"Let go of me," Elinor said, her voice trembling with a mix of pain and fury.

She twisted her arm, wrenching it out of Derick's grip. She stumbled back a step, cradling her wrist. A vivid red bracelet of fingerprints was already blooming on her skin.

Derick stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Apologize. Right now. Or I swear I'll have you removed."

Kamryn was still leaning against the sofa, her hand covering her mouth as fake sobs shook her shoulders. Kiana, frightened by the shouting, started to cry, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Bad lady!" Kiana wailed, pointing at Elinor. "Don't yell at my mommy!"

Elinor looked at the little girl. At her healthy pink cheeks, her strong lungs, her intact, functioning body. A body that was alive while Cece's was ash in a locket.

The grief and the rage twisted together inside Elinor, snapping something loose. She started to laugh.

The sound was harsh, grating, completely devoid of humor. It echoed through the lobby, causing the onlookers to step back in alarm. Kamryn stopped crying, her eyes widening as she watched Elinor.

Derick hesitated, thrown off by the sound. "Elinor?"

Kamryn leaned forward, her face partially hidden by her hair. A smirk played on her lips, her eyes glittering with triumph.

Elinor saw that smirk. She saw the red mark on Kamryn's cheek from the hospital slap days ago, fading but still visible. The woman thought she was untouchable.

Elinor stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a flash. She drew back her hand and swung.

The slap rang out like a gunshot.

Kamryn shrieked, the sound piercing the quiet lobby. She fell backward onto the sofa, her hand flying to her face, her body crumpling like a ragdoll.

Derick stood frozen, his eyes wide, his brain struggling to process what had just happened.

Kiana screamed, scrambling to the far end of the sofa, hiding her face in the cushions.

Elinor didn't stop. She pivoted, turning her body to face Derick.

He saw the look in her eyes and instinctively took a half-step back, but his pride caught him. He straightened up, squaring his shoulders.

Crack.

Elinor's palm connected with Derick's cheek with every ounce of strength she possessed. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side. A coppery scent hit the air as his teeth cut the inside of his cheek.

The lobby went dead silent. Even the background music seemed to stop.

Derick slowly turned his head back to face her. A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were dark, lethal.

He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Elinor's blouse at the collar, hauling her up onto her toes. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed, his face inches from hers.

Elinor didn't flinch. She stared into his furious eyes, her own gaze steady and full of disgust. "Derick Grant," she said, her voice low and clear. "We are done."

Derick's fingers trembled against her collar. The certainty in her voice seemed to unbalance him more than the slap.

Elinor reached up and pried his fingers off her shirt, one by one. She smoothed out the wrinkled fabric, her movements deliberate and calm. She looked over at Kamryn, who was still clutching her cheek, mascara running down her face.

"Enjoy him," Elinor said coldly. "Your days are numbered."

Kamryn flinched, the fear in her eyes genuine this time.

Elinor turned back to Derick. "My lawyer will be in touch."

She reached into her purse. Her fingers closed around the cold band of metal inside. She pulled out her wedding ring-a large, flawless diamond set in platinum. She had taken it off the night Cece died.

She held it up for Derick to see, then let it drop.

The ring hit the polished marble floor with a sharp tink. It spun in a circle, the diamond catching the light, before rolling away under a nearby chair.

Elinor turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. She didn't look back. She kept her spine straight, her shoulders back, even though her wrist throbbed and her heart was shattering all over again.

Derick stood rooted to the spot. He stared at the spot where the ring had landed, the sound of it hitting the stone echoing in his ears like a closing door.

Three days later.

The apartment in Brooklyn was a shoebox.

It was a far cry from the penthouse in Manhattan-no doorman, no floor-to-ceiling windows, just a cramped living room that connected to a tiny kitchen. But it was hers. It was hidden.

Elinor sat on the floor, surrounded by cardboard boxes. She pulled out a small, pink sweater. It still smelled faintly of the hospital, of Cece. She pressed it to her face, inhaling the scent, her eyes burning.

A loud, aggressive buzzing shattered the silence.

Elinor's head snapped up. She stared at the door.

The buzzing came again, longer this time, followed by a heavy pounding.

"Elinor! Open the door!"

Derick's voice was muffled by the wood, but the fury in it was unmistakable.

Elinor scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs. She backed away from the door, her eyes darting around the room.

"I know you're in there!" Derick yelled. "Open it, or I'll break it down!"

Elinor pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing. She wasn't ready. She couldn't face him, not here, not in this small space where she couldn't escape.

A metallic clicking sound came from the lock. Derick hadn't become a billionaire by taking no for an answer. He had resources.

The lock clicked. The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a bang.

Derick stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. Two men in suits stood behind him, one holding a lockpicking tool. Derick dismissed them with a jerk of his head, and they retreated down the hall.

He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the cramped, dingy apartment. His lip curled in distaste. "This is where you're hiding? Slumming it?"

Elinor grabbed a pair of heavy fabric scissors from the table behind her. She held them up, the point aimed at his chest. "Get out."

Derick ignored the scissors. He walked further into the room, his expensive shoes crunching on a piece of packing tape. He looked at the boxes, the scattered clothes, the lack of a second bedroom.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "Where is Cece?"

"I told you," Elinor said, her hand shaking, the scissors wobbling. "She's dead."

"Stop lying!" Derick closed the distance between them in two steps. He grabbed the blades of the scissors with his bare hand, squeezing them tight enough that the metal bit into his palm. He wrenched them out of her grip and threw them across the room. They clattered against the kitchen counter.

He grabbed Elinor by the upper arms and slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Where is my daughter?" he demanded, his face inches from hers, his breath hot on her skin.

Elinor gasped, trying to inhale. And then she smelled it. The faint, cloying scent of gardenias. Kamryn's signature perfume. It clung to Derick's collar, a ghost of the woman he had just left.

A wave of nausea rolled through Elinor. Her stomach heaved. This man, who had just been holding another woman, was now pressing her against a wall, demanding to see the child he had ignored.

"Let me go," she choked out, struggling against his grip.

Derick pressed his body closer, using his weight to pin her. He thought she would submit. He thought the familiar proximity would calm her, remind her of who she belonged to.

Elinor looked into his eyes. She saw only arrogance. Only possession. No remorse. No grief.

The disgust was overpowering. She gathered every ounce of saliva in her dry mouth and spat directly into his face.

Derick froze. The wet glob hit his cheek, sliding down toward his jaw. His eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed to slits.

He released one of her arms to wipe his face, his hand shaking with rage. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into the hinges of her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"You are testing my patience," he said, his voice a low, venomous whisper. "Don't push me."

"Your patience?" Elinor laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "Your patience is for that fraud you keep on a leash?"

Derick's grip tightened on her chin. The mention of Kamryn was a red flag. "You're delusional. Kamryn is the only sane woman in my life."

"Then go to her," Elinor said, her voice dead. "Go back to your fake family."

Derick stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to force the truth out of her. But the deadness in her eyes unsettled him.

He released her chin with a shove. "There is no divorce," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "A Grant doesn't get divorced. You'll come home when you're done throwing your tantrum."

He turned and walked out, leaving the broken door hanging off its hinges.

Elinor slid down the wall, her legs giving out. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably. She fumbled for her phone on the floor beside her.

"Hello," she said, her voice hoarse. "I need a heavy-duty deadbolt installed. Today. And a security system. The best you have."

The nightmare was always the same.

Cece was lying on a cold metal table, her skin blue, her eyes open. She was reaching out her hand, her mouth moving, but no sound came out. And Elinor was running, running down an endless hallway, the walls closing in, never reaching her.

Elinor woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat. The bedroom was pitch black, the only sound the hum of the window unit.

Then she heard it. A rustling in the living room.

Her hand shot out, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers brushed the empty surface. She must have knocked it off.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Elinor scrambled back against the headboard, her heart in her throat. A silhouette filled the doorway.

Derick.

He stepped into the room, flipping on the bedside lamp. He was carrying three large shopping bags, the kind from high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue.

"How did you get in?" Elinor demanded, her voice raw.

Derick dangled a brass key from his finger. "A few thousand dollars made the super very cooperative. He had a spare."

He dropped the bags on the floor with a heavy thud. He walked to the closet and pulled it open, looking inside. Empty. He checked under the bed. Nothing.

"Where is she?" he asked, turning back to face her.

Elinor threw the covers off and got out of bed. She shoved him hard in the chest. "Get out! You can't just break into my home!"

Derick grabbed her wrists, holding her at bay. "Where is Cece, Elinor? I bought her things." He gestured to the bags. "New dresses. Toys."

Elinor looked at the bags. She saw the pink tissue paper poking out of one. Pink. Cece's favorite color.

A red haze descended over her vision.

"She's dead!" Elinor screamed. The sound tore from her throat, raw and ragged. "She's dead! She can't wear them! She can't play with them!"

Derick's expression hardened. "Stop the act."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a frilly, pink dress. He shoved it into Elinor's hands. "Put it away. I'm not playing this game."

Elinor stared at the dress. The fabric was soft, expensive. It was the kind of dress Cece would have loved, the kind she would have twirled in.

Elinor dropped the dress on the floor. She brought her foot down on it, grinding the heel of her bare foot into the delicate fabric.

She turned to the other bags. She kicked them over, scattering the boxes. She picked up a stuffed unicorn and ripped its head off, the seams tearing with a loud rrrip. She threw the pieces at Derick.

"You think you can buy her back?" she yelled, her voice breaking. "You think a dress makes you a father?"

Derick stood still, watching her destroy the gifts. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable. He didn't try to stop her.

Elinor ran out of things to throw. She stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by torn fabric and broken toys, her chest heaving. Her legs wobbled. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her hollow and weak.

Derick's phone rang.

The cheerful, custom ringtone filled the silence. Kamryn's tone.

Derick pulled the phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen, then at Elinor, who was swaying on her feet.

He answered it. "Kamryn?"

"Derick," Kamryn's voice simpered through the speaker. "Kiana had a nightmare. She's crying for you. Can you come?"

Derick looked at the mess on the floor, at the wife who was staring at him with eyes that held no life. He looked back at the phone.

"I'll be right there," he said.

He hung up. He looked at Elinor. "You need to cool off. I'll be back when you're ready to be rational."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom. The front door opened and closed.

Elinor stared after him. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, a high, keening sound that didn't sound like her. It was the laugh of a woman who had lost everything, even her own mind.

The laugh died in her throat. The room tilted sideways. The edges of her vision went black.

She reached out for the bedpost, but her hand closed on air. Her knees buckcled.

She fell forward, her head striking the corner of the wooden dresser on the way down. A blinding white pain exploded in her skull.

She hit the floor. She felt the warm, wet stickiness spreading beneath her head. She tried to move, but her body wouldn't obey.

The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was a flash of pink fabric on the floor, and a small hand reaching out to her from the shadows.