Page 144 of Lady and the Hitman
But the ache stayed.
Not because he’d hurt me.
But because he’d given me everything—and now I didn’t know if any of it was real.
I had to get out of this townhouse.
I needed air.
I grabbed the drive, yanked it from the laptop, and shoved it into a drawer I didn’t lock. It wasn’t about hiding it. It was about making it disappear for a little while. Just long enough for me to think clearly.
I threw on a sweatshirt, pulled my hair back, and walked.
No destination. Just movement.
Just enough to keep from falling apart.
The sky was pale blue, the air thick with the scent of brine from the harbor. The streets blurred as I passed them—brick sidewalks, old oaks, porches draped in fernsand flags. Charleston was beautiful. But it had never felt farther from safe.
When I reached the water, I stopped.
There was a bench nearby. I sat.
Let the weight of it all settle over me like fog.
I couldn’t call Mina. Not for this. I couldn’t explain it without sounding insane.
Because who the hell falls in love with a man they barely know?
Who lets herself be owned?
Who writes a letter and ends up wanting more than her own rules ever allowed?
Me.
I did.
And now I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
The woman on the video wasn’t some stranger. She was a mirror. A warning.
And I had no idea if I was ready to face what came next.
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Ididn’t go home.
I didn’t think.
I just walked until my feet ached, until my phone buzzed with low battery, until the weight in my chest felt too heavy to carry alone.
And then—I called the rideshare.
I didn’t even glance at the driver when he pulled up. Just climbed into the back seat and gave him the address I’d known by heart for as long as I can remember. The house beside the nursery. The one with the pale green shutters and a porch swing that never stopped creaking, even in winter.
I couldn’t breathe right until we crossed the bridge. The water shimmered beneath us, the marsh stretching wide and empty on either side. I used to think nothing bad could happen on Johns Island. That it was some kind of sacred, sealed-off place where time slowed and families stayed whole.
But that was a lie.
