Chapter 2

The sound of my bedroom door slamming open woke me from a restless sleep. It was just after dawn, but the force of the intrusion felt like a physical blow.

Cohen stood in the doorway, his face a mask of rage. He was dressed in a tailored suit, looking like he' d just stepped out of a boardroom, but his eyes were wild.

"Where were you?" he demanded, storming towards the bed. "I called you all night. You have no idea how worried Kiera was."

Kiera. Not him. Kiera.

"I was here," I said, my voice flat. The man in front of me was a stranger. The gentle, loving man I thought I knew had been a carefully constructed illusion. In his place was this tyrant.

"Don' t lie to me, Aurora!" He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "You were supposed to be at the fundraiser with me. You embarrassed me. You embarrassed Kiera."

His grip tightened, and I flinched. He' d never been rough with me before. Angry, yes. Dismissive, often. But never this.

He seemed to realize he' d crossed a line, letting go of my arm as if it had burned him.

"Look, I know this is hard for you," he said, his tone shifting to one of strained patience. "But Kiera is fragile right now. Your stunt last night sent her into a panic attack."

"My stunt?" I asked, my voice rising. "I did nothing. I was in my own home."

"Exactly!" he snapped. "You should have been by my side, showing everyone that we are a united front. That you support me in this."

"Support you in dating your ex-girlfriend in front of the entire world?" I laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "You' re delusional."

His face darkened again, but before he could retort, a soft, tearful voice came from the hallway.

"Cohen? Is everything okay? I heard shouting."

Kiera appeared, wrapped in one of Cohen' s silk robes, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She looked like a frightened doll.

"I' m sorry, Aurora," she whispered, clutching the robe tighter. "I didn' t mean to cause trouble. I just... I get so scared when he' s not with me."

Cohen' s entire demeanor softened in an instant. He rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her.

"It' s okay, baby. It' s not your fault," he murmured, stroking her hair. "It' s not your fault."

He shot a venomous look at me over her shoulder.

"Look what you' ve done," he mouthed silently.

He promised her he would handle it, that he would make sure I understood my place. His words were a threat wrapped in a promise of protection for her.

"She needs to learn a lesson," he whispered to Kiera, loud enough for me to hear.

He turned to the two hulking security guards who had appeared silently in the hallway behind Kiera.

"Take her downstairs. To the wine cellar. She can stay there until she' s ready to apologize."

My blood ran cold. The wine cellar.

"No," I breathed, scrambling back against the headboard. "Cohen, you can' t."

He knew. He knew about the cellar. About my claustrophobia.

My guards, expressionless and efficient, moved towards me. I fought, kicking and scratching, a wild, cornered animal.

"Cohen, please!" I screamed, my eyes locked on his.

But he didn' t look at me. He was already turning away, his arm wrapped protectively around Kiera, leading her down the hall as if he were escorting her away from a monster.

The last thing I saw was his back disappearing around the corner.

The guards dragged me down the winding staircase to the basement. The heavy, iron-wrought door of the wine cellar loomed in front of me. They shoved me inside, the scent of damp earth and old wine filling my nostrils.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked, a sound of finality that echoed in the small, dark space.

Darkness. Tight, suffocating darkness.

My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The walls were closing in, the air thinning. I was a child again, locked in a closet by my adoptive brother as a cruel joke.

It had been my tenth birthday. The Wrights had thrown a lavish party. Their son, Julian, older and always resentful of my presence, decided it would be funny to lock me in the linen closet during a game of hide-and-seek. He' d forgotten about me.

I was in there for hours. The darkness pressed in, the air grew stale. I screamed until my throat was raw, clawed at the door until my fingers bled. By the time they found me, I was unconscious, curled into a tight ball on the floor.

The claustrophobia had been a part of me ever since. It was a physical, visceral terror-a tightening in my chest, a shortness of breath, a cold sweat that drenched my skin. It was my secret weakness.

And Cohen knew.

Years ago, on one of our first dates, we' d gotten stuck in an elevator. I had a full-blown panic attack. I' d sobbed in his arms, ashamed and terrified, and told him the story about the closet.

He had held me, stroked my hair, and whispered promises.

"I will never let anything like that happen to you again. I will always protect you. I' ll be your safe space."

Now, he was the one who had locked the door. He was the monster in the dark.

The promise was broken. The safe space was a cage.

I slid down the cold, stone wall, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to make myself smaller as the darkness consumed me. The tears came, hot and silent, a river of grief for the man I thought he was and the love I thought we had.

It was all a lie.