Page 98 of Release Me

Then my jewellery.

Oh fuck.

My bracelet.

He knows how much that means to me. Stupidly, I told him. He’ll probably melt it to liquid and gift it to Sorcha just to piss me off.

Before I even realise what I’m doing, I’m shoving my feet into knee-high boots and grabbing my coat. I grab Rian’s car key, and my keys to Anthony’s penthouse and dial Rian’s cell.

It rings twice, but he diverts it to voicemail.

He must still be in the meeting.

I stride along the hidden hallway to the front door. When I open it, the two security guys manning it turn politely, ‘Ms Remington.’

At least they didn’t call me Mrs De Courcy. Thank god for small blessings.

‘I need to pop out. I’ll be an hour. Hour and a half, tops.’ I tell them breezily.

They glance at each other. ‘Mr Beckett said you wouldn’t be leaving the apartment,’ the one to my right says.

‘Change of plan. Which one of you wants to escort me?’

They exchange another look. ‘I will,’ the one on the left says. ‘I’m Carter. I’ll escort you. Where are we going?’

‘To pick up a few things.’ I’m deliberately vague. The last thing I want is them trying to stop me. Anthony is in London with Sorcha. I’ll never get a better opportunity.

‘Can you drive?’ I toss him Rian’s car key. ‘Callaghan took Rian in the Bentley.’

Carter’s right hand snaps out and catches the key. He glances down at the Porsche logo and grins. ‘My pleasure.’

Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside Anthony’s building. It feels like years since I’ve been here, not weeks. My chest tightens. I feel like I’m suffocating just looking at the place. Only now, with one foot out of it, do I feel the crushing weight of my marriage for what it truly was—a cage I’d convinced myself was a home.

Carter double parks on the road outside and sticks on the hazard lights. He moves to get out with me, but I press a hand to his arm. ‘No. Wait with the car. Last thing I need is to explain to Rian why his second-favourite toy got towed away while I ran upstairs for ten minutes.’

‘Are you certain he’s away?’ He frowns.

‘It’s all over the news. Besides, he told me to get my stuff before he got home. I’m not doing anything wrong.’

He looks at me dubiously, but finally relents, settling back behind the wheel. ‘Ten minutes,’ he warns.

‘Might need twenty.’ I promise, clutching my bag tighter as I step onto the kerb. He points at my phone.

‘Call down if you need me.’

‘Sure.’ I stalk towards the building, nodding at the concierge as I stride towards the lift. I can’t deal with small talk today. No doubt I’m the talk of the place.

I dial Rian again, silently begging him to pick up. I need to hear his voice. I need his reassurance. Being back in this building is making me feel physically sick. Trapped. Which is ridiculous. I walked in here of my own free will, just like I’llwalk out again, as soon as I get my books and my bracelet. I don’t even care about the shoes. They can be replaced.

Once again, the phone barely rings before he sends it to voicemail.

I step into the lift, and hit the button for the penthouse. It glides upwards with a quiet hum. The doors slide open with a soft ping.

I hurry across the huge lobby and let myself in the front door. My heart is thumping erratically, which is ridiculous. There’s nobody here. Nobody but me.

I close the door behind me with a soft click. The blinds are drawn. The place is bleak and dim. I run my hands along the wall of the corridor through to the main living space. The air is thick, wrong, humming with a danger I can’t quite place—until a figure peels itself out of the shadows like a predator stepping from its den. A hand snaps tightly around my wrist, fat fingers digging into my skin.

‘Welcome home, darling,’ Anthony purrs, each word a slow slice of malice.