Chapter Nineteen

The weeks after Ransom stumbled into my room in the middle of the night smelling like a low-end brothel passed in fake domestic bliss.

Max was MIA, due to Ransom never leaving my side. Day and night, he followed me everywhere. To my stupid Hollywood premieres, tacky friends’ birthday bashes, and even to my Pilates and smoothie dates with Keller.

The day after he ate me out, I slept late, went down to the kitchen in my sunglasses, and demanded he give my credit card back.

“You want in my bed, you’ll need to give me equal rights.”

To my surprise, he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to sleep with me again, either.

…until three days later, when I dragged him with me to a secondhand shop and tried on a fabulous Balenciaga mini dress.

“Random, could you help me zip it up?” I purred from the changing room.

He joined me inside, slipping the zipper up my back silently. I turned toward him, smirking. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” he said dejectedly, turning around, about to leave.

“Then do.”

He pinned me to the floor-to-ceiling mirror and fucked me mercilessly, playing out our fantasies while I tried to kick him off, our moans muffled by the hot, dirty kiss we shared the entire time, until he came inside me.

That had been one of the many times we had sex. Each time he had sex with me, he hated himself for it, and I knew it. It didn’t sit well with me. But I couldn’t help it. I became so addicted to him, I couldn’t stop.

One day, we took the car and drove out to Runyon Canyon, and he ended up bending me over the trunk of the car and taking me from behind.

Another time, he snuck into my room in the middle of the night.

I couldn’t decide if he felt guilty for doing something unprofessional, doing it with a twenty-one-year-old, or because my background made him wonder if I was somehow punishing myself by sleeping with him.

Either way, I was enjoying not only his body, but also his attention.

Ransom protected me fiercely. Much more than before. Sometimes—oftentimes, actually—I wondered if there was more to his behavior. Why he flung himself in front of me whenever someone rushed toward me to ask for a photograph or an autograph. Why he now patrolled the house three times before he went to bed every night. Why he insisted on armoring my car. But Ransom didn’t give me anything. Even when I tried to pry information about who those people were who’d taken pictures of me the other day with Keller.

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” he’d evaded the question. “As long as I’m here, they won’t get to you.”

“And after you’re gone?”

“They won’t bother you. Trust me.”

That wasn’t a satisfying explanation to say the least, but it was all I had to work with.

My parents still tried to call and arrange for me to come home. I rarely picked up, and when I did, I told them I was busy trying to find an interesting college program. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. I had looked into programs, but mainly for sketching and painting.

Hera and Craig went on their two-week honeymoon to Montenegro. Neither of them tried to contact me, and I fooled myself into believing I could probably avoid them for a few more years.

All I had to do was make sure that next time we were in the same zip code, I had a bodyguard with me. Just in case Craig sought revenge.

Ransom stopped bothering me about what I wanted to do with my life. Or at least, he stopped pestering me about it. He still brought the subject up, but never pressed.

The only issue that did give us a constant reason to argue was him asking me again and again to see a therapist about what happened with Craig, and the dyslexia.

Each conversation went the same way.

“Do you have a therapist, Random?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m beyond repair.”

“And I could be easily mended?”

“You show promise. Potential. A soul. Things I don’t possess.”

“I’ll go to therapy if you go to therapy.”

This was the part he’d usually give me an are-you-insane? look.

The part where I smiled back in triumph. “There you have it.”

Life was good. Suspiciously good, actually. I should have known it would come to an end. Specifically, in the form of my family.

Three weeks after Ransom and I got back from Texas, I woke up to a string of text messages from Keller.

Keller: <<<Link>>> The Thornes Like You’ve Never Seen Them Before! Anthony, Julianne, Hera, and Craig discuss Love, Marriage, and Loyalty!

Keller: <<<Voice>>> Pass the puke bucket. Hera is trying SO hard. And she looks terrible in this shoot!

Keller: <<<Voice>>> Why aren’t you there, by the way? Looks like a whole family ordeal.

I clicked on the link, my heart jackhammering in my chest. Ransom lay beside me, snoring softly. He didn’t always sleep in my bed, but recently, he’d done it more and more.

I saw an array of photos of my parents, Hera and Craig standing in my parents’ vast garden. Dogs included. Everybody smiling into the camera. One big, happy family.

Punching Ransom in the arm, I shoved my phone in his face. I couldn’t read fast enough—if at all—in my current state.

He stirred awake, not looking to be in any particular hurry to know why I’d assaulted him. He leaned back against the bedframe, plucking the phone from between my fingers.

“Jesus Christ, Craig’s isn’t the first face I want to see when I wake up,” he mumbled, digging the base of his palm into his eye socket.

“Read it,” I ordered, folding my arms over my chest.

He shot me an unsure look. “What the hell for?”

“I’m going to have a shitty day either way. At least let me know why I’m bummed.”

With a sigh, he began reading.

“…Julianne, 55, cannot stop gushing about the new addition to the family. ‘Craig’s everything we’ve ever wanted in a son. He is loyal, loving, steadfast, and puts his family above all else. Watching him grow alongside Hera into this courageous, virtuous man has been very inspiring.’”

“While Anthony, 60, insists: ‘Everything Hera has ever achieved was on her own merit. She is the most hardworking, compassionate, loving human being I’ve ever met. Fathering her has been by far my favorite, most honorable role.’”

“…President Thorne insists that, despite his daughter Hallie not being present for the shoot or the interview, things have never been better. ‘The truth is, there will always be rumors, but that’s just what they are. Rumors. Hallie adores her new brother-in-law and has never been closer to Hera. They’re truly two peas in a pod.’”

“This, on the heels of Miss Thorne delivering a less than favorable speech in her duty as maid of honor, makes people wonder…”

“Stop!” I ripped my phone from his hand, flinging it across the floor. It skidded until it hit the wall. I jumped out of the bed, pacing back and forth, feeling sick to my stomach. “This is such undiluted horse crap.”

Ransom stayed in my bed, eyeing me through calculating eyes. No matter how many times we’d had sex, how many nights we shared, every time I saw myself through his eyes, I shuddered. He treated me clinically. Like his unfinished, messy job.

“You’re upset.”

“No shit I’m upset!” I flung my arms in the air. “I’m officially no longer a member of the Thorne family, according to this article.”

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

“No!”

“Yes, it does. I suggest you do something about it.” He reached for the nightstand, unhooking his phone from its charger.

“And give them the satisfaction of knowing I’ve read it?” I let out a huff.

His eyes were dead on his screen as he scrolled. “The entire world has read it. It’s on every media outlet out there. Even videos, pictures, and snippets on the news.”

This wasn’t just spitting in my face. It was throwing an entire bucket of saliva.

I stopped pacing, turning to him. “What do you think I should do?”

“Get on a goddamn plane and give them a piece of your mind. Confront them. About everything. Craig. Your undiagnosed dyslexia. Their poor treatment of you,” he said, straight-faced.

I faltered. “But what if—”

“Every worst-case scenario has already happened,” he cut me off, flinging the blanket and collecting his phone, wallet, and gun, which was always within reach. “They made this asshole your brother-in-law, they deprived you of context, opportunity, and better life conditions. They treat you like a second-class citizen. I fail to see how this could get any harder for you, Princess.”

He was right, and I knew it. More than that, I felt ready for a showdown with my family. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe the constant realizations with which I’d been bombarded. My learning disabilities. My newfound talent at sketching. Overcoming my aversion to sex. And, yes, maybe even coming to terms with the fact I didn’t have any real friends, any real family, and despite all that, I’d still managed to survive.

I nodded curtly. “Pack up, Random. We’re going to Texas.”

Other than almost slapping Ransom when he inquired whether I wanted to channel my wrath into angry, exploratory hate sex, the plane ride to Dallas went without a hitch. A car was waiting for us at the airport. We didn’t have any luggage.

Throughout the car ride, I could tell Ransom was relieved we weren’t in Los Angeles. His shoulders were lax, and his jaw wasn’t tense for the first time in weeks.

I didn’t have time or the desire to ask him about it. I was solely focused on ripping my family a new one. The audacity of these people killed me.

As soon as the car pulled up to my parents’ gate, I stormed out, Ransom following closely behind me.

“Excuse me, Miss Thorne, but I don’t believe your parents are expect—” Daphne in the eternal business casual blazer confronted me when I got to their door. I shouldered past her, going straight up the stairs to my father’s office. What was she going to do, arrest me for visiting my family? Nah. Doing so would create horrible headlines for the precious Thorne family.

I took the stairs two at a time, whirling past housekeepers and administrative staff. When I reached Dad’s double doors, I didn’t bother knocking. I swanned right inside.

Dad was sitting in his office with a few suited men in their forties and fifties. One of them I recognized as Wolfe Keaton, a dashing Chicago-based senator. By the air of self-importance and cigar stench in the room, I could tell the rest were also politicians. Good. This deserved an audience.

He looked up, his eyes flaring in shock at the sight of me. Pushing himself back in his seat, I held up a hand to stop him.

“No. Don’t stand. That’d give you an advantage over me when I run after I finish my speech.”

I had no doubt at all he’d want to wring my neck once I was done with him.

“What’s going on, Sugar Pie?” he asked, still sprawled in his chair. He couldn’t afford to look flustered.

“Such a great question.” I leaned a shoulder over the door, sighing. “What is wrong? I guess a better question would be what is right in my life. And the answer is—not a whole bunch. I have you to thank for that.”

The three men in the room exchanged looks. They knew they shouldn’t be present for this type of conversation. Mr. Keaton stood up, buttoning his suit blazer.

“Well, Tony, it’s been a pleasure, as always…”

“Do stay.” I pushed off the doorframe, striding deeper into the room. “I think you’ll get a nice, intimate glimpse into your good friend’s family life.”

“Hallie.” Dad frowned, tucking his cigar into an ashtray. “I don’t like the theatrics. Say what you came here to say.”

“I saw the article.” I was in front of his desk now. I slammed the glossy, high-brow magazine onto the desk. I thought buying it at the airport was a nice touch. “Really moving, this picture of familial bliss.”

“Hey.” He darted up to his feet. “We called you countless times. We tried to get you to join us. You were unreachable.”

“And you couldn’t get through to me via my ever-present bodyguard, whom you appointed to shadow me despite my objections?”

“We were worried for your safety. You were out and about, not being careful…” He shook his head, as if ridding himself of this horrific image.

“Oh, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, plucking his cigar from the ashtray and pushing it into my mouth. I hated the taste. Still, I puffed on it, just for effect. “Nothing says I worry about my daughter more than hiding her learning disabilities from her!” I pounded my open palm against his desk. He didn’t wince. No. Dad was made of sturdier stuff. We held each other’s gazes. Suddenly, I didn’t give one damn if he cut my finances off. It was worth it. Getting answers was worth it.

“As much as we appreciate the show—and I do have a soft spot for theatrics—we should be going.” Keaton gave a careless toss of his wrist. “Gentlemen, follow me. Tony, best of luck with…this.”

They walked out, passing by Ransom, who stayed at the door. My attention was solely on Dad.

“Hallie…” He winced.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was dyslexic?” I hissed. “That was neglectful, careless, and above all—cruel. I thought I was simple. Stupid. Disposable. You locked me in a golden cage and kept me a secret from the world.”

“Oh, Sugar Pie…” He shook his head, at a loss for words. I had him on that, and he knew it.

“Don’t Sugar Pie me. You did everything in your power to hide my so-called ‘secret’. Even at the price of making me feel like a complete idiot. Then you froze me out of the family—”

“Now, that didn’t happen!” he thundered. “You were the one who pulled back. You were the one who kept on wanting to go out of state for school. You were the one who made up reasons not to join us for holidays and vacations. You did everything you could to show us that you were unhappy with us. That we did a terrible job with you.”

“You did.” I went over to the window and flicked the cigar out onto Mom’s precious rosebushes. It felt good to inflict a little destruction on the people I felt so bitter and angry toward.

“We wanted to protect you.” My father rushed behind me, trying to clasp my shoulders. I shrugged him off. “Believe it or not, it wasn’t to hurt you. We love you. We wanted to spare you the headache. And we thought that we could. With our connections and our pull. The world was at our feet and we thought we could shield you from all the things wrong with it. We didn’t want you to carry the stigma. Didn’t want you to be singled out. So we downplayed it.”

“There’s no shame in dyslexia.” I twisted around, facing him. “You took an innocent learning disability and made it into a liability. You broke me.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. I could tell he was devastated—my father never showed signs of emotion, and this, for him, was a lot. I relished his pain.

“Hallie—”

“Admit it,” I cut him off. “I’m invisible. I’m not in this house, not in these rooms, not in your soul, in your veins. You try, but I can see your heart’s not in it. Know how I know?”

He blinked, staring at me, bracing himself for the blow. I smiled.

“I know because you refused to read the writing on the wall.”

“How do you mean?” The wariness in his expression told me he knew a blow was coming his way.

“Craig,” I choked out his name, taking a step back from Dad. “Craig has been sexually abusing me. For years.”

The world spun out of focus as my father, for the first time since I was born, broke down in tears. He turned around, giving me his back to ensure I couldn’t see them. Pressed his face to the wall, his shoulders quaking uncontrollably.

“No,” I heard a gasp coming from the door. “No, no, no.”

Mom stood there, in her cashmere suit, her fingers fluttering over her lips. She stared at me, awe-struck. “Hallie, tell me this is not true.”

For some reason, I never thought they’d believe me if I came forward. Never thought they would take me seriously. I guess they didn’t think I was as much of an airhead as they’d made me peg myself to be.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Coldly, I gave her my back, picking one of the random whiskey glasses on the desk and tossing it down. “You’re hardly my mother. Save for giving birth to me, you’ve been pretty absent from my life.”

“Of course, I’m your mother!” Mom choked out. “Tony, do something.”

Through the reflection of the spotless window, I could see her collapsing onto the floor, bracing herself by one of the walls.

“If this is true…” Dad stalked toward me, his face red and angry. “If he really hurt you—”

“Oh God, Dad, not this.” I plopped down on his chair, crossing my ankles on his desk. “The if part is so unnecessary and insulting. Especially since, as I recall, you ran for re-election on the promise of not silencing women, their experiences, or their struggles.”

“I’m not doubting you.” He went down on one knee, trying to catch my gaze unsuccessfully. “I’m trying to understand…trying to digest what’s happening here…”

“Don’t bother.” I waved him off. “No words can suffice for what I’ve been through. The experience is awash in shame, pain, and regret. You were right to do the article without me. I’m really not a part of this family anymore. Mr. Lockwood?” I called out, glancing at the door.

Ransom appeared like a demon summoned, hands behind his back.

“Miss Thorne?”

“Our next stop is my sister’s apartment in downtown Dallas. Could you ensure the car’s ready?”

“Absolutely,” he said readily, the glint in his eyes telling me he was proud.

Then it happened. Out of all the moments, of all the days, of all the times we’d spent together.

Like a punch to the gut came the awful, tragic realization that I was in love with Ransom Lockwood.

Orphaned. Soulless. Heartless. And broken to a fault.

In love with his good parts as well as the bad ones. The ugly parts and those so beautiful it made it impossible for me to think about him and breathe at the same time.

I was in love with how he made me feel, with whom he made me become. Once he left, he was going to take my heart with him, and I could do nothing about it.

In a daze, I stood, making my way to the door. My parents tried to stop me. My mother flung herself in front of the door, crying desperately for me to stay. I sidestepped her, feeling at ease about what had happened with my parents and completely panicked about being in love with Ransom.

“We’re making a stop at a police station first.”

Ransom delivered the news with the quiet finality of a man who knew he would not be met with resistance. No turning back from this one. My actions at my parents’ house couldn’t be undone. I didn’t want them to be undone. Craig had committed atrocious acts against me, and he deserved to pay for it.

“It’s going to be embarrassing.” I nibbled on my thumbnail, looking out the window.

“It’s going to be empowering,” Ransom retorted.

A thought occurred to me. One I must’ve shoved to the back of my mind while confronting my parents, who, by the way, were blowing up my phone and going straight to voicemail.

Turning sharply to my bodyguard, I said, “They can terminate your contract at any time. I basically spat in their faces and told them, not in so many words, that their assistance and financial support is unappreciated.”

I couldn’t imagine how I’d manage to survive without my parents’ help, but I knew it was time to remove myself from under their wing.

“They can’t.” Ransom punched something into his phone.

“How do you know?”

“I write my own contracts. No exit clause.”

“They might fire you just to spite me and keep you on their payroll.”

“You think very lowly of your family.” His eyes shifted from his screen, scanning me intently. “Besides,” he smiled, “they still think you hate me, remember? No way they’ll let you be rid of me now.”

Disappointment crashed into me, and I realized foolishly that I’d expected him to tell me he’d stay, even if they fired him.

The car slowed to a stop by a curb. Ransom tucked his phone into his pocket. “We’re here.”

Filing a complaint against Craig was relatively painless, everything considered. I recited the incidents coldly, in what almost felt like an out-of-body experience.

The two officers who took my statement allowed Ransom to be in the room, and asked their questions gently, giving me time to sort out the thoughts in my head.

When I walked out of the police station an hour later, I had fifteen missed calls from Mom, twenty from Dad, and dozens of unread messages.

Ransom and I slipped into the car. I rubbed at my temples, feeling the beginning of a headache. “I don’t even know where my sister lives.”

She’d never invited me over, never made the faintest effort to get to know me.

“I have it,” Ransom said.

“I wonder what life is going to be like after you,” I blurted out. “After you’re gone.”

He flashed me a smile. “Same as before, but with a lot more googling.”

Hera and Craig lived in an aquarium-like skyscraper downtown. All azure glass and high ceilings. The type with twenty-four-hour concierge, gym, spa, gourmet restaurant, and business center. Before we got there, Ransom asked the driver to stop by a small flower shop and purchased a big bouquet.

I stared at him, puzzled. “Looking to make a move, now that she’ll most likely be single?” I arched an eyebrow.

The only reason I believed Hera would be single was because there was no way she’d put up with the embarrassment of standing by Craig’s side if this went to trial.

“You know me too well,” Ransom said flatly.

When we entered Hera and Craig’s building, Ransom’s game became clear to me. He approached the uniformed concierge, holding the bouquet.

“Hello, I’m Ransom Lockwood, and this is Miss Hallie Thorne, Hera Thorne’s sister. We’re here on a social call, but would like to keep it a surprise from the newlywed couple.”

The man, in his mid-fifties, eyed the flowers with a smile. “Of course. Unfortunately, it goes against our policy. What apartment shall I ring?”

“Six-two-four,” Ransom said easily. “But preferably, you’d let us pass. See, we’ve arranged a surprise for the couple. I’m sure they’d appreciate the full impact of it if we arrive unannounced.”

The man looked torn. On one hand, there was a protocol. On the other, Ransom was incredibly convincing, and the flowers were gorgeous.

Finally, he groaned, “All right.”

And so we slipped into the elevator to the sixth floor, heading toward Hera and Craig’s apartment.

“A surprise, huh?” I stared up at the mirrored ceiling of the elevator.

“No lies there,” Ransom muttered.

“What if Craig tries to attack me?” I sucked in a quick breath.

“Then he’ll meet his premature and extremely painful death in my hands.”

The elevator slid open. We both walked out.

My legs were shaking, my palms sweaty, but astonishingly, no part of me wanted to turn around and run away. I wanted to see this through.

When I reached Hera and Craig’s door, I raised my fist and rapped four times. The door swung open immediately, as if someone were already expecting us on the other side.

Hera. Sweaty and gaunt-looking, probably after a spin class. Her Alo Yoga attire clung to her boney figure. Her hair was a mess. Her mouth was twisted in a bitter smile.

“Came for your victory dance?” She bared her teeth.

“Is that what you think this is?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

How delusional could a person be to think any part of this was fun for me? Mom and Dad were clueless. But Hera? She was disgusting.

Hera leaned a hip against the door, taking a sip of her bottled water. “Well, my husband is currently being taken into custody on attempted rape allegations, and I’m here barricaded in my apartment waiting for Mom and Dad to send their PR staff to clean up this mess, so, yeah. I think you’re having a great day. Finally, good, respectful Hera messed up and Hallion comes out on top.”

Craig was in custody? Already? That was fast. And also weird. Maybe I wasn’t the first one who’d complained? Maybe there were others?

“You’re insane.” My fingers twitched, begging to grab her and shake her. “And think very highly of yourself.”

“No, you are jealous.” She stabbed my chest with her finger. “And you’re also out of here.”

She tried to slam the door in my face. Ransom reached a flattened palm against it, pushing it all the way open and sauntering inside with little effort. I followed him. I wasn’t going to leave until I told her my side of the story. Not because I cared about her opinion—but because she deserved to be tormented by the truth. It wasn’t about hurting her—it was about standing up for myself.

“You’re trespassing!” Hera exclaimed.

“Indeed.” Ransom headed for the kitchen, opening the fridge casually, fixing himself a lemonade. “Even still, my guess is you’re not going to call the police and report your sister’s visit right now. You know, considering the circumstances.”

She stared at him with eyes full of fire and wrath. I stepped into her line of vision, snapping my fingers in her face.

“Focus,” I ordered.

“On what?” she cried out. “It’s obvious to all, Craig didn’t do it. It’s just a lie you made. I know about your little fling when you were in college. He told me! He may be a cheat, but he is not that kind of person. He—”

“He first molested me when I was fourteen,” I started, undeterred. Her mouth fell open.

“What?”

“And it went on for years. As recent as a few weeks ago, the day of your wedding rehearsal and the mysterious allergy. But I’m guessing you were onto him one of the later times he did it, and he told you I seduced him, right? That I wanted it. That I asked for it, even. Which is why you hate me so much these days.”

It all started to make sense to me now. Her behavior toward me. Toward Craig. She thought we were lovers.

Her face contorted in recognition. As if everything finally made sense now. Something else lurked behind her blue eyes. A vacant, hollow sadness I’d never seen before.

Transfixed on me, she collapsed on the arm of the sofa for support. “I…I…I didn’t…I never thought…”

“And you never asked,” I said pointedly.

“You’re right.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I just accepted his version, swallowed my pride, and moved on, thinking you must hate me so much to do this to me and my relationship. Please tell me everything, Hallie. Please.”

And so I did. I didn’t miss one detail, from the first time to the last one, just three weeks ago. The way I tried to fight him off. To stop him. How I’d changed, little by little, after each attack. Craig took pieces of my soul, until nothing was left. Until I became the plastic shell she’d seen plastered on Hollywood tabloids, flashing her nipple to the entire world.

Because I knew what I was.

Damaged goods.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Hera flew up from the couch, walking over to her floor-to-ceiling window. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she looked wrecked.

“I wanted to.” I watched her back. “So many times. But each time I tried to speak to you, you were busy, or dismissive, or not available for me. You wanted nothing to do with me. I knew where I stood with you. You were ashamed of my dyslexia, with my lack of academic achievement. You didn’t want my averageness to rub off on you. You liked being completely separate entities. I never measured up to you. You were the shining star who burned everything in her path, and I was lost in your shadow.”

She turned around to me, wrapping her arms around herself. “How could I have missed this?”

“Easily,” I said tiredly. “Craig only showed one side of himself to you.”

She shook her head. “He had anger issues. I mean, does. He still has them. He broke one of Mom’s vases when we had a fight a while back. Another time, he kicked a friend of mine out of our apartment because she teased him about his SAT score. He’s been in therapy for a while now. Two, three years maybe? I thought he was doing better. I never imagined his hotheadedness could translate into…”

“Sexual violence?” I completed for her.

“Yes.”

Tears engulfed her eyes. She tried to fight them. After all, she was Hera, the wife of Zeus, the queen of all gods. Utterly untouchable.

“All this time, I stayed with him because I didn’t want to cause a headline. The public really loved that Craig and I were high school sweethearts, so I tried to push through with the relationship.” She sniffed. “So you didn’t make it all up to get back at me for that article?”

I closed my eyes, taking a breath. “Hera, I’m sorry to disappoint, but even though I’m not happy with the way my life has gone, I never wanted to be you. No offense, but it looks like you’re leading a pretty miserable life. You don’t give yourself any breathing room. You work yourself to the bone, exhaust your body with punishing workouts, and you always do whatever people expect of you, without any consideration for what you want. I don’t actually think you’re even in love with Craig. I’ve seen you two together. It looks more like an arrangement of convenience than anything else. You want to be this perfect creature, but Hera…” I opened my eyes, smiling sadly. “The person you’re trying to be doesn’t exist. You’re killing yourself trying to become her.”

Her tears fell freely now, covering her cheeks. She collapsed on the floor. Her forehead touched the cool marble. Her back quivered with sobs.

“I made a horrible mistake marrying him.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I didn’t fail to notice how Hera was still focused on her life, her decisions, her mistakes, her heartache. Even though I was the one with the trauma. The one who’d been wronged. I supposed sympathy was too much to ask. Especially considering we were all on the brink of a national scandal.

As if reading my thoughts, she tilted her head and stared at me. “Your life’s going to change forever, too, you know.” She used the couch’s back to try to steady herself before standing upright. “As soon as the news breaks, everyone will know. Are you ready for that?”

“Ready? No.” I smiled, turning around and ambling to the door. “Prepared? Yes.”

The drive to the airport passed in contemplative silence.

Scrolling through names of L.A. based therapists on my phone, I clicked on the pictures of ones who looked friendly. All women. I couldn’t see myself pouring my heart out to a man after everything I’d been through.

Ransom looked grim and deep in thought. I was amazed he didn’t use the time to work on his phone.

“You sick or something?” I took a break from my therapist shopping.

He glanced at me, still a million miles away. “No.”

“You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

His eyes clung to mine, the answer inside them. He was hiding something. I understood, I’d lived my life cloaked in secrets, too. Something deep and dark and dangerous.

“I’m trying to think how to put it into words.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Focus on finding a therapist, Hallie. You’ll need one.”

He twisted his head back, watching as cars swished by. I lowered my gaze back to my phone, my eyes landing on a fifty-something woman in a funky emerald blazer and a welcoming smile. She had the Rachel haircut—totally nineties—her hair as flame-red as mine.

Ilona Queen, PsyD

Licensed Clinical Psychologist

Alcohol addiction, substance abuse, eating disorder, trauma, PTSD, and relationship issues.

I clicked on the Book a Consultation button and held my breath.

Maybe this was the beginning of the end.

And the end of thinking I couldn’t rewrite my beginning.