Chapter 2

"The waistline on this gown is too elaborate. Simplify it."

Tristan sat on the plush sofa in the VIP fitting room, scrolling through the designer's sketches on a tablet.

"But this is the exact style Ms. Perry chose," the designer said carefully. "She told us she loved the vintage train."

"Her taste has changed," Tristan replied without looking up. "Make it clean and simple. Jasmine mentioned the other day that minimalist styles look more elegant."

I sat in front of the vanity while the fitting assistant measured my waist and shoulders. I heard every word, but I didn't object.

"Sierra, what do you think?"

He finally looked up, though the question felt more like a formality than an invitation for my opinion.

"Whatever you think is best," I said, looking at my pale, gaunt reflection in the mirror.

Tristan turned off the tablet and came up behind me, resting both hands on my shoulders. "You used to love those flashy, over-the-top dresses, but something simple suits you much better now."

I met his eyes in the mirror. There was a smug sense of possession in his gaze, as though he were pleased with the person he'd turned me into.

I gave a small nod. "Yeah. You're right."

Once the fitting was over, Tristan received a phone call and glanced at his watch.

"I've got something to take care of," he told me. "I'll have the chauffeur take you home."

"Okay," I agreed.

He leaned down and kissed my cheek. "I'll take you to that French bistro you love tonight."

I knew Jasmine had a follow-up appointment at the hospital for her stomach problems that day, and I knew perfectly well where Tristan would really be spending his time.

Instead of waiting for his chauffeur, I stepped outside and hailed a cab downtown.

At a luxury consignment store, the manager stared at the collection I'd laid out on the table—limited-edition bags, luxury jewelry, and several other pieces I'd accumulated over the years.

"Ms. Perry, are you sure you're selling all of this?" he asked, barely able to hide his excitement. "These are limited editions. And this necklace in particular—Mr. Webster won it for you at an auction. It made the papers."

"Yes, I'm sure." I took the glass of water one of the employees handed me and added, "Price everything according to your standard rate. The sooner it's done, the better. Transfer the money to this card."

I handed him an anonymous debit card I'd arranged through an old friend under an alias. Once the transaction was complete, I walked out of the store.

The bright sunlight outside made my eyes sting so badly that I had to squint. During the year I'd spent in treatment, I'd been kept inside windowless rooms for so long that I'd become painfully sensitive to bright light.

My phone buzzed with a text message.

Tristan: [Canceling dinner tonight. Jasmine's stomach is acting up again, so I'm staying with her. Get something to eat yourself.]

I replied: [Okay.]

I put my phone away and walked into a nearby diner, where I ordered a simple bowl of pasta.

By the time I returned to the estate, it was already eight at night.

The dining room was brightly lit, and Tristan and Jasmine were sitting together at the table surrounded by a lavish dinner.

"Sierra, you're back!" Jasmine set down her fork, flashing a sweet smile. "Tristan said those lobster rolls from the harbor are your favorite, so he had his assistant go all the way over there to pick some up for you. Come sit down and try one!"

Tristan gestured toward the plate. "Go wash your hands and eat."

I walked over and glanced at the lobster rolls. "I don't eat shellfish. I'm allergic."

The mood in the room instantly shifted.

Tristan's brows drew together. "Since when are you allergic to shellfish? Wasn't it your favorite?"

"That was before I went to treatment," I said, pulling out a chair to sit down. "In that center, I once ate some spoiled seafood and nearly went into anaphylactic shock. Ever since then, my body hasn't been able to tolerate shellfish."

Something flickered across Tristan's face. At the same time, Jasmine bit her lip awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Sierra. I had no idea."

"It's fine. Ignorance isn't a crime."

I turned toward the stairs.

"Sierra," Tristan called after me, a trace of panic slipping into his voice. "Tomorrow, I'm taking you to the hospital for a full checkup."

"There's no need," I said without turning back. "I'm used to it."