Dewitt looked at the bruise on her arm, then up to her eyes. His expression didn't soften. It hardened. The temperature in the garage seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Aguilar," he said. The name sounded like a curse word in his mouth.
Felicity looked down at her bare feet. She couldn't meet his gaze. If she looked at him, she would cry, and she had promised herself she wouldn't give Barnett the satisfaction of more tears.
Barnett sensed the shift in Dewitt's mood. He leaned against the car door, his confidence returning.
"Sad story, really," Barnett said, smoothing his hair. "She came to me begging for a role. Any role. Said she'd do anything to pay off her father's legal fees. I was just... testing her commitment."
Felicity's head snapped up. "That's not-"
Barnett's hand squeezed her arm. He dug his thumb into the fresh bruise.
Felicity gasped. The pain was sharp and blinding. She remembered the contract. The Non-Disclosure Agreement. And the threat against her father.
She shut her mouth. She swallowed the truth. It tasted like bile.
"See?" Barnett smiled at Dewitt. "She knows her place."
Dewitt looked at Felicity. He was waiting for her to deny it. He was waiting for the fire he remembered from the gala. But she just sat there, trembling, letting this slime touch her.
"So the rumors are true," Dewitt said. "The Aguilars really will do anything for money now. Even this."
The words hit Felicity harder than Barnett's hand had. She felt something inside her chest crack. It wasn't her heart. It was her pride. The last little piece of it she had been holding onto.
Dewitt turned on his heel. He walked toward the elevator bank.
"Get her out of my sight, Barnett. And if I ever see your car in my spot again, I'll have it crushed. With you in it."
Barnett scrambled to get Felicity out of the car. "Come on," he hissed.
He dragged her toward the elevators. Felicity stumbled. Her legs felt like rubber. She clutched the oversized jacket closed with one hand, Barnett gripping her other arm like a vice.
Dewitt reached the elevator bank and pressed the call button. The doors opened to reveal a chattering group of guests who slowly filed out, delaying his ascent. It was during that brief, irritating pause that Barnett finally caught up, dragging Felicity behind him. They reached the elevator just as the last guest cleared the doorway. Barnett jammed his hand in to stop the doors from closing.
They stepped inside.
The elevator was mirrored on all sides. It was a kaleidoscope of misery.
Dewitt stood at the front, his back to them. He was staring at the floor indicator numbers. His posture was rigid.
Felicity stood in the back corner. She looked at Dewitt's reflection. He looked perfect. Untouchable. A god in a bespoke suit.
She looked at her own reflection. Hair matted. Lip bleeding. Wearing her abuser's coat. She looked like exactly what he thought she was. A whore.
Barnett leaned in close to her ear. His breath was hot and wet.
"See?" he whispered. "Even Knight thinks you're trash. You belong to me now."
Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. She bit the tip of her tongue until the sharp pain grounded her.
Dewitt saw the movement in the reflection. He saw Barnett whispering to her. He saw her face scrunch up.
He thought it was intimacy. He thought it was a lover's whisper.
His stomach rolled. Disgust washed over him. Disgust at her. Disgust at Barnett. And a strange, burning anger he couldn't name.
The elevator chimed. Penthouse.
The doors slid open. Music poured in. Laughter. The clink of crystal glasses.
Henderson, the butler, was waiting. He took one look at the trio and his professional mask slipped for a fraction of a second.
"Sir," Henderson said.
Dewitt stepped out. He didn't look back.
"Henderson, handle this mess. I don't want any unpleasantries at my party."
