Chapter 3

Hours later, the lock clicked again. One of the guards opened the door, his face impassive. "Mr. Burgess said you can come out now."

My legs were stiff, my body trembling with the aftershocks of terror. I felt hollowed out, my throat raw from silent screams. I stumbled up the stairs, my eyes blinking against the sudden light, my body aching as if I' d been beaten.

The penthouse was quiet. I walked into the master suite, craving the simple comfort of a shower, of washing away the scent of damp and fear.

And then I saw her.

Kiera was standing in front of the full-length mirror, turning this way and that. She was wearing my mother' s dress.

It was a vintage Dior, a timeless silk gown from the 1950s. It was the only thing I had left of my biological mother, a woman I' d never known. It was priceless, not because of the designer, but because of the ghost of the woman who had worn it. It was my most sacred possession.

My breath caught in my throat. A wave of pure, hot rage washed over me, burning away the fear and the exhaustion.

"What are you doing?" My voice was a low growl.

Kiera turned, a small, startled look on her face. "Oh, Aurora. You' re out." She smoothed a hand down the silk. "Isn' t it beautiful? I found it in the back of the closet. I hope you don' t mind."

"Mind?" I stalked towards her, my eyes fixed on the dress. "Take it off. Now."

She feigned a look of hurt. "But it' s just a dress. Cohen said I could borrow anything I wanted. He said you wouldn' t care."

"He was wrong," I said, my voice shaking with fury. I could see she knew exactly what she was doing. There was a flicker of triumph in her eyes that she couldn' t quite hide.

"Get out of my dress."

She pouted, her lower lip trembling. "You' re being mean. I just wanted to feel pretty."

As she spoke, she took a step back, deliberately catching the delicate fabric on the corner of the vanity. I heard the sickening sound of silk tearing. A long, jagged rip now ran down the side of the skirt.

My world went red.

Before I could think, my hand flew out and connected with her cheek. The slap echoed in the silent room.

Kiera gasped, her eyes widening in theatrical shock. She brought a hand to her face, tears instantly welling up.

"You hit me," she whispered.

"You did that on purpose," I hissed, my eyes on the ruined dress. The tear was a mortal wound.

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper, the victim act momentarily forgotten. "Of course I did. It' s just an old rag anyway. Cohen can buy you a hundred new ones." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "He' ll buy me a hundred more."

"What' s going on in here?"

Cohen' s voice boomed from the doorway. He had entered just in time to see Kiera' s tears and the red mark blooming on her cheek.

He took in the scene in a single glance: me, standing there shaking with rage; Kiera, sobbing piteously.

"Aurora, what the hell did you do?" he roared, rushing to Kiera' s side.

"She hit me, Cohen," Kiera cried, burying her face in his chest. "All I did was try on a dress, and she attacked me."

He held her, his eyes blazing at me. "Are you out of your mind? Look at her, she' s terrified of you."

"She tore my mother' s dress!" I yelled, my voice breaking. "Look at it! She did it on purpose!"

I pointed to the gown, to the ugly rip that felt like a tear in my own skin. "Cohen, you know what that dress means to me. You promised you would keep it safe."

Kiera, ever the master manipulator, peeked out from behind Cohen' s shoulder. "I' m so sorry," she whimpered. "I didn' t know it was special. I' ll take it off right now."

"No," Cohen said, his voice firm, his arm tightening around her. "You will do no such thing. You look beautiful in it."

He looked at me, his face cold and dismissive. "It' s a piece of fabric, Aurora. Calm down." He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a black credit card onto the bed.

"Here. Go buy yourself a new one. Buy ten. I don' t care. Just stop acting like a child."

I stared at the credit card, then at his face. The casual cruelty of his gesture stole the air from my lungs.

Years ago, when I first showed him the dress, he had traced the delicate seams with a reverent finger. He' d listened as I told him it was all I had of my mother. He had promised to have a climate-controlled case built for it, to protect it forever. He understood its value was not in money, but in memory.

Now, he was throwing money at me as if that could fix the gaping hole he and Kiera had torn in my life.

He turned his back on me completely, his attention focused solely on Kiera. "Come on, sweetheart. Let' s get you out of here."

As he led her from the room, I could hear him murmuring to her, his voice soft and comforting. "Don' t worry, I' ll take you shopping. We' ll get you a whole new wardrobe, anything you want."

I was left alone in the silent room, with the ruined dress and the black credit card on the bed. A monument to his broken promises.

I collapsed onto the floor, my body wracked with sobs that had no sound. It wasn't just about the dress anymore. It was about every promise, every whispered "I love you," every shared dream.

He had taken them all and set them on fire.

Slowly, I stood up. I walked to the bed, picked up the credit card, and with a surge of cold, clear fury, I snapped it in half. The sharp crack was the sound of my heart breaking for the last time.

He was not just a liar. He was a monster. And I was done being his victim.