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18

Gillian

I wake up in Ellis’s bed alone. He is gone.

Not surprising, but it still stings.

There’s a note on the pillow next to me. Folded neatly, edges sharp enough to draw blood. I rub my eyes and read it twice, hoping the second glance makes it feel less cold.

See you at the office.

The driver will take you wherever you need to go.

Your car is parked in your spot in the garage.

Your keys are on your desk.

Nothing personal. No “good morning,” no “I hope you slept well.” Just business. A reminder that I’m disposable.

I set the note aside. Smoothing the creases won’t change what it means. I pull the sheet tighter around myself, scanning the room. My shoes, lined up neatly by the door, and my purse, placed carefully on the nightstand.

But the dress isn’t here.

My pulse quickens. He took it. Or had someone else take it. Either way, it’s gone. The realization is slow, but inevitable. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of the taste, but it lingers.

There’s a knock at the door. Before I can say anything, it opens.

A woman steps inside. She’s wearing a gray uniform. I don’t recognize her. But why would I? She’s just another figure in the anonymous army Ellis commands.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake” she says briskly, setting a silver tray on the table. “Your eggs got cold, so I tossed them. I hope these are acceptable.”

“Thank you,” I manage, pulling the sheet tighter around me. It feels ridiculous—expressing gratitude while sitting naked in front of a stranger who won’t even look at me.

She doesn’t acknowledge it, her face perfectly neutral. Just moves to the closet, pulling out a garment bag. “I believe this should fit.”

She unzips it, revealing a simple black A-line dress. Understated. Elegant. Perfect.

Like someone knew exactly what I’d need. Like someone always knows exactly what I need.

She finally looks at me, just for a second, as if assessing whether I’ll be a problem.

Then she smiles.

“Mr. Harrison asked me to give you a message.”

A cold knot forms deep inside me.

“He wanted me to tell you,” she says, hanging the dress, “that it’s important we see things clearly.”

She waits. But I don’t respond.

The words hang there, heavy. Loaded.

She leaves.

It’s important we see things clearly.

I look at the dress—of course, it fits. Perfectly.

Still, a gift from Ellis never comes free.

I slide into it anyway, because what choice do I have?