Page 91 of Enemies

As I read the article, my breath comes so shallowly I might as well not be breathing at all.

The text cites an incident at his LA club this week. Plus, a list of issues at his other properties.

My lips tremble.

He said it was getting better.

And I trusted him.

Every line of the article guts me more than the last. It doesn’t outright call me a slut—which would’ve pissed me off but not hurt. Instead, I’m a hypocrite. I called out the man running the show only to cave to him, let him control me, at the first opportunity.

That’s not what this was.

Unable to stomach any more, my face throbbing in earnest now, I click out of the story.

The final text message rips my heart in half.

Callie: Tell me you’re not with that man. Did he hurt you? Pressure you?

I shut off the phone and head to the closet and grab one of Harrison’s dress shirts, slipping it on.

I slowly turn the door handle and step silently into the hallway.

There are noises downstairs, and suck in a breath. “Harrison?”

Natalia appears at the doorway of the kitchen, looking worried. “Señorita. Toro went to take him from the police station hours ago.”

“Take him where?”

She dries her hands on a towel. “I don’t know.”

“But he’s all right?”

“I believe so.”

He’s fine.

The knot in my chest eases, only to retighten.

He’s fine, and he didn’t return.

I head for my room, where I stare at the article again.

My throat aches. The stinging spots on my cheeks are tears.

I reach for the untouched bottle of pills on my dresser, fumbling with the lid. I take one dry.

The article wasn’t entirely correct… but it wasn’t all wrong either. Last night might not have been a PR stunt, but I did get caught up in something I was too naïve to handle.

I believed what I wanted to believe. I trusted a man I had no business trusting. Got comfortable in a place I never should have stayed.

I call him again.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello—”

“Harrison, I need you.” I choke out the words, but his voice continues.

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