.
“I have to,” she said, her voice a thin, brittle thing.
Kian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to persuade her.
He just watched her, his gaze stripping away the lies until she felt raw and exposed. He saw the trap, even if he didn’t know its name.
She fumbled in her purse, pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill and dropping it on the bar for the coffee. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was for more than the coffee. It was for seeing her.
“Audrey.”
She stopped, her hand on the back of the stool.
He didn’t say anything else. Just her name. A statement. A question. A promise. It was everything.
She turned and walked out, the heavy door swinging shut behind her, cutting off the warmth and the quiet understanding. She felt his eyes on her back the entire way.
The cold air hit her like a slap. The city was louder now, the illusion of peace shattered. Every step back toward the condo was a step back into the cage.
The key felt heavy in her hand. The lock on the apartment door clicked open with obscene quiet.
He was waiting for her in the foyer.
Cole stood with his arms crossed, his posture radiating a carefully controlled anger. He was dressed for work in a tailored suit that cost more than her monthly salary. Perfect. Polished. A predator in pinstripes.
“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was low, laced with that terrifying blend of concern and accusation. “Your phone was going straight to voicemail. I was worried sick.”
“I just went for a walk,” she said, the lie tasting like ash. “I needed some air.”
“A walk? For two hours?” He stepped closer, scanning her as if looking for evidence of a crime. Her worn jeans. Her simple sweater. “Audrey, you can’t just disappear. We have things to do today. Plans.”
We. The word was a branding iron.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, trying to sidestep him.
He blocked her path, his expression softening into a mask of loving concern. It was a practiced, chilling shift. “No, I’m sorry. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress with the gala. I’m being selfish.”
He reached into his suit pocket. Audrey flinched.
He pulled out a small, velvet box. Tiffany blue.
Her stomach dropped.
“I wanted to give this to you last night,” he said, his voice now a warm, persuasive murmur. He opened the box.
Inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, was a diamond tennis bracelet. It wasn’t just a bracelet. It was a statement of ownership. A constellation of cold, glittering stones that screamed mine.
“Cole, no. You can’t…”
“Shh.” He took her hand, his fingers cool and firm around her wrist. He lifted the bracelet from the box. “It’s a promise. To show you that no matter what, we’re in this together. Through all the stress. Through everything.”
He fastened the clasp. The click echoed in the silent apartment.
The bracelet was heavy. Cold against her skin. A perfect, beautiful manacle. She stared at it, the diamonds catching the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Chains. They were the most beautiful chains she had ever seen.
“Now,” he said, kissing her forehead. His lips were dry. “Go get changed. We have an appointment to look at a house in Greenwich at noon.”
She stared at him, bewildered. “A house? What are you talking about?”
“A real house, Audrey. With a yard. Space to grow.” He smiled, a wide, proprietary grin. “This city is great, but it’s no place to raise a family.”
The word hit her like a punch to the gut. Family.
He knew. He couldn’t know. But he was saying the words, building the walls, brick by terrifying brick.
“Isn’t it a little soon to be talking about that?” she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
“It’s never too soon to plan for the future.” He stroked her cheek. “Our future.”
He turned and walked toward the kitchen to get his briefcase, leaving her frozen in the foyer. The diamonds on her wrist felt like they were burning into her skin.
He paused by the archway. “Oh, by the way. I was looking over the schematics for your exhibit layout last night.”
Her blood ran cold.
“That Dehua porcelain collection,” he said, his tone casual, conversational. “The centerpiece. It feels a little… exposed, doesn’t it? Right by that secondary entrance.”
She had placed it there for optimal lighting and traffic flow, a decision she’d spent weeks agonizing over. “The security is state-of-the-art, Cole. We have motion sensors, pressure plates…”
“I know, I know.” He held up a hand, dismissive. “But all it takes is one mistake. One guard looking the other way. You know my client, Harold Vance, the collector? He mentioned it to me. He said a piece that valuable, that central to the exhibit’s success… it’s a liability.”
Doubt, cold and familiar, slithered into her heart. Harold Vance was a major donor. His opinion mattered. Cole knew that.
“It would be a shame if something happened,” Cole continued, his voice smooth as silk. “A catastrophe, really. Right before the gala. It could ruin everything you’ve worked for.”
He wasn’t offering an opinion. He was delivering a threat. A warning wrapped in the language of concern. He was reminding her that her world, the one part of her life she thought she controlled, was fragile. He could break it.
He picked up his briefcase and smiled at her, the perfect fiancé. “Just something to think about. For your own protection.”
He walked out, leaving her alone in the vast, silent condo.
She looked down at the glittering bracelet on her wrist. Then she looked toward the window, at the city that suddenly felt like a million miles away.
The memory of Kian’s quiet strength, of a man who saw stories in teacups, felt like a dream. A fantasy she’d conjured in a moment of weakness.
This was reality.
The diamonds. The house in Greenwich. The veiled threats. The baby. His baby.
The walls of the cage weren’t closing in. They were already locked. And he had just added another bar.