The Billionaire's Doll: Her Secret Escape

The weight of Garrick Head's arm across Ever's chest was heavy enough to crush bone, or at least that was how it felt in the gray light of dawn. It was a tangible reminder of her place in this world-pinned, owned, and breathless.

Ever lay still, staring at the ceiling of the Manhattan penthouse. The plaster was intricate, hand-molded by artisans who probably went home to families they loved. Ever just went home to this. A sprawling, cold masterpiece of architecture that felt more like a mausoleum than a living space.

Garrick shifted in his sleep. His breathing was deep, rhythmic, the sleep of a man who had never questioned his right to take up space. Ever tried to inch away, moving a fraction of an inch at a time to avoid waking him. The silk sheets rustled, a sound that seemed deafening in the silence.

Suddenly, his arm tightened. It was a reflex, a subconscious clamp. He pulled her flush against his back, his face burying into the pillow near her shoulder.

"Cathy..."

The name was a low growl, vibrating with a dark, simmering resentment. It wasn't a lover's whisper; it was a curse. Ever's breath hitched. She froze, her muscles locking up as a cold wave of nausea washed over her.

Cathy.

He was dreaming of her again. Not with love, but with the specific, icy hatred he reserved for the woman who had destroyed his family. Or maybe he was dreaming of Imo, his brother's wife, the woman who bore the same face and the same burden of the Head family's tragic history. To him, that name was synonymous with weakness, with the ruin of his brother Esley. Hearing it from his lips was a reminder of why he viewed marriage as a trap and women as liabilities.

Ever lay there for a long moment, letting the humiliation settle into her bones. It was a familiar weight, one she carried alongside the diamond necklaces and the couture dresses he insisted she wear. She was the placeholder. The warm body. The distraction from the ghosts that haunted this bloodline.

Garrick stirred again. This time, his eyes opened.

Ever felt the change in him instantly. The vulnerability of sleep vanished, replaced by the cold, sharp awareness that defined him. He released her and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed without a word. There was no morning kiss. No soft murmur of acknowledgment. Just the immediate, efficient transition from lover to titan of industry.

Ever sat up, pulling the silk robe tightly around herself. The air conditioning was always set too low, keeping the apartment in a perpetual state of winter. Her bare feet made no sound on the plush rug, but the moment she stepped onto the marble floor of the hallway, the cold bit into her skin.

She went to the kitchen. It was her routine. The one thing she did that felt somewhat domestic, even if it was just another form of service. She ground the beans, the noise harsh and grinding, filling the empty space. Black coffee. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter heat.

When she returned to the bedroom, Garrick was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window. He was already dressed in his trousers and a crisp white shirt, his fingers deftly working on his tie. Manhattan sprawled out below him, a grid of steel and ambition, but he looked like he wanted to conquer it all over again.

"Coffee," Ever said softly, placing the cup on the lacquered side table.

He turned, his gaze sweeping over her with a critical detachment. He took the cup, took a sip, and frowned. He didn't say it was bad, but he didn't have to. The slight crinkle between his brows was enough.

Ever stood there, wringing her hands together, feeling the familiar anxiety bubbling up. She needed to ask him. She had rehearsed this in the shower, in front of the mirror, a dozen times.

"Garrick?"

He hummed a response, setting the cup down. He was reaching for his cufflinks-onyx and gold, severe and expensive.

"This week... it's the anniversary," Ever started, her voice trembling slightly. "Of my friend's death. I wanted to go visit the-"

"Buy yourself something nice," he interrupted.

He didn't even look at her. He walked over to the dresser, picked up his wallet, and pulled out a black card. He tossed it onto the unmade bed. It landed on the silk sheets with a soft slap.

"Don't wear that grey thing you had on last week," he added, checking his watch. "It makes you look washed out. Get something vibrant. Don't embarrass me."

Ever looked at the card. It was black, heavy, limitless. It was freedom for anyone else, but for her, it was just another shackle. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack her face.

"I just wanted to know if you'd be back tonight," Ever whispered. It was a stupid question. A needy question.

Garrick stopped at the door. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. The look he gave her was one reserved for a disobedient pet or a slow employee.

"Why?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Do I need to report to you? Am I your husband, Ever?"

The words stripped her bare. Her face burned. She lowered her head, staring at her toes.

"No," Ever whispered. "I'm sorry, Mr. Head."

The formality seemed to annoy him even more. He scoffed, a sharp sound of dismissal, and walked out. The heavy oak door clicked shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet apartment.

Ever stood there for a full minute, waiting for her heart rate to slow down. Then, her shoulders slumped. The perfect posture, the attentive gaze-it all melted away, leaving just the exhaustion.

She went to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. She stepped in, not waiting for the steam to build. She scrubbed her skin until it turned pink, trying to wash away the scent of his cologne, the feel of his arm, the ghost of the name he had whispered.

Stepping out, she wiped the condensation from the mirror. She traced the red birthmark on her collarbone. It was shaped vaguely like a starburst, a unique flaw in an otherwise curated existence. Clarence used to say it was where an angel touched her.

Clarence. Clay.

She pushed the thought away. She couldn't afford memories.

She walked to the toilet and lifted the heavy porcelain lid of the water tank. Inside, taped securely to the side above the water line, was a waterproof, vacuum-sealed bag. She peeled it off, her fingers trembling as she unsealed it to retrieve the cheap, prepaid burner phone. It was the only place safe from his prying eyes and his sensitive nose.

Her hands shook as she powered it on. She dialed the number she knew by heart, the only number that mattered.

"Ernestine?" Ever whispered, pressing the phone so hard against her ear it hurt.

"He's awake," the older woman's voice crackled through the terrible connection. "Hold on."

There was a rustling sound, and then, a small, sleepy voice filled her ear.

"Mommy?"

The tears came instantly. Hot, fast, and silent. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold tile floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Hi, baby," Ever choked out, forcing her voice to sound bright. "Hi, Leo. Are you being a good boy for Ernestine?"

"I drew a tiger," Leo said. He sounded stronger today. "A big one. With teeth."

"I bet it's the scariest tiger in the world," Ever said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"When are you coming?" he asked. The question he always asked. The question that broke her every time.

"Soon," Ever promised. "Mommy is working very hard so we can go on a big adventure. Remember the adventure?"

"To the mountains?"

"To the mountains," Ever confirmed. Switzerland. That was the plan. Somewhere cold and clean and far away from Garrick Head.

Ernestine took the phone back. Her voice was lowered, urgent. "The preschool tuition is due on Friday, Everly. And the pharmacy called about his asthma medication. The copay went up."

"I'll handle it," Ever said, her voice hardening. "I'll get the money. Just don't let him miss a dose."

"I won't. Be careful, girl."

Ever hung up and powered the phone down immediately. She resealed it in the bag, double-checking the zipper, and taped it back inside the tank. She flushed the toilet to mask any sound of the lid settling.

Ever walked back into the bedroom and picked up the laptop Garrick allowed her to use. She opened a hidden, encrypted file labeled Recipes.

It wasn't recipes.

It was a spreadsheet. A countdown.

Days until contract expiration: 145.

One hundred and forty-five days. That was how long she had to endure this. That was how long she had to let Garrick Head use her body and ignore her soul until she had enough money to disappear with Leo forever.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a text from Garrick's personal assistant.

Car will pick you up at 6 PM. Charity Gala. Wear the blue earrings.

Ever typed back: Received.

She was about to put the phone down when it buzzed again. Unknown number.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She stared at the screen.

I know your secret, Everly.

The phone slipped from her sweaty palm and clattered onto the marble floor.

Ever's fingers hovered over the delete button, trembling so violently she could barely focus on the screen.

I know your secret, Everly.

The use of her full name was the first dagger. Garrick only knew her as Ever. Everly Montgomery didn't die the day she walked out of the foster system; she went into deep cover, hidden beneath layers of lies and silence to protect the one thing that mattered. But now, someone had peeled back the first layer.

She snatched the phone up from the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She tapped the number to call back.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

She disconnected, tossing the phone onto the bed as if it were a venomous snake. Who? Who could possibly know?

Her mind raced through the possibilities. A bitter foster sibling from St. Mary's? A creditor from her adoptive parents' gambling debts? Or worse-someone connected to Leo?

No. No one knew about Leo. Ernestine was a vault. Ever paid her enough to be one.

She forced herself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. A technique she learned in the crowded dormitory of the orphanage when the older kids stole her food. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. Panic made you sloppy.

She walked over to the wall calendar hanging inside the walk-in closet. With a red marker, she slashed a thick line through yesterday's date. She wrote the number 144 in the corner of today's box and drew a tiny, crude bird next to it. A bird in flight.

She dressed quickly in a modest beige skirt and blouse-her "work costume." It was invisible. Boring. The opposite of the woman who warmed Garrick Head's bed.

The offices of Vanguard Design were a hive of activity. It was a boutique firm, owned by Miles Vane, Garrick's best friend. Ever was a junior associate there, a job Garrick had "arranged" to keep her busy, or perhaps to keep her under surveillance.

"Nice shoes, Ever," Zoe Yates sneered as Ever walked past her desk. "Did you earn them on your back or your knees?"

Zoe was beautiful, talented, and vicious. She knew exactly what Ever was to Garrick, and she hated her for it.

Ever didn't break stride. "Morning, Zoe."

She sat at her desk and turned on her computer, letting the mundane glow of the screen anchor her. She could do this. She could design logos and format brochures. She could be normal.

Her personal cell phone-the one Garrick monitored-sat silently on the desk. But inside her purse, tucked into a hidden lining, the burner phone vibrated.

One vibration. Then two. Then a continuous, angry buzz.

Ever grabbed her purse and bolted for the bathroom. Locking the stall door, she fished the phone out.

"Ernestine?"

"It's bad, Everly," Ernestine's voice was high, bordering on panic. "He spiked. 104 degrees. He's shaking. I think he's seizing."

The world tilted on its axis. Her knees hit the tile floor of the stall.

"Call 911," Ever screamed into the phone, not caring who heard. "Call them now!"

"I did! The ambulance is on the way. We're going to Queens General."

"I'm coming."

Ever hung up and burst out of the stall. She didn't care about the job. She didn't care about Garrick. Her son was burning up.

She ran through the office, papers flying off her desk as she grabbed her bag. Zoe laughed as she sprinted past, but the sound was distant, like static.

Ever barged into Miles's office without knocking. He was on the phone, his feet up on his desk, looking every inch the relaxed playboy. He sat up, startled, as she slammed the door behind her.

"Ever?" He lowered the phone. "What the hell?"

"I have to go," Ever gasped, her chest heaving. "Family emergency."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You don't have family, Ever. That's part of your charm."

"My... my apartment," Ever lied, the words tasting like ash. "A pipe burst. The landlord says it's flooding the unit below. I have to go let the plumber in."

Miles studied her. He was smarter than he looked. He saw the sweat on her forehead, the terror in her eyes.

"A burst pipe in Garrick's penthouse?" He smirked. "That building is a fortress. Pipes don't just burst."

"Please, Miles." Her voice broke. She hated begging, but for Leo, she would crawl. "Please."

Something in her face must have convinced him. The smirk faded. He waved a hand dismissively.

"Go. But if Garrick asks, you were sick."

"Thank you."

Ever didn't wait for him to change his mind. She ran to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly.

Forty minutes later, Ever was sprinting down a cracked sidewalk in Queens. The air here smelled different-exhaust, fried food, and desperation. It was a world away from Fifth Avenue.

She burst into the emergency room waiting area. It was chaos. Crying babies, coughing old men, the smell of antiseptic and old coffee.

"Leo Wells?" Ever demanded at the reception desk.

"Pediatric ward. Room 4."

She found them. Ernestine was sitting in a plastic chair, looking gray and old. And there, in the crib with the metal bars, was Leo.

He looked so small. Wires were taped to his chest. An IV line ran into his tiny hand. His face was flushed a deep, angry red.

"Mommy..."

Ever dropped her bag and rushed to the side of the crib, grabbing his hot little hand.

"I'm here, baby. Mommy's here."

She spent the next three hours sponging his forehead with cool cloths, singing the lullaby Clay used to hum to them at the orphanage. The fever broke slowly, stubbornly.

By 5:00 PM, Leo was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even. Ever slumped into the chair next to Ernestine, exhausted.

"You need to go," Ernestine whispered. "He's okay now. You have that gala tonight."

Ever checked her watch. 5:10 PM.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the exhaustion.

Her phone rang. The screen flashed: Garrick's Driver.

Ever stared at it, paralyzed. She was in Queens. The gala pickup was in Midtown.

She answered, forcing her voice to be steady. "Hello?"

"Miss Wells," the driver's voice was polite but firm. "Mr. Head asked me to pick you up from the office, but the receptionist says you left hours ago."

Her heart stopped.

"I..." Think, Everly. Think. "I'm at the coffee shop around the corner. The one on 52nd. I needed... air."

"I see. I'll be there in two minutes."

Two minutes. Ever was forty-five minutes away.

"Actually," Ever said, praying her voice didn't shake. "I'm walking back to the entrance now. Just wait there."

She hung up. She kissed Leo's forehead, whispered a frantic apology to Ernestine, and ran out of the hospital like the devil himself was chasing her.

Ever practically threw money at the cab driver. "Midtown. As fast as you can. Run the red lights if you have to."

The drive was a blur of honking horns and near-misses. She spent the entire ride fixing her hair in the rearview mirror, pinching her cheeks to hide the pallor of fear. She smelled like hospital soap and sweat.

The cab screeched to a halt a block away from the office building. Ever jumped out, sprinting the last hundred yards. She ducked into a Starbucks, bought a cold brew she didn't want just to have a prop, and walked out, trying to look casual.

Garrick's Rolls Royce was idling at the curb. The back door opened before she even reached it.

Ever slid onto the leather seat. The interior was cool and smelled of cedar and leather.

Garrick wasn't there.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. But then she saw the iPad mounted on the seat back in front of her. The screen was active.

Garrick's face filled the frame. He was in his office, looking down at some papers, but the moment the door closed, his eyes snapped up to the camera.

"Did the little bird find her way back to the cage?" Miles's voice drifted from the speaker. He was in the office with Garrick.

Ever stiffened. "Hello, Garrick."

Garrick ignored the greeting. "The pipe," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Is it fixed?"

Her stomach twisted. "Yes. The super handled it quickly. It was... messy. I'm sorry I worried you."

There was silence. Three seconds. Five. It felt like an eternity. He was studying her face on the screen, looking for the lie. He was good at finding lies. It was how he made his billions.

"Next time," Garrick said slowly, "call Niles. Don't handle things yourself. That's why I pay people."

"I will," Ever said, gripping the cold coffee cup until the plastic buckled.

"Be at the apartment in ten minutes. We're late."

The screen went black.

Ever slumped back against the seat, closing her eyes. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He knew. He had to know. Garrick didn't accept simple explanations.

When Ever arrived at the penthouse, Garrick was sitting on the velvet sofa in the living room, flipping a silver lighter open and closed. Clink. Snap. Clink. Snap.

She walked in, trying to keep her head high. "I'm going to get changed."

He stood up. He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between them in two strides. He stopped inches from her. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat radiating off him.

He leaned in, inhaling deeply near her neck.

"You smell different," he murmured.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "I... it was the cab. It smelled awful."

"It smells like antiseptic," Garrick said. His hand came up, his fingers trailing down the side of her neck, resting over her pulse point. He could feel it hammering.

"I stopped at a pharmacy," Ever lied quickly. "For... headache medicine. The stress of the leak."

Garrick stared at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. Then, his hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat.

"I don't like it when you smell like anything but me," he whispered. "Or when you smell like the poverty of a public taxi."

Then he kissed her. It wasn't a kiss of affection. It was a claiming. His lips were hard, bruising. He tasted of scotch and control. Ever stood rigid, letting him take what he wanted, while her mind drifted back to the hospital room, to the wires on Leo's chest.

He pulled back, his breathing slightly heavier. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond choker.

"Turn around."

Ever obeyed. The metal was cold against her skin. She heard the clasp click shut. A collar. A very expensive collar.

"Don't lose this one," he warned, his voice vibrating against her spine.

They took the private elevator down in silence. The mirrored walls reflected them-a tall, powerful man in a tuxedo, and a woman in a blue silk gown who looked like she was about to shatter.

In the car, Garrick took her hand. His grip was firm, bordering on painful.

"Ever," he said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"If you ever had children..." He paused, watching her profile. "What kind of mother would you be?"

The air left the car. Ever couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Did he know? Was this a trap?

She forced a laugh. It sounded brittle. "I haven't thought about it. You don't like children, Mr. Head. Remember?"

He snorted, turning his gaze back to the window. "True. They are liabilities. Weaknesses that enemies exploit. Parasites, really."

Ever looked out the window at the passing city lights. My son is not a parasite, she screamed internally. He is the sun and the moon.

"We're going to Cipriani," Garrick said, changing the subject as if he hadn't just stopped her heart. "Clarence Frazier will be there."

Ever froze.

"Stay away from him," Garrick commanded, his grip tightening until her knuckles turned white. "He's dangerous."

"I don't even know him," Ever whispered.

"Good. Keep it that way."