Chapter 3 3

The Escalade glided out of the parking lot. The engine made almost no noise. The silence inside the cabin was thick enough to choke on.

Francesca pressed her spine against the door panel. Her muscles were pulled so tight they ached. She watched Anton out of the corner of her eye. He continued to swipe a finger across his tablet, his face an unreadable mask.

"We are going to Le Bernardin," Anton said. He did not look at her. His tone was casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "Then I will have the driver take you back to the estate. Your old room is still prepared."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Le Bernardin was a three-Michelin-star restaurant where a single plate cost more than her monthly grocery budget. The Corbett estate was the gilded cage where she had spent her teenage years feeling like a charity case. He was trying to drag her back into his world. He was using his wealth to remind her of her place beneath him.

A bitter laugh scraped its way up her throat.

"You can cancel the reservation, Mr. Corbett," she said, staring straight ahead at the privacy partition. "Have your driver pull over at the next light. I will take the subway."

Anton's finger stopped moving on the screen. A tiny muscle feathered along his jawline. He hated being told no.

He set the tablet face down on the seat next to him. "I had the executive chef at Le Bernardin prepare the black truffle risotto. You used to eat three servings of it when you were sixteen."

He remembered. The realization sent a painful jolt through her chest. He remembered a stupid detail about her eating habits from years ago, and he was using it now as a weapon to soften her up. It made her sick.

"I hate black truffle now," she said, her voice hard. "And I do not live at the estate anymore."

Anton finally turned his head to look at her. His blue eyes narrowed. "You moved out? Where?"

He sounded genuinely surprised. He had assumed she was still sitting exactly where he had left her, a quiet little mouse living off his family's scraps.

"Bushwick," she said, lifting her chin. She rattled off the address of her cheap apartment building. "It is a shared apartment. The whole place is smaller than your bathroom at the estate, but I pay for it myself. I am free."

The word 'free' hung between them. It was a direct attack on his control.

Anton's face darkened. The surprise vanished, replaced by a cold, hard anger. He reached out and tapped the intercom button.

"Change of plans," he ordered the driver. "Take us to the address she just gave."

The Escalade swerved slightly as it changed direction toward Brooklyn.

They did not speak for the rest of the ride. The air pressure in the car dropped, making it hard for Francesca to draw a full breath. She kept her hands clamped together in her lap, her nails digging into her skin to keep from shaking.

Twenty minutes later, the massive luxury SUV pulled up to the curb outside her building. The street was littered with trash. A flickering streetlight cast a sickly yellow glow over the cracked sidewalk. The Escalade looked absurdly out of place.

Francesca reached for the door handle. She pulled it. Nothing happened.

She pulled it again, harder. It was locked.

Panic flared in her chest. She whipped her head around to glare at him. "Unlock the door. What are you doing?"

Anton's patience snapped. He moved so fast she did not have time to flinch. He lunged across the wide seat, his large body trapping her against the door. He slammed his hand flat against the window right next to her ear.

The distance between them vanished. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the whiskey on his breath. His chest brushed against her shoulder. Her heart went into a frantic, terrifying sprint.

"What am I doing?" he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I should be asking you what the hell you are doing, Francesca."

His eyes were blazing. He was losing control, and it terrified her.

"It is a simple request," he said, his breath warm against her cheek. "Why are you fighting me on this?"

He reached up and grabbed her chin. His fingers were hard, his grip entirely unyielding. He forced her to look directly into his furious blue eyes.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What is the real reason you are refusing me?"