Serena

I find an oversized Louis Vuitton suitcase stuffed under the bed that once belonged to Catherine. Brushing off the dust, I roll it down the hall to my suite and proceed to empty most of my drawers.

I sweep the contents of my bathroom counter into a cosmetic pouch and throw it on top, sitting on the lid to ensure the zipper goes all the way around.

“Good lord, Serena, what on earth are you doing?” Eudora’s voice makes me jump so fast, I fall off the suitcase. “What is this?”

“I’m leaving.” I pull the bag off my bed and take the handle.

“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’ll allow you to leave with that . . . with that snaky lawyer.”

I laugh. “He’s not a snake.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“And I don’t trust you.” The words bypass my filter and escape through my lips. I’m just as shocked to hear them as she is. My hand covers my lips as our eyes meet.

Her face falls, her mouth hanging agape, and she takes a step back.

“Serena, you don’t mean that.” Eudora’s gray eyes water, and I feel awful despite all the reasons I have not to trust her. “You’re like a daughter to me. I’ve practically raised you since–”

I keep a safe distance from her in case she tries to stop me from leaving. “You work for Veronica now. I know you tell her things.”

Shit.

Derek is going to kill me. I’m not supposed to mention anything related to Veronica to any of the manor staff.

“I do as I’m instructed.” Eudora’s head tilts, coordinating an unspoken apology with her eyes. “My love for you is as strong as it’s ever been. Don’t ever doubt that. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.”

“I can’t stay here anymore,” I say. I need to end this conversation before I slip again. “I don’t need to explain myself, and I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Her voice breaks, and when I look into her eyes, we both know her argument is invalid.

“That’s not true,” I say. “I don’t have to stay here. Not anymore.”

“Veronica is going to . . .” Eudora’s voice trails off, going places too dark to speak of.

“Veronica’s going to do what she’s going to do. Let her.” I place my hand on her arm. “I . . . I can’t stay.”

I let her go, unable to give her a better explanation than that for fear news might travel quickly.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me.

I stop, jaw slack as I search for the best answer. “I don’t know. Derek’s going to help me find a place of my own.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, she offers a half-broken smile, her eyes misty. If the circumstances were any different, she’d be asking me to phone or write, to keep in touch, to let her know I’m okay.

It breaks my heart knowing I can’t.

Times have changed.

Trust has been shattered.

“Goodbye, Eudora.” I slip my hand along the staircase railing, my other gripping the handle of my suitcase.

“Wait.” Eudora waves her hands, frantic, and runs past me, down the hall. She returns moments later with two pill bottles. “Please don’t forget to take these. The instructions are on the bottle.”

I take the pills from her but have no intention of swallowing them, and I’m not sure why she’s forcing them on me when she knows I won’t take them. Perhaps it’s so she can say she tried when Veronica flips out on her for not trying harder to stop me.

But it’s not like she could stop me anyway.

“Thank you.” With that, I’m gone, lugging my bag down the stairs, and breathing a sigh of relief when I spot Derek standing between the front door and the parlor.

“You ready?” He reaches for my luggage. I’m immediately embarrassed at its weight, but I threw in everything I could ever need. I don’t plan on coming back to Belcourt Manor for anything, ever again.

The next several seconds are a blur.

But it’s just us.

As we drive away, leaving a cloud of dust behind us, it occurs to me that I’m officially free.

In this moment, no one controls me. No one is telling me how to live or where to live or holding anything over my head.

I’m terrified.

But I’m mostly excited.

“How far away is Rixton Falls?” I ask.

“Ninety-four minutes,” he says without pause, reaching over and pressing the classic radio preset. “Coming Home” by Cinderella plays softly from the speakers.

* * *

“The code is 5821. Top secret.” Derek punches in the code to his door after a quick elevator ride.

I cross my fingers like an honorable Girl Scout. “Won’t tell a soul.”

He kicks his door open, and I’m greeted with a wide-open industrial loft with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a quaint downtown entertainment district and a small river to the west peppered with small boats.

“It know it’s not what you’re used to,” he says.

“No, it’s fine.” I swat my hand.

“I need to go back to the office and finish out my day, but I’ll show you your room and give you a quick tour,” he says. “Just make yourself at home. Help yourself to whatever you’d like. Just, uh, stay out of my room.”

My mind immediately goes to dirty places as our eyes lock, and my left brow twitches on its own accord.

Derek smirks, neither confirming nor denying my raunchy suspicions, and I follow him down a hallway that splits off into two. We take a left.

“This is Haven’s room.” He props a door open, and I’m blasted in the face with pale pink paint and posters of carousel ponies and mermaids. Her bedding is an abstract floral print, and there are way too many colors going on at once in there, but I smile and nod and tell him it’s adorable.

It reminds me of the way a man might decorate for a girl. Completely clueless, but an A-for-effort.

“Here’s the bathroom you’ll share.” He knocks on the door as we pass by. “Two sinks, so you won’t have to have the one splattered in bubble-gum toothpaste.”

“Appreciated.”

“And here’s your room.” He pushes my door open, and I’m greeted with a lofty bedroom with large windows, gray paint on the walls, mid-century modern furniture, and black concrete floors. The room screams bachelor. “Sorry. I decorated it.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“You can change whatever you want,” he says. “I won’t be offended. This room doesn’t get used.”

“I think it’s cute that you decorate.” I bite an entertained grin. “You don’t hear of many straight men who get into picking out colors and furniture.”

“I literally just opened a West Elm catalog and bought everything on the first page I saw. But if that counts as decorating and you’re impressed by that, then we’re good.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Derek lifts my bag to the bed for me and rests his hands on his hips. “So, this is my place. The kitchen and living room and all that, you saw when we first walked in. This concludes my tour.”

I smack him lightly across the chest. He’s solid under my touch, and I realize I’m close enough to breathe him in. The faint scent of his morning shower fills my lungs, and I step back, realizing how completely inappropriate it is to pay any mind to those sorts of things in a time like this.

“Where do you sleep?”

“Clear on the other side of the apartment.”

My smile fades, and I tend to my bag. “I’m going to settle in. You can get back to the office now. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“All right.” His hand slips into his pocket, retrieving his keys. “I’ll give you a formal tour of Rixton tonight when I get back. Maybe we can get dinner somewhere. Unless you cook. Do you cook?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Kind of figured that.”

He winks, and maybe I should be offended, but I’m not.

I don’t know what I am. All I know is that as foreign as all of this should feel to me right now, it’s strangely comfortable.