Chapter 7 7

The morning light was gray and unforgiving. Serena hadn't slept. She had spent the night monitoring the bleeding. It had slowed to spotting, but the fear was still a living thing in her chest.

She woke Leo up at dawn.

"Mommy?" Leo rubbed his eyes. "Are we going home?"

Serena forced a smile. Her face felt like a mask that was about to crack. "Yes, baby. We are going to our home."

They packed their few things quickly. Serena wanted to be gone before the house woke up.

They were crossing the foyer when the front door opened. Julian walked in, wearing jogging clothes. He was drenched in sweat.

He stopped when he saw them. He didn't ask how she was. He didn't ask about the "push."

"Take Leo to your apartment," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion.

Serena blinked. "What?"

"Victoria needs rest. Her ankle is sprained. Leo is too loud. He will disturb her."

He walked over to a side table and poured himself a glass of water. "And you need to teach him some respect. I do not want a repeat of last night."

He believed it. He actually believed she had pushed Victoria down the stairs.

"Okay," Serena rasped.

Julian looked at her then. "Take this week to fix his attitude. Next week, I will send the driver to bring him to see Victoria. She wants to try again."

Serena gripped Leo's hand tighter. "Okay."

She walked out to her car. She strapped Leo in.

As soon as she closed the door, the tears came. Silent, hot tears that blurred her vision. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.

She looked in the rearview mirror. Leo was watching her with wide, worried eyes.

"Mommy, don't cry. I don't like that lady."

Serena wiped her face roughly. "I know, Leo. I'm sorry."

She started the car. She didn't drive to the penthouse. She couldn't bear the thought of that cold, empty place.

She drove to Brooklyn.

Her destination wasn't a business. It was a secret. A dusty, converted loft in a Dumbo warehouse that her mother had left her years ago. Julian didn't know it existed. It was her bunker.

She unlocked the heavy metal door. The space was cluttered with half-finished projects: a 19th-century clock, a cracked porcelain vase, a torn oil painting. Restoration was her hidden passion, the only thing that kept her sane.

Leo ran inside. He loved the studio. He grabbed a pile of scrap wood blocks and started building a tower in the corner.

Serena took off her coat. She put on her canvas apron. She tied her hair back.

There was no assistant here. No Lily. Just silence and the smell of turpentine.

She dragged a mattress from the corner and lay down. She needed to be horizontal. She needed to let gravity do the work of keeping her baby safe.

She watched Leo play. He was safe here. They both were.

Her phone buzzed on the workbench. A text from Julian.

Don't forget to talk to him about Victoria. If he doesn't accept her, don't expect your quarterly bonus.

Serena stared at the words.

He was threatening her livelihood. He was using money to force her to gaslight her own son.

She forced herself to stand up. She walked over to the workbench where a Ming vase sat in pieces. A private collector had contacted her via an encrypted email weeks ago. He was offering a fortune for a rush job. Cash.

She picked up a pair of precision tweezers. The ceramic was shattered into fifty pieces. It was impossible. But she needed that cash. She needed an escape fund that Julian couldn't freeze.

Her hand slipped. The tweezers gouged a deep scratch into the workbench surface.

She stared at the scratch. It was ugly. Irreparable.

Just like her marriage.