Four years together. He was too sharp a man not to hear what I meant.
After a long silence, Boyd covered his face. When he spoke, his voice was raw.
"It's my fault. All of it."
He pulled me tight against his chest.
"We'll do better from now on."
"I swear, nothing like this will ever happen again."
I pushed him away. The sound of my own voice sent a chill down my spine.
"Don't bother, Boyd."
"Just let me go."
The moment the words left my mouth, the temperature in the living room seemed to drop.
What broke the silence was his phone ringing.
The room was quiet enough that even without speakerphone, I heard every word from the other end.
"Boyd, I know I shouldn't be bothering you right now."
"But my stomach really hurts, and I'm scared. Can you come be with me?"
He didn't even hang up before he was on his feet.
At the door, his steps faltered.
"I told you. You belong to me."
"Before. Now. Always."
Then he walked out without looking back.
For an entire week after that, Boyd didn't come home.
He arranged a housekeeper, a private doctor, and dozens of bodyguards.
He made sure every one of my needs was taken care of.
And at the same time, he stripped away every last shred of my freedom.
I couldn't find a way out.
On an ordinary afternoon, another email arrived, along with a text message.
Check your inbox. There are things you don't know.
Oh, Faith. You really are pitiful.
The sender was Gail.
Five years ago, my father had been assassinated, and the Black Tiger Syndicate vanished from the streets overnight. I was the syndicate boss's daughter, and the rival gang had taken me, sold me to the biggest club in Kingsport: Nightfall Lounge.
Boyd was the one who found me. He brought me home.
Now he was the most feared man in the underworld, ruthless beyond measure.
I wanted for nothing materially, but if I tried to go up against him, I didn't stand a chance.
After reading through everything Gail had sent, I sat on the balcony and lit a cigarette.
I exhaled a thin stream of smoke, watching the guards patrol the courtyard below.
After a while, I dialed a number. One of my father's old men.
"I need you to stage my death."
"The sooner the better."
