The silence in the car was heavier than lead.
"Where do you live?" Adrian asked, breaking the silence after ten minutes.
Cinthia gave him the address.
Adrian frowned. "That neighborhood? It's a slum."
"It's where people live," Cinthia snapped, finding a shred of courage. "People who don't have trust funds."
Adrian didn't respond. He just looked out the window as the scenery changed from the gleaming towers of Manhattan to the graffiti-stained brick of Brooklyn.
The car pulled up to her building. A group of teenagers on the corner whistled at the car.
"You have thirty minutes," Adrian said. "Essentials only. Leave the trash."
"My things aren't trash," Cinthia muttered.
She opened the door and ran up the three flights of stairs.
Her apartment smelled of bleach and old cooking oil. She grabbed her suitcase.
Clothes. Not many. Just the professional ones. Her toothbrush. Casey's photo.
Then, she went to the closet. She pulled out the heavy wooden box. Her paints. Her brushes. Her sketchbooks.
She buried them at the bottom of the suitcase, under her sweaters. These were her secret. If Adrian saw them, he might mock them. Or worse, forbid them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone pounded on the door.
"Cinthia! Open up!"
It wasn't Adrian. It was Aunt Linda.
Cinthia froze. "Go away, Aunt Linda!"
The door flew open. The lock had been broken for years.
Linda stood there, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, her face red with rage.
"Carter said you hit the jackpot!" Linda screamed, marching in. "He said you married a billionaire! Where's my cut?"
"There is no cut!" Cinthia yelled, backing up. "He paid Carter's debt! That's it!"
"Liar!" Linda grabbed a handful of Cinthia's hair.
"Ah!" Cinthia screamed, dropping the suitcase.
"You ungrateful little brat!" Linda yanked her head back. "After everything I did for you? You think you can just leave us here and go live in a palace?"
Cinthia clawed at Linda's hand. "Let go!"
Down on the street, the window of the Rolls Royce was cracked open an inch.
Adrian heard the scream.
He sighed. He rubbed his temples. He didn't want to deal with this. It was messy. It was low class.
But... she was his wife. His property.
"Miles," he said quietly.
Miles nodded. He tapped the earpiece. Two massive bodyguards stepped out of the SUV trailing them.
Upstairs, Linda was trying to rip Cinthia's purse from her shoulder.
"Give me the cash!"
Crash!
The apartment door was kicked fully open.
Miles stood there, flanked by the two mountains of muscle.
"Let her go," Miles said. His voice was calm, but terrifying.
Linda froze. She looked at the suits. She looked at the guns bulging under their jackets.
She dropped Cinthia's hair.
Cinthia fell back against the wall, gasping. Her lip was bleeding where she had bitten it. Her hair was a wild mess.
She looked at Miles. Shame burned in her chest.
"Get your bag, Ma'am," Miles said.
