Page 5

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

“Do you hear me? You in there, Willow?”

Fingers grip my hand so tightly that I almost surface.

Only this time, instead of fighting my way toward the light on the other side of the darkness, I’m scrabbling against being pulled free of the fog, clinging to the shadows and the blackness, desperate to stay here.

Because there isn’t safe.

This man isn’t safe.

Thankfully, the thought has the shadows gathering again, dulling the pain in my hand, soothing the rough edges of my fear.

I still hear the rest of this man’s words; the man whose voice wrought such fear.

But from a distance.

Because I’m sinking down again, safe and protected in that fog.

“You fucking stupid whore—there won’t be any more of this fake coma shit when I get you home. And that’s happening soon. So whatever you think you’re doing, the jig is almost up.”

I’m jostled, rattling the cage I’ve gathered around myself fiercely enough that I am almost propelled to the surface again.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

But there are no more words.

And no more pain.

And…eventually no more fear.

At least until I sink even deeper into the shadows, until the memories crowd in and I remember why I’ve expended such effort trying to stay below the surface.

Away from reality.

Away from him.

“You’re so lucky, Jade.” The actress sighs and clasps her hand over her heart. “If I had a man like Dylan, I would?—”

I can’t let her finish that.

So, I do what I’ve gotten really good at over the last years. “Oh, I’m needed over there.” I lean in and give her an air kiss. “So lovely to see you, Cara. Let’s get together soon.”

“I—”

I don’t let her finish, just zip over to the other side of the room, stopping to chat with one of the catering staff.

We’re hosting this party and it’s been going perfectly.

A requirement because if it doesn’t…

My arm twinges in memory of fingers gripping too tightly. My brain retreats from the recollection of Dylan’s angry face, his cutting words.

That won’t happen today.

There won’t be any spilled platters tonight. No flat champagne. Not a single strand of hair or an eyelash out of place, no matter the tizzy I’ve worked myself into making sure all of that perfect is taking place.

No awkward conversations.