The drive back from the office was a study in practiced normalcy. Jason had kissed me goodbye with a warmth that felt like a brand, his eyes lingering on me until the elevator doors slid shut. I sat in the back of the town car, my hand trembling in my lap, trying to rub the dull ache out of my shoulders where his fingers had dug in. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the switch—the way the man who loved me vanished and the man who broke me took his place, all in the span of a single heartbeat.
When I arrived at the penthouse, the air was still thick with the scent of those six dozen roses. What had felt like a garden a few days ago now felt like a funeral parlor. I walked through the living room, my heels sinking into the plush, new carpet—the carpet that was supposed to keep me safe, but
