The party dissolved quickly after Baron's exit. Bethel murmured an excuse about a migraine and grabbed her purse.

She was halfway down the hall when Chynna came running out, her face flushed and her steps unsteady.

"Bethel! Wait!"

Chynna grabbed Bethel's arm, swaying slightly. "God, can you believe him? So moody. Genius types, right?"

Bethel tried to pull away. "I really need to go, Chynna."

"No, listen," Chynna whispered, leaning in too close. Her breath smelled of expensive Chardonnay. "You don't get it. You have to forgive him. Do you know who his family is?"

Bethel's pulse skipped a beat. "I don't keep up with D.C. gossip."

"His grandfather was a four-star General," Chynna said, widening her eyes. "His dad chairs the Senate Armed Services Committee. Baron isn't just an engineer. He's... he's handling stuff that doesn't exist yet. NASA and DoD joint projects."

Chynna giggled, a hiccup escaping her. "Preston said the background check to even date a Lowery is insane. Like, if you stole a candy bar in third grade, the FBI knows. If your family has any dirt... poof. You're gone."

The blood drained from Bethel's face. It wasn't surprise that chilled her, but a sickening wave of confirmation. The words weren't new information; they were the very bars of the cage she had locked herself in five years ago, now being described to her by an oblivious jailer. The weight of that knowledge, a burden she carried alone, pressed down on her, stealing the air from her lungs.

"Imagine," Chynna continued, oblivious to Bethel's terror. "If you had a criminal in the family? Baron would be stripped of his clearance before the first date was over. He's here to clean up a mess in the Houston program. He's ruthless."

Bethel felt sick. Her father was currently sitting in a federal penitentiary for federal fraud tied to a suspected treason case. If she had stayed with Baron, his career would be ash.

"I have to go," Bethel choked out.

"Okay, okay! Come to the bachelorette party! Promise!"

Bethel nodded blindly and turned toward the elevators. The display showed the car was stuck on the top floor. She couldn't wait. She couldn't risk seeing anyone else.

She pushed open the heavy door to the stairwell.

The concrete space was cool and dimly lit. Her heels clicked loudly on the metal steps, the sound echoing in the vertical shaft. She needed this quiet. She needed this escape.

She descended one flight, clutching the railing.

Then she smelled it.

Cedar and expensive tobacco.

She stopped. Her hand froze on the cold metal rail.

Below her, on the landing between floors, a tall shadow was leaning against the wall. The orange cherry of a cigarette glowed in the darkness, illuminating the sharp line of a jaw.

Baron was waiting.

He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the smoke curling up from his fingers. He hadn't been gone for more than ten minutes, yet he was here, perfectly positioned in her only escape route. He hadn't fled in anger; he had set a trap.

"Taking the stairs?" his voice rumbled up to her, low and vibrating against the concrete walls.

Bethel's breath hitched. She turned to run back up, but the heavy door above her clicked shut.

Baron dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. He looked up. His eyes were dark voids in the dim light.

"Running away again, Bethel?"

Bethel turned to flee, but Baron moved with terrifying speed. He took the stairs two at a time, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

Before she could reach the door handle, his hand clamped around her wrist. His grip was iron, hot and unyielding.

He spun her around and slammed her back against the concrete wall.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. Baron stepped in, placing his hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.

He was close. Too close. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with the smoke. It was a scent that used to mean safety, home. Now it smelled like danger.

"Baron, stop," she gasped, her hands coming up to push against his chest. It was like pushing against a brick wall.

He lowered his head until his nose was almost touching hers. "No regrets? Really?"

He was obsessed with the answer. It was eating him alive.

"You're drunk," Bethel whispered, turning her face away.

He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a chaotic mix of fury and desire.

"Look at me," he commanded. "Tell me again. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't regret it."

Bethel stared into the grey depths of his eyes. She saw the pain there, raw and bleeding. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. She wanted to tell him everything.

But she couldn't.

"I..."

She didn't get the word out.

Baron crashed his mouth onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. It was punishment. His lips were hard, demanding, bruising. He ground his mouth against hers, forcing her lips apart.

Bethel let out a muffled cry of shock. She struggled, hitting his chest, but he caught both her wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them above her head against the wall.

He was overwhelming her. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting of bitterness and alcohol. For a second, just a split second, Bethel's body betrayed her. Her knees went weak. The familiarity of him, the taste of him, triggered a muscle memory of love that five years hadn't erased.

A tear leaked from her eye, sliding down her cheek to mingle with their kissing mouths.

Baron tasted the salt.

He froze.

He tore his mouth away, his chest heaving. He stared at her, his eyes wild. He looked at her wet lips, at the tear tracking down her face.

He released her wrists as if they burned him.

Bethel slumped against the wall, gasping for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Baron stepped back. He adjusted his tie, his face shutting down. The mask of the cold, elite engineer slammed back into place.

"You're right," he said, his voice ice cold. "You aren't worth the regret."

He looked at her with pure disdain.

"Disappear, Bethel. If I see you in Houston again, I won't be this polite."

He turned and pushed through the stairwell door, leaving her alone in the dark.

Bethel slid down the wall until she hit the concrete floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, sobbing silently into the darkness.

Thunder cracked directly overhead.

Bethel bolted upright in bed, gasping. The sound of rain hammering against the thin aluminum roof of the trailer was deafening. It sounded like being inside a drum.

She was sweating, her cheap cotton nightshirt clinging to her back.

The dream faded-Baron standing in the rain, waiting for her, five years ago. He had waited until he collapsed from hypothermia. She had watched from the window, crying, but she hadn't opened the door.

A drop of water splashed onto her forehead. The roof was leaking again.

Her phone buzzed violently on the plywood nightstand, dancing toward the edge.

She looked at the screen. Harvey Huber.

Bethel's stomach twisted into a knot. Bile rose in her throat. She stared at the name, the man who held the leash to her life.

She picked it up.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Sleep well, bride-to-be?" Harvey's voice was thick, oily.

"I'm not your bride, Harvey."

He laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound. "Your daddy's appeal hearing is next week. Without my father's testimony recanting the statement... well, the old man rots in federal prison. Maybe they'll move him to Supermax."

Bethel gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "I'm working on the appeal. I'll find new evidence."

"With what resources?" Harvey sneered. "You're a charity lawyer living in a tin can. You think you can outmaneuver the Feds with a public defender budget?"

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

"Tonight," he said. "My club. Be there, or I tell my dad to lose his memory about the fraud details."

"Harvey, please-"

Click.

Bethel dropped the phone. She pulled her knees up and rested her forehead on them. The trailer smelled of mold and damp cardboard.

She dragged herself out of bed. She walked to the tiny kitchenette. The linoleum was peeling in the corner. She opened the fridge. Half a carton of milk and a loaf of bread that was starting to turn green.

This was her reality. Last night, she had been in River Oaks, surrounded by millions of dollars. Today, she was scraping mold off bread.

She dressed in her oversized grey suit, trying to hide the thinness of her frame. She checked the mirror. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes.

She grabbed her keys and walked out.

Her neighbor, a man with no teeth, was urinating against the side of his own trailer. Bethel looked straight ahead, walking to her car.

The 2008 Toyota Corolla was a wreck. The bumper was held on with duct tape. She turned the key. The engine coughed, whined, and died.

"Please," she begged the dashboard.

She tried again. It sputtered to life, shaking violently.

She drove out of the trailer park, the suspension groaning over every pothole. As she stopped at a red light, she looked to her left. In the distance, the glass towers of downtown Houston gleamed. Somewhere in one of those penthouses, Baron was waking up in silk sheets.

The light turned green. The car behind her honked aggressively.

Bethel stepped on the gas, the car lurching forward. She had a job to do. She had a father to save. She didn't have time to mourn a love that was already dead.