She glared for ages; I didn’t think she’d answer, but finally she called into the kitchen, summoning a scruffy boy with hands covered in soapy bubbles. “Emmener la, à la résidence de Mercer.” Take her to Mercer’s estate.

I basked in the lyrical language of French. I missed it. I’d grown to love France and its language. Living back in Australia with the twangy accent and heat had never fit. Australia was bright and brash and wonderful. France was chic and refined and smouldered with passion.

The kitchen boy nodded, pushing a black cowlick from his eyes. I thanked the woman and followed the boy to a white van in the back alley. The same alley where I bolted from Franco.

I suffered a pang of terror at the thought of getting in the car with a stranger. I wouldn’t survive a repeat of Brute and Driver, but I steeled myself.

We didn’t say a word as we drove. Rolling hills and patchwork countryside flurried my heart erratically. Every mile, I was closer to Q. Every mile, I felt more and more confident. This was where I belonged. This was home.

We turned and drove through huge, imposing gates and the sound of gravel pinging beneath the car made sweat pool in my lower back. Nerves skittered, my mouth dry with worry.

Q’s pastel mansion came into sight, along with the horse fountain splashing with tiny rainbows in the mid-afternoon sun. Spring gave way to summer, and Q’s immaculate gardens rioted with colour. Butterflies fluttered while birds winged. An innocent paradise where a beast lurked. A beast that liked delicate things, but would never kill.

The young boy smiled as we pulled to a halt outside imposing pillars and cherub plasterwork. My heart firmly lodged in my throat. I couldn’t move. What am I doing?

“Nous sommes arrivés.” We’re here. He waved for me to exit.

I stared at the mansion, with everything bared. I can’t do this. Yes, you can. But what if… what if he refused to see me, or moved onto another slave… or…

The front door swung open.

I ducked in the seat, cowardice taking me hostage.

A very surprised Suzette stepped out, peering through the van’s windows. I tentatively waved; her mouth fell open.

The boy laughed, reaching across to open the door. I climbed out, frantically smoothing my grey dress, rubbing my cheeks, wishing I’d taken the time to present myself better.

A slight breeze sent a spritz of water from the horse fountain, dewing my skin, making me shiver.

Suzette and I didn’t move for a century.

I doubted any slaves returned once they were released. Then again, I was forcibly removed. I broke tradition by being unpredictable. Our eyes locked and I transmitted everything I felt in my gaze. Do you see how worthy I want to be? I came back for him. I came back for you. For this life. For everything he made me become.

Suzette inched forward, her black and white maid’s uniform sleek and pressed. Hazel eyes sparkled. “Ami? What… I don’t understand.” She stepped hesitantly. I closed the distance between us.

I resisted the urge to bowl her over in a hug. She covered her mouth as I smiled. “Bonjour, Suzette.” The sun burned through late spring haze, warming my skin. Whatever happened, I made the right decision. Q needed someone to fight. Q needed to be fought for.

I wanted to fight for him. I wanted to win him.

The pastel tones of the manor glowed with sun in pale greens, pinks, and decedent renaissance features.

I never wanted to leave.

Suzette squealed, launching herself into my arms. “You came back? Why would you do that? I thought you hated him, us, everything that happened. He threw you away. I thought you’d be plotting murder, not appearing out of the blue.”

I ignored the pang caused by the ‘throwing away’ remark. He didn’t. He did what the police told him. I wouldn’t hold a grudge… unless he kept being an arrogant ass**le, then I’d punch him.

Squeezing her back, I breathed in her scent of lavender and cleaning products. My heart thudded with so many memories. Suzette had been difficult. So loyal to Q, and her hard friendship hurt sometimes, but she was fierce and lived through much more than me.

My respect for her was a hundred fold.

Pulling away, I said, “I’ve had time to think. Q changed me, Suzette. He took the real me and set me free.” I smiled, remembering how fundamental birds were to Q. Speaking in his cryptic language, I added, “He opened my cage and allowed me to fly. I can’t help it if my freedom is here.”

She pulled back, a sly smile on her face. “You figured him out.”

Wrapping fingers with mine, she tugged toward the house. I put one foot in front of the other, focusing on breathing so I didn’t pass out. My heart hadn’t stopped thrumming since I boarded the plane. I felt sure it was nearing expiration.

“I had help from some drunken ramblings and Franco, but yes. I’m beginning to see him. I want to see more.” I looked around the massive foyer with its midnight blue staircase and huge works of art. My body spun with a thousand feelings; my stomach wouldn’t stop somersaulting.

She pecked my cheek, closing the door behind us, locking us into Q’s world. His domain. My future. “What day is it?”

I blinked. Crossing timelines and datelines muddled me. “Um, Sunday?”

A smile split her face. “It’s not a weekday.”

Oh, my God. My heart winged, soaring around the foyer. “He’s here,” I whispered. I couldn’t wait another moment. “Take me to him?”

Suzette grasped my hand, dropping her voice. “I’m so happy to have you back, Ami.”

I smiled. “You know my real name. Call me Tess.”

She grinned. “Wait here.”

She flew up the staircase, leaving me all alone. I linked my fingers, lost. I was an intruder in this amazing home, asking a hugely successful man to stop being an ass**le, and take me back. To show me his ruthlessness. His compassion. To give me the life I truly wanted.

A sound rustled from the lounge. I spun to face a woman in baggy track pants and a sweater three times too big for her. She walked with an air of rejection and sadness. The moment she made eye contact, she whimpered and fell to her knees, bowing.

Time screeched to a halt. I could only stare.

Fifty-nine.

My hands curled. This was slave fifty-nine. My replacement. Where had she come from? Jealously cramped my stomach, but I forced myself to relax. Franco said Q never touched other slaves. I was the first. His last. His f**king only if I had my way.