Chapter 2

The interior of the Rolls-Royce smelled of expensive leather and suffocating silence.

Eleanor sat stiffly on the right side of the backseat. She stared straight ahead. Beside her, Alistair had his face turned toward the window. He watched the blurred trees of the rural highway speed by, completely ignoring her existence.

The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on.

Eleanor swallowed hard. She needed to break the ice. She needed to know her son was okay.

"Evelyn will take good care of Ethan, right?" Eleanor asked. Her voice sounded too loud in the quiet car.

Alistair let out a short, breathy scoff. He didn't turn his head.

"My mother knows how to raise a Montgomery far better than you ever could," he said.

The words sliced right through her. Eleanor's face drained of color.

She pressed her thumb deep into her palm. She remembered the Blackwood estate. She remembered her adoptive father, Arthur Blackwood, tearing the family apart. She remembered being pushed to the front lines, the sacrificial lamb offered to the Montgomery family to save a dying reputation.

She married Alistair out of duty. But somewhere along the way, the duty had turned into a desperate, bleeding love for a man who treated her like a ghost.

A sharp, vibrating ringtone shattered her thoughts.

It was Alistair's private phone. The one he kept in his inner breast pocket.

Alistair pulled it out. He frowned at the screen. There was no caller ID. Just a blank screen flashing with an incoming call.

His thumb hovered over the red button to decline it. But something made him stop. He swiped green and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Yes?" he answered flatly.

The car was so quiet Eleanor could hear the faint, crackling static from the speaker.

Then, a voice. A woman's voice. It was weak, trembling, and barely a whisper.

"Alistair..."

Alistair's entire body went rigid.

It happened in a fraction of a second. His broad shoulders snapped straight. His jaw locked. The color vanished from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse.

His hand gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned stark white. The veins on the back of his hand bulged against the skin.

"Cordelia...?"

The name scraped out of his throat. It sounded like he was choking on glass.

Eleanor's heart stopped beating.

Cordelia.

The name she had heard him whisper in his sleep. The ghost that haunted the halls of their marriage. His first love. The woman who had died in a boating accident five years ago.

Alistair completely forgot Eleanor was sitting inches away from him. He leaned forward, his chest heaving.

"Where are you?" Alistair demanded, his voice cracking with a frantic, desperate energy. "Are you alive? Tell me where you are!"

A tiny, muffled sound came through the speaker. An address.

Alistair dropped the phone into his lap. He lunged forward, slamming his hand against the glass partition separating them from the driver.

"Stop the car!" Alistair roared. "Victor, stop the damn car right now!"

The Rolls-Royce swerved. The tires shrieked against the asphalt. Victor slammed on the brakes, bringing the massive vehicle to a violent halt on the shoulder of the deserted dirt road.

Dust kicked up around the windows.

Alistair turned to Eleanor.

His dark eyes were wild. They were completely devoid of the cold indifference he usually showed her. Instead, they were filled with a manic, terrifying urgency.

"Get out," he ordered. His voice was a lethal weapon.

Eleanor blinked. Her brain couldn't process the words. "What? Alistair, we are in the middle of nowhere. This is-"

"I said get out!"

He didn't wait for her to move. He reached across her body, his arm brushing roughly against her chest, and shoved the heavy car door open.

The hot, dusty wind of the rural highway blasted into the air-conditioned cabin.

Eleanor stared at him. Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't pull in oxygen. The sheer madness in his eyes terrified her.

She slid across the leather seat. Her high heels hit the gravel. She stepped out into the dirt, the thin fabric of her beige dress whipping around her legs.

Alistair didn't look at her. He didn't check if she was safe. He pulled the door shut with a violent slam.

"Turn around," Alistair shouted at Victor through the partition. "St. Catalina Hospital. Drive like your life depends on it!"

Eleanor took a step forward, raising her hand. "Alistair, wait!"

The Rolls-Royce's engine roared. The tires spun, spitting gravel and dirt onto Eleanor's bare legs.

She stood frozen on the side of the empty road.

She watched the black car speed away, shrinking into a dark speck against the horizon. Through the tinted rear window, she saw the silhouette of her husband. He was hunched over, clutching his phone to his chest like a lifeline.

The wind howled around her. It dried the moisture in her eyes before the tears could even fall.

Cordelia.

The dead Crescent moon light. She was back.

The realization hit Eleanor's stomach like a physical punch. It was colder than the air conditioning in the bedroom. It was colder than anything she had ever felt in her life.