Zoe sat in Jack’s car in front of a building on Park Avenue, while Jack’s driver, Hands, stood impatiently by the open passenger door.

“I can’t do this.”

Hands’ eyes darted up and down the street. “I can’t keep you safe, out in the open like this. Get into the building. Quickly.”

“This is Park Avenue, right? My insurance won’t cover this. Take me home, okay?” A line of cars began to pile up behind their idling car. From the sound of their honking, people were getting impatient.

“Mr. Fialko will take care of you, Miss Burton. C’mon now. Be brave.” He gently pulled at her elbow to where a uniformed door attendant stood and opened the door for them.

The attendant’s kind eyes crinkled, “Give your name at the front desk, Miss.”

She managed to mumble a thank you.

Her mouth fell open and she stared in astonishment at the elegant foyer. She swore the gilded room was more lavish than the famous Waldorf Astoria. The walls were upholstered, the floors polished marble. Four ionic columns held up a ceiling which loomed miles overhead.  She would pivot on her heel and run like hell if it wasn’t for Jack’s driver. Sure, she needed to get the bad dreams under control, but not here. Not this way. What was Jack thinking?

An impeccably dressed lobby attendant sat at a deep mahogany desk. He eyed her up and down with an imperious sneer. “Can I help you?”

Her brain had shut down somewhere halfway across the lobby. She reached deep into her pocket and pulled out the wrinkled card. “Room two-oh-two. Doctor Framingham.”

Nodding, as if the room number explained everything, the attendant had her sign into a gold leafed notebook using a heavy silver pen. He texted into his computer and pointed towards the elevators. 

A pristine carpet runner led to a polished brass elevator bay. She pressed the up arrow. Two women waited alongside her. Their handbags had that familiar Gucci pattern and their clothes, no doubt, were designer, too. Both women were topped with perfectly coiffed, platinum blonde hair. 

Zoe glanced down at her jeans and hoodie, embarrassed at how underdressed she was in comparison.

The elevator doors pinged opened and she crossed the long hallway over the marble parquet floor. She stood for the longest time staring at the oak door with gold lettering that proclaimed the occupant, Dr. Diane Framingham. Taking a deep breath, she pressed a button, waited for the lock cylinders to click, and let herself in.

Seeing no one, she sat down in a plush white leather couch. Wooden flutes with ocean sounds played in the background from a speaker in the ceiling. Tasteful framed original art of ocean scenes and seagulls graced the walls. Oversized leather furniture was placed around the room to minimize eye contact. The place screamed, this is a therapist’s sitting room for rich, crazy people.

Her eyes watered when she thought of her own doctor, downtown. His waiting room contained blue plastic chairs and an old worn brown corduroy-covered couch, the floors covered with faded blue, industrial grade carpet. She could look up anytime, while waiting for him, and count the dots on the stained drop ceiling. Damn Jack for ruining everything. She wanted her old doctor back. Doctor Larry fit her like a worn-in pair of jeans. This one was like wearing five-inch heels, one size too small.

A woman opened the door and smiled sweetly. She looked like Scarlett Johansson on the cover of Vanity Fair. She had long legs, perfect blond hair coiled at her neck, and flawless alabaster skin. Zoe hated her immediately, yet managed to flash a saccharine-sweet smile right back at her.

“Zoe, right? Jack’s friend? Please, come in.” The doctor motioned her into a small room with subdued lighting.

It took a moment for Zoe’s eyes to adjust.

Friend? He said they were only friends? Whatever happened to mate?

Calm down. I'm reading way too much into this.

The doctor pointed towards the couch. “Would you be more comfortable there?”

“No, I think I’ll sit.” She flopped down in a chair, eye to eye with the doctor. She crossed her arms across her chest.

The woman pursed her lips. “Of course, dear, please do. How about we just chat for a moment, and get to know one another?”

Oh hell, this was not going to end well. Zoe leaned back into the chair, maintained eye contact, and tried not to grit her teeth.

“Let’s start on similar ground. How do you know Jack?” The woman spoke way too pleasantly and watched Zoe’s face far too intently.

“He’s my mate,” She blurted out, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when the therapist’s eyes went wide.

“Surely you’re mistaken.” She looked Zoe over from head to toe, much like people viewed Nan with her tattoos. Horror and revulsion flashed across the woman’s picture perfect face. A condescending sneer appeared briefly and faded just as fast.

“Don’t think I could be mistaken about that, do you?” She’d had enough of Miss Prissy-witch.

“But, Jack is…I mean…” The doctor stood and closed the office door, putting her back to Zoe and tried unsuccessfully to regain her composure. “We all assumed he was too powerful. That he was eventually going to settle for a love match.”

“Is there a problem that I should know about?” Zoe clenched and unclenched her fists. What was this woman’s problem?

“I’m just curious. Where are you from? What clan?” Doctor Framingham stayed on the other side of the room.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The woman was practically in tears. Slowly, she crossed the room and sat down heavily in her black leather chair. Her face had gone ashen and her lower lip trembled.

Shit, this was certainly not going as planned.

“I’m sorry. This is totally inappropriate. Of course I won’t bill you. Please go.” Doctor Framingham waved her hand at her, indicating she was dismissed.

No way. She wasn’t going anywhere until the woman explained herself. Zoe had a bad feeling she knew where this was going, but she needed to hear it for herself.

“Are you and Jack, like, a thing?” She held her breath. Was Jack playing the field behind her back?

“We hook up occasionally. On and off. I just always thought, we might, well, get back together, eventually.” The woman’s eyes watered and her breath came in a little hiccup. “When he called me about you, I thought he had forgiven me, and he was willing to try again. I had no idea–”

She didn’t need to hear the rest. What the fuck? What was all that bullshit about mating for life?

Zoe got slowly to her feet. She felt stiff, old, completely worn out.

Damn him all to hell. She was a fool for ever believing she could trust him, or anyone for that matter.

She’d been right about him, and about all men. They took what they wanted and left a shattered shell in their wake. Jack used women for sex, spit them out in tiny pieces, and left them bereft, and in her case, pregnant.

Crushing sadness replaced her initial anger.

She walked stiffly to the elevator. Her entire body had gone numb. Jack’s chauffer would be waiting in the lobby. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back to Jack’s apartment. Not yet, not until she’d processed everything. Without a second thought, she turned on her heals and found the stairwell.

By the time she reached the lobby, tears she hadn’t even known she had formed wet trails down her cheeks. She brushed them away roughly. Seeing Hands pacing by the elevator bay, she darted across the atrium and pushed through the heavy doors.

She hailed the first cab she saw and jumped in, giving the driver the directions to Nan’s apartment. Pulling her hood over her head, she crumpled back against the torn faux leather seat. Drawing a deep breath, she clenched her teeth and pushed back the sob that threatened to escape her throat.

Self-disgust filled her, burning a path straight to her soul. Never again. She’d promised herself to never let a man hurt her. And yet she’d trusted him. Given herself to him. In return, he’d tossed his ex-lover in her face. Worse, he’d expected her to share her deepest, darkest nightmares with a woman he uses to fuck.

Something inside her shattered at the realization. She might be screwed up, but she wasn’t a doormat. Her stomach clenched and anger lashed through her. She’d been a fool to think Jack cared about her. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

A small zap of energy shot out of her palms, and shot through the passenger seat in front of her, creating a small bullet size hole.

“What the fuck, lady?” The driver screeched to a halt, and pointed at the door. “Out.”

“I’m sorry.” She handed the man a twenty. He sped off before she had the chance to shut the door.

A shiver raced down her spine. If she’d been sitting in the opposite seat, the driver would have been dead. She pulled her hood tighter around her face.

You’re broken. No matter how hard she tried to feel otherwise, she always came back to that one single truth.