“Grace, I’m sorry, but I think I should take the rest of the day off if that’s okay with you. I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah, sure.” Grace doesn’t look at me. “I’ll arrange for someone to cover for you.”

“Thanks.” I wait for her to face me, to give me a hug as she used to do before everything fell apart.

I stayed on the LaClaire for the entire journey. It had terrified me to get back on solid ground, to face a future without Lance. Since it felt wrong to remain in the suite I’d shared with him, I asked for a tiny cabin on the ship. All I needed was a place to hide my shame and lick my wounds. I hardly left my cabin as I didn’t need to. All my meals were brought to my room.

When Lance and Rose had disembarked at the Royal Naval Dockyard, Bermuda, I stayed holed up in my cabin, refusing to join the other passengers as they enjoyed the pristine beaches and visited the crafts market. The only highlight of my days was reading that Kirk had been arrested in Boston and thrown into a maximum-security prison.

Grace continues to arrange the oils in the basket.

I came back to work yesterday, two days after I arrived in Boston, and she has barely said a word to me. I’ve never felt more alone or more in pain. My heart aches with each breath. I’ve even been feeling physically sick. My first day in Boston, I stayed in bed with a cold accompanied by a stubborn migraine. But yesterday, I forced myself to go to work. I’ve already lost so much. My job is all I have left.

I force a smile, then I walk out the door.

I should’ve known that it wouldn’t last, that happiness isn’t meant for girls like me, girls with a dark past.

I sit inside my car for close to an hour, watching people enter and exit Grace’s Touch. As much as I love my job, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle working there again after today. Grace is a LaClaire, and she’s close to Lance. Every time we’re together, I’ll be reminded of how I betrayed the family she loves. I’m certain having me as an employee also puts her in an uncomfortable position.

My body aches for a good cry, to find relief after the storm, but the tears stay away. I clasp my hands on my lap and stare out through the windshield, wondering if it’s time to move on, if it’s time to leave Boston, to start over again someplace else. But I’m so exhausted from starting over. I don’t know if I have the strength to do it all over again.

My heart splinters around the edges as I pick up my phone to see if Lance has returned any of my calls. He hasn’t. No one has called me.

It’s hard to let go when we didn’t have a proper goodbye. I wish we were one of those couples who break up and wish each other well. At least there would be some kind of closure. It hurts that he hates me, but I don’t blame him. I left a bitter taste in his mouth.

When we got together, his heart was broken by Alice’s death. I put it back together only to break it again, leaving it in a worse state than it was in before. My own pain doesn’t matter. I’m well acquainted with pain. But the idea of him hurting drives me mad.

Finally, I start the car, but I don’t see where I’m going. Who cares, anyway? I drive around town for a long time. I don’t know how long. Time no longer means anything to me. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

My head tells me to turn the car around, to go home and nurse my aching head, but I can’t get myself to do that. I’m desperate for closure with Lance. I need to see him again even for a moment.

Unable to stop myself or to think straight, I find myself taking a familiar route, one I’ve taken so many times in the past years.

When I find myself pulling up in front of Lance’s villa, I’m tempted to turn back, but I resist.

What do I want to say to him? After what I’ve done, how could I expect him to forgive me?

But I know one thing, I can’t go away without trying one more time. I can’t live my life wondering what if.

I glance at my face in the mirror and smooth back my hair. My eyes are blank and empty, and the shadows under my eyes make me look like I have Halloween makeup on, but I couldn’t care less. No amount of makeup can hide my vulnerability. This is me, the real me, the raw me, the tortured me.

This is the person I’ve been trying to run away from. She has caught up with me, and I don’t know how to send her back to the past.

A soft drizzle mists my face as I step out of the car.

Do I even have the right to drive the car that Lance bought me? Should I offer to give it back?

I take small steps toward the front door and automatically dig into my purse for my key. He hasn’t asked for it back.

I curl my fingers around the piece of metal. I’m about to slide it into the lock when I change my mind and ring the bell instead. I don’t belong here anymore. I’m a guest like everybody else now. I have become a stranger to the man I love.

Eva opens the door. For the first time since I’ve known her, there’s no smile on her face. She probably knows.

“Miss Jia, what can I do for you?” She doesn’t step aside to let me enter.

I hold on tighter to my key. “I’m here to see Lance.”

“Sorry, Mr. Lance doesn’t want to have any visitors today.”

“Please, Eva. I need to speak to him for a minute. I need to explain—”

“I’m sorry, he made it clear that he should not be disturbed.” She makes to close the door, and I push against it at the last minute.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving until I see him.”

“Miss Jia, please leave.”

Eva’s unshakeable loyalty to Lance doesn’t surprise me. He has always treated her so well. Last year, Lance paid off the entire college tuition for her granddaughter. He goes above and beyond for his employees, and it’s something I’ve found quite inspiring. It’s only natural that she’s protective of him. But I can’t let her stand between us.

“I’m sorry, Eva. I can’t do that. I can’t leave until I see him. I need to explain some things.” Before she can try to close the door on me again, I push against it until she lets go, a look of horror in her eyes.

She plants her hands on her round hips. “Miss Jia, Mr. Lance will not be happy about this. He said you’re not welcome here anymore.”

“I want him to tell me that himself.” I run up the stairs before she can try again to stop me.

My first stop is Lance’s studio. I don’t find him there. When his heart was broken in the past, he turned his back on the thing he loved the most—painting. My heart twists at the thought I might have robbed him of his desire to create.

I cover my mouth with my hand to hold back a sob as I approach his easel and turn it to face me. Staring back at me is an unfinished painting of me sprawled on his studio couch, naked. Attached to the painting, in the left corner, is the photo that inspired the painting, taken the day I told him I’d marry him, when we were in a good place.

At the time, I fooled myself into believing I could be happy. I still feel a tingle between my legs as I remember us celebrating our engagement on the floor of this room and the couch. Afterward, I was all sweaty, and my hair was all over the place, and he told me I’ve never looked more beautiful, and he’d pulled out his phone to take a photo.

I walk away from the easel and leave the studio, my heart pounding with each step I take across the long hallway, toward his bedroom. I knock softly on the door, but no one answers for me to enter, so I take a deep breath and push it open.

“What are you doing here?” He looks different, his hair disheveled, his beard unkempt, eyes broken as he turns his wheelchair around to face me.

I’ve always known why he never got rid of the wheelchair. There were other times I caught him sitting in it, often when he was upset about something. He has a love-hate relationship with it. It’s the thing that reminds him of his broken state, but at the same time, it offers some comfort. It was his home for years. It was in that chair that he fell in love with Alice. Now I have driven him to find comfort in his late wife’s memories.

“I brought you your key back.” I close the door softly behind me and approach him.

“Stop.” His tone makes me jump. “Don’t come to me. Put it on the bed.” He turns to the window.

I glance down at the key. Feeling as though I’ve been punched in the stomach, I approach the bed, drop the silver metal on top of the covers.

“I need you to leave now.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t leave you like this.”

“You’ve done enough damage. I want you to go.”

I perch on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tight. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“An apology doesn’t change anything. When I said it was over on the ship, I meant it.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “At least look at me before I go.”

“I can’t look at you when I don’t know who you are.”

“You do, Lance. I’m no longer the person I used to be. I am the woman who fell in love with you.”

“And I bet my money helped speed that love along, am I right?” This time he looks at me again. The heat of his anger scorches my skin.

“I—”

“Tell me one thing.” He bends his head to the side. “How did you choose the men you targeted?”

“I didn’t. Kirk did that.” I swallow hard.

“You were a team. I’m sure before you destroyed someone’s life, you spent hours discussing whether they were the perfect candidate.” He chuckles. “I was the perfect candidate, wasn’t I?”

“It wasn’t like that.” My tears come to my rescue now, flooding my eyes.

“I bet you went for the broken ones. You invested time in caring for them so you could worm yourself into their hearts. How many hearts have you broken, Jia? How much money did you make?”

I jump up from the bed, driven by the adrenaline rush brought on by desperation. Even though he wants to keep me at a distance, I cross the space between us and drop to my knees in front of him. “Lance, I know I’ve hurt a lot of people.”

“Hurt?” He scoffs. “You are responsible for someone’s death.”

“I told you I didn’t kill him.” I swipe the tears from my cheeks and clutch his knees with my trembling hands. “You have to believe me.”

“But you planned it with your boyfriend … husband. You were a match made in heaven, weren’t you? Bonnie and Clyde.” He’s trembling with rage now. “Tell me the truth. Did you plan on killing me, too?”

My palm meets his cheek hard. I instantly regret it and draw my hand back in shame. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He places his hand at the place I struck. “Get out of my house.”

He’s too angry to listen to me right now. I might need to give him more time to calm down before trying to talk to him again—to explain that sometimes things are not what they seem. I shouldn’t have forced myself into his home. All I did was bring him more pain.

I groan as I lift myself off the floor. “Do you want me to leave the car behind?”

“No, don’t bother. You earned it after a job well done.”

“I paid for my mistakes many times over, Lance. I regret the things I’ve done every single day. I shouldn’t have been so weak. I shouldn’t have allowed Kirk to talk me into doing those terrible things.” I decide to go ahead and tell him the last piece of my truth. “I went to prison … for one year.” I hang my head in shame. “I didn’t stay longer because the lawyers found evidence that Kirk was the mastermind. He got life because of what we did … together, and for murdering …” I pause. “I don’t want to put all the blame on him. I did my part. The law punished me for that. I paid my dues. When I left prison, I swore I would be a different person.”

“You were in prison? This just keeps getting better.” He slams his palms together. “We’re done here. Please go.”

“I’m not a murderer,” I whisper, moving toward the door.

“Yes, you are. You murdered my heart.”

He doesn’t need to say anything more for me to get the message, for me to feel even worse about myself.

I stumble out the door without looking back and walk away from his life. I love him too much to hurt him even more.

In the driveway, I glance at my car and think about what he said to me, that I earned it. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pull out my phone and call a cab. I’ll wait outside until it arrives. A few minutes later, it starts to rain harder. I still remain outside. I can’t ask to go back in there, and he doesn’t come out to offer me shelter. I guess that’s all the closure I need. I wrap my arms around myself and sit on one of the steps leading up to the front door, my clothes and hair dripping wet, my heart bleeding to death.

When my cab pulls up, I glance at the place that had come so close to becoming my home. Then I get into the car.

As the cab pulls away, I say a silent goodbye. I will respect Lance’s wishes. I won’t disturb his life. I’ll even quit my job.

The cab driver tries several times to involve me in a conversation, asking if I’m okay when he sees me wipe away tears. He finally gives up when he realizes he’s the only one speaking. He cranks up the volume on the radio and sings along to a pop song. At least one of us is happy.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. Some minutes later, I open them again at the sound of screeching tires. Before I can figure out what’s going on, the car lurches forward, taking my body with it.

My head slams against a hard surface. Hot, white pain slices its way through my skull. I hear another screech of tires, the sound of breaking glass, crunching metal, and a bitter scream. Then I don’t hear anything more as darkness takes over.