Chapter 4

The first thing Allie did was get Devon settled. She tucked him into his bed at the private clinic, a temporary solution until she could figure out a permanent one. He was still withdrawn and frightened, but he was safe from Griffin.

Then, she went to the city registrar' s office. She filled out the paperwork to change her and Devon' s names and apply for new passports. It would take a week. One week to erase Allie and Devon Mclean. One week to become someone new. One week to get free.

She had to go back to the penthouse. It was the last place on earth she wanted to be, but she had to play her part for a few more days. And she needed to pack.

She moved through the opulent rooms like a ghost. She systematically gathered every piece of jewelry, every designer bag, every expensive gift Griffin had ever lavished on her. They were tokens of a love that had become a prison, and now, they were her ticket out.

She sold everything to a discreet buyer who asked no questions and paid in cash. The sum was substantial. It was enough for a new life, for Devon' s treatment, for their freedom. She felt a grim satisfaction. He had paid for her pain in every sense of the word. She took what she needed and donated the rest to a shelter for abused women.

She was clearing out the last of her drawers when her fingers brushed against a small, worn wooden box. She opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, was a pair of hand-carved wooden horses. She had made them for Griffin on their first anniversary, spending weeks sanding and polishing the wood until it was perfectly smooth.

She remembered the look on his face when she gave it to him. He' d been genuinely touched. He' d kept it on his bedside table for a year, a symbol of something real in his world of glittering artifice.

Now, it was crammed in the back of a drawer, forgotten. Like her.

Without a second thought, she walked to the fireplace, tossed the box in, and watched the flames consume the last remnant of her love.

As she turned to leave, two of the household staff were struggling to carry a massive, framed photograph into the living room. It was their engagement photo, the one she' d ripped to shreds in a fit of rage a month ago after finding Kassie' s lipstick on Griffin' s collar.

Griffin had promised to have it repaired and re-framed. "We need it for the living room, Allie," he' d said, his voice impatient. "It shows a united front."

"Ma' am," one of the men said, "Mr. Ryan wants to know where you' d like this hung."

Allie stared at the photo. At her own face, smiling brightly, her eyes full of a hope that was now dead. At Griffin' s face, handsome and possessive, his arm wrapped tightly around her. The photo had been a lie even when it was taken.

She remembered that day. She was heartbroken, but she had plastered on a smile for the camera. Griffin had been on his phone the entire time, whispering and laughing with Kassie, who was supposedly "coordinating logistics" from the office. He hadn't even looked at Allie until the photographer had to ask him to. It was a painful, humiliating memory.

She looked at the smiling faces in the frame and let out a small, mirthless laugh.

"Throw it out," she said.

The staffer stared at her, confused. "Ma' am?"

"You heard me," she said, her voice cold and clear. "Put it in the trash."

She walked past him without a backward glance, leaving the perfect, smiling lie to be hauled away with the rest of the garbage.