Now he'd asked me, straight to my face, to give that gown to Olympia.

My fingers curled inward, nails digging so deep into my palms they nearly drew blood.

I looked at Mick's expression, so utterly matter-of-fact, and slowly nodded.

"Fine. I'll have someone deliver it tomorrow."

Mick held my gaze for a long moment, then pushed the door open and walked out.

From the hallway came the soft murmur of his voice, gentle and soothing, comforting Olympia. Then the click of the neighboring room's door shutting behind them.

I turned and walked to the desk. Pulled open the drawer. Took out a desk calendar.

I picked up a red marker and drew a heavy X over today's date.

Two more days until Russ came for me.

I peeled off the wine-stained gown and stepped into the bathroom.

Warm water streamed over my body.

I stared at the pale face in the mirror.

Mick Gilbert, seven years ago you pulled me from that car wreck and gave me a second life.

For seven years, I took knives for you. I handled the things you couldn't let see the light of day. I managed the Gilbert household so you never had to.

We stopped owing each other a long time ago.

The next morning.

I followed Mick's instructions and had the maid deliver the Starlight couture gown to Olympia's room.

Olympia made a point of having her door left wide open.

As I passed through the hallway, I saw her in front of the mirror, twirling in the gown that clearly didn't fit her, the fabric bunching and pulling in all the wrong places.

She picked up a pair of scissors and, without a second's hesitation, cut away the most intricate panel of crystal-beaded tulle from the hem.

"This design is so dated. It'll look better shorter." Olympia pouted at the maid standing beside her.

The maid stole a cautious glance toward me in the doorway and said nothing.

I didn't stop. I walked straight to the kitchen.

Mick had drunk heavily the night before. He had a serious stomach condition, and after every night of heavy drinking, he needed a bowl of specially prepared herbal stomach-healing soup.

For seven years, I'd been the one to brew it for him by hand.

I stood at the stove, watching the liquid roll and simmer inside the clay pot.

This was the last time I would ever make this for him.

I ladled the soup into a thermal flask, set it on a tray, and carried it toward Mick's study.

The study door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear Mick talking with his childhood friend, Zachary Delgado.

I was about to raise my hand and knock when Zachary's voice carried through the gap, clear as day.

"Mick, don't you think you went too far this time? You took back the jade ring, gave away the necklace, and now you've handed the Starlight gown to Olympia. Jill followed you for seven years. She'd have laid down her life for you. Are you really trying to push her out the door?"

My hand froze. I stood perfectly still.

Mick's voice came next, cold and detached.

"Where would she go? She's an orphan who can't even remember her own past. Besides the Gilbert family, she has nowhere."

"I've spoiled her too much these seven years. Her temper's gotten out of control. Olympia just came back. Jill needs to learn her place."

"I'm going to strip that pride right off her bones. Make her understand who the real master of this house is. Once she accepts reality and falls in line, I'll keep a room for her here. She'll be fed and clothed. She should be grateful."

Zachary sighed.

"You keep humiliating her like this, aren't you afraid she'll actually give up on you?"

Mick let out a laugh, quiet and dripping with contempt.

"Give up? The greatest skill Jill Chambers has ever possessed is clinging to me like a vine. She can't survive without me."

The tray tilted slightly in my hands.

A few drops of scalding soup splashed over the rim and landed on the back of my hand.

The skin swelled red instantly.

I didn't feel a thing.

I looked at that carved wooden door, still slightly ajar, and set the tray down on the console table outside.

I picked up the insulated thermos and walked to the end of the hallway.

A pot of exquisitely rare orchids sat there on a stand.

I tilted my wrist and poured every last drop of the herbal stomach-healing soup I'd spent three hours brewing into the soil.

That was when Olympia appeared, wearing the gown that had been slashed to ribbons.

She watched me pour out the soup, a smug little smile curling at the corner of her lips.

"Jill, Mick just told me the master bedroom gets better natural light. He said it would help with my recovery."

"He wants me to move in tonight. So you might want to start packing your things to make room."

The master bedroom in the Gilbert estate. I'd lived there for five full years.

Every corner of it held traces of the life Mick and I had shared.

I looked at Olympia's gloating face and nodded.

"Sure. I'll go pack now."

I walked into the master bedroom. I didn't take any of the jewelry. I didn't take a single designer handbag Mick had bought me.

All I grabbed was a black duffel bag. I packed a few basic changes of clothes and my identification documents.

My phone buzzed.

A message from my eldest brother.

"Jill, the process of erasing all social traces tied to the Jill Chambers identity has begun."

I zipped the duffel shut, gripped the handle, and walked out of the master bedroom.

I moved into the most remote guest room in the villa.

It was normally used for storing junk. The air carried a faint smell of mildew.

I set the duffel on the narrow single bed in the corner and didn't touch anything else in the room.

Twelve hours. That was all that stood between me and leaving.

By evening, heavy snow had begun to fall.

Mick wrapped up a senior leadership meeting at the office and returned to the villa carrying the cold in with him.

He strode into the main hall, swept his gaze across the room, and his brow furrowed immediately.

A housekeeper delivered the report in a trembling voice.

"Mr. Gilbert, Miss Chambers moved to the storage room in the north wing today."

Mick's expression darkened instantly.

He cut through the hallway in long strides and kicked the storage room door open.

The wooden door slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.

I'd been sitting on the edge of the bed watching the snow. I turned to look at him.

Mick crossed the room in two steps, his gaze raking over the shabby space before landing on the deflated duffel bag resting at the head of the bed.

"What kind of stunt are you pulling now?" His voice was sharp, accusatory. "Olympia only said she wanted the master bedroom. Who told you to move into a place like this? Are you trying to guilt-trip me?"

I stood and met his eyes levelly.

"All the other guest rooms are filled with Miss Fox's luggage. This was the only one empty. It doesn't matter to me where I sleep."

My flat, unbothered tone infuriated him.

He seized my wrist, his grip brutal.

My sleeve was wrenched upward, exposing a vicious scar that ran more than five inches along my forearm.

Three years ago, I'd thrown myself in front of him to block an assassination attempt by a business rival. A combat knife had gone straight through my forearm. I'd nearly bled out on the operating table.

Mick stared at the scar. There wasn't a shred of sympathy in his eyes. Only irritation.

"Do you walk around with this scar on display every day just to remind me I owe you?"

"Olympia is easily frightened. She saw the scar on your arm today and was so shaken she couldn't even finish lunch."

"Starting tomorrow, you wear long sleeves inside this house. If you can't manage that, then move out to the gatehouse by the front entrance for a few days. Stay out of Olympia's sight."

Every word was designed to cut. He was trying to wound me, trying to provoke me into the kind of desperate, heartbroken defense I would have mounted before.

He was waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to crumble, to bow my head and beg for forgiveness.

I looked at his face, twisted with fury, and felt nothing but calm.

I didn't argue. I didn't cry.

I pulled free of his grip, turned, and picked up the black duffel bag.

"Fine. I'll move to the gatehouse right now."

I lifted the bag, stepped past him, and walked straight for the door.

Mick completely lost it.

He hadn't gotten the reaction he wanted. My compliance, in his eyes, had become the most brazen provocation imaginable.

He stormed after me, ripped the bag from my hand, and threw open the front door of the villa.

Wind and snow howled into the foyer.

Mick hurled my bag into the snowdrift outside and jabbed a finger toward the darkness beyond the threshold.

"Jill, since you love putting on this little act so much, then get the hell out of this house! Don't ever come back!"

"I'd love to see how long a parentless orphan like you survives in this blizzard without me!"

I stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a thin cashmere sweater.

The wind cut across my face like a blade.

I looked at the bag lying in the snow. Without a moment's hesitation, I stepped over the threshold.

One step after another, I walked into the storm. I never looked back.

Mick stood inside, watching me go. Then he slammed the door shut.

The heavy thud echoed through the snowy night.

I trudged into the snow, bent down, and picked up the duffel bag. I brushed the powder off its surface.

My phone screen lit up.

It was a voice call from my brother, Russ Weiss.

"Jill, the Weiss family convoy has entered the Capital. Half an hour, and I'll be there to take you home."