The soup arrived, steaming and fragrant. Adria took a small sip, the warmth spreading through her chest, momentarily easing the knot in her stomach. It was a small mercy in a room full of knives.

Campbell, sensing she was losing the center of gravity, decided to reclaim it. She turned to Ollie, her voice pitched to carry.

"So, Ollie, did you hear? I'm finally going on the Hansen ski trip this year." She beamed, resting her chin on her hand. "Mrs. Hansen practically insisted."

Ollie looked at Damon, sweat beading on his forehead. "Uh, right. Yeah. If... if Damon is cool with it."

"Of course he is," Campbell laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "I'm practically family now. Six years is a long time, right, Damon?"

Adria felt the blood drain from her face. Six years. She had been gone six years. Campbell had been there for six years. It sounded like a marriage in all but name.

Zack, trying to diffuse the bomb ticking in the center of the table, turned to Adria. "So, Adria. How long are you back for? Are you heading back to Boston after this?"

The table went quiet. Even the silverware noises seemed to dampen.

Damon didn't move, but Adria saw his hand-the one wrapped in the bloody napkin-tighten around his wine glass. His knuckles were white. He was listening.

Adria set her spoon down. She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, buying herself a second. She needed to end this. She needed to sever the tie before she suffocated.

"I'm not going back to Boston," she said. Her voice was steady, surprisingly so. "And I'm not staying in D.C."

Damon's head snapped up. For a fraction of a second, there was something in his eyes-hope? Vulnerability? It was gone so fast she thought she imagined it.

"I've accepted a position at Nanxi Affiliated Hospital," Adria said, looking at the centerpiece of white roses. "In the trauma center."

Damon's eyes went wide. The hope vanished, replaced by a shock that quickly curdled into fury.

Campbell let out a scoff. "Nanxi City? God, that's literally across the country. You really want to get away, don't you?"

"Nanxi City?" Damon's voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the table.

Adria forced herself to meet his gaze. It was like looking into a storm. "Yes. They have one of the best trauma teams in the nation."

Damon let out a short, harsh laugh. He leaned forward, his large frame casting a shadow over her. "Is it for the job, Adria? Or are you just running away again? That's what you do best, isn't it?"

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. Running away. If only he knew. If only he knew she had crawled away to save her life.

"I'm starting over, Damon," she said quietly.

"Starting over," he repeated, tasting the words like poison. "Is that what you call it?"

The air was too thin. The walls were closing in. Adria couldn't do this. Not here. Not with Campbell hanging on him, not with the memory of the baby she lost screaming in her head.

She stood up abruptly. Her chair scraped loudly against the parquet floor, a harsh, ugly sound that drew eyes from neighboring tables.

"Excuse me," she said, clutching her purse. "I'm not feeling well."

She didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor. She didn't run, but it was close.

Damon started to rise, his chair tipping back.

"Damon, don't," Campbell hissed, grabbing his arm with both hands. "The press is watching. Don't you dare leave me here."

Damon looked down at her hands on his arm. His face twisted in revulsion. "Get off me."

He ripped his arm away, but the moment was lost. Adria was already through the double doors.

Damon stood there, chest heaving. He yanked at his bowtie, loosening it as if it were a noose. He pulled his phone from his pocket, ignoring the stares of the entire room.

Outside, the night air hit Adria's face, cold and biting. She shivered violently.

Goodbye, she thought, looking back at the glowing windows of the estate. Goodbye to all of it.

Adonis came jogging out the front door. "Adria! Wait! Are you okay?"

She shook her head, tears finally spilling over. "Get me a car, Adonis. Please. I need to leave. Now."

Up on the terrace, hidden by the shadows of a pillar, Damon watched her get into the black sedan. His face was unreadable, a mask of stone. He pressed the phone to his ear.

"It's me," he said to his assistant. "Find out her flight number. Now."

The Uber was five minutes away. Adria stood by the valet stand, shivering, but then a wave of nausea rolled over her so powerfully she doubled over. The soup. The stress. The look in Damon's eyes.

She turned and ran back into the hotel lobby, ignoring the startled look of the doorman. She sprinted toward the restrooms down the east corridor.

She didn't make it to the door. The sound of heavy footsteps and a familiar, booming voice made her freeze.

She ducked into a small alcove that housed a vending machine, pressing her back against the cold wall. Her heart was thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

It was Damon. He was pacing in the corridor, his back to her. He was on the phone again.

"Campbell! I told you a thousand times!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the marble floors. He sounded frantic. Angry.

Adria clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Stay right where you are," Damon barked. "I already called the hospital. They're ready for you."

Hospital? Adria's mind raced. Was Campbell sick? Was she pregnant? The thought made her knees buckle.

Damon ran a hand through his hair, his posture slumping. His voice dropped, losing the anger, replaced by a tone Adria remembered from late nights in their apartment. A tone of care.

"I'm coming over now," he said. "Don't be afraid."

Don't be afraid.

The words shattered Adria.

She slid down the wall, her legs giving out. He was yelling because he was worried. He was rushing to her side. He was comforting her.

He loves her. The realization was a final, crushing weight. All the hostility at dinner, the cold stares-it was just frustration. At the end of the day, Campbell was the one he ran to. Campbell was the one he told not to be afraid.

Damon hung up the phone. He kicked the wall, a violent thud that made Adria jump, then turned and strode away toward the exit, his footsteps fading.

Adria waited until silence returned before she dragged herself up. She stumbled into the restroom and locked herself in the handicap stall.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and dry heaved. Nothing came up but acid and bile. Her body was rejecting the emotional trauma, trying to purge a pain that was embedded in her soul.

Her vision began to tunnel. Black spots danced at the edges of her sight. Her hands went numb, the tingling spreading up her arms. A panic attack. A bad one.

She fumbled with her clutch, her fingers clumsy and stiff. She poured three pills into her palm-Xanax. She swallowed them dry, the bitter chalky taste sticking to her tongue.

She curled into a ball on the cold tile floor, hugging her knees. The smell of industrial cleaner filled her nose, reminding her of the hospital room in Boston. Alone. Bleeding. Dying.

"Why didn't you want me?" The child's voice whispered again.

"I did," she sobbed silently, rocking back and forth. "I wanted you so much."

She stayed there for twenty minutes until the drugs began to chemically force her heart rate down. The numbness retreated, replaced by a hollow, cold void. This was the armor. A chemical blanket that smothered the fear, but also the joy, leaving only a vast, empty calm. It was in this state that she could function. It was in this state that Dr. Barr could take over from the shattered woman on the floor.

She stood up. She walked to the sink. The woman in the mirror looked like a corpse. Pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, lips bitten raw.

She turned on the cold water and splashed her face. She took out her lipstick and applied it like war paint. She dusted powder over the tear tracks.

When she looked in the mirror again, Dr. Adria Barr stared back. Cold. Detached. Unbreakable.

Her phone buzzed. Adonis. Car is here.

Coming.

She walked out of the hotel, her head held high. She got into the car and didn't look back.

As her car pulled away, a red Ferrari roared out of the parking lot, tires screeching, heading in the opposite direction. Toward the city. Toward Campbell.

Adria closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of activity. Adria moved like an automaton, throwing clothes into her suitcase. She didn't fold anything. She just needed to be gone.

Her phone lit up on the bed. A news notification.

BREAKING: Actress Campbell Lowe involved in minor collision. Hansen Heir spotted rushing into Lenox Hill ER.

Adria picked up the phone. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It showed Damon, his tuxedo jacket gone, carrying Campbell in his arms toward the emergency entrance. It looked romantic. Heroic.

Adria let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded like something breaking.

Her phone rang. Mother.

She answered, putting it on speaker as she zipped the suitcase.

"Adria! Where are you?" Mrs. Barr's voice was shrill. "You left without saying goodbye to Mrs. Hansen. And where is Damon? People are talking."

"He's at the hospital," Adria said, her voice flat. "With Campbell."

"Oh," her mother paused. "Well, that girl always was dramatic. But really, Adria, you need to fight for your place. You just ran away. It makes you look weak."

Weak.

Adria looked at her shaking hands. She looked at the scars on her soul that her mother couldn't see.

"Goodbye, Mother," Adria said. She hung up. She had never hung up on her mother before.

She grabbed her bag and walked out.

At Lenox Hill Hospital, the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating buzz.

Damon stood in the private trauma room, staring at Campbell. She was sitting on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose. There was a small scratch on her cheek. A Band-Aid would have sufficed.

"My neck hurts, Damon," she whined, reaching for him. "I think I have whiplash."

Damon looked at her with pure, unadulterated loathing. "You drove your car into a parked fire hydrant at five miles an hour, Campbell. The airbags didn't even deploy."

"I was upset!" she cried. "Because of her!"

Damon's personal assistant, a sharp-faced man named Ken, hurried into the room. He looked nervous.

"Mr. Hansen," Ken whispered. "I have the information."

Damon turned away from Campbell instantly. "Tell me."

"She changed her ticket," Ken said. "She's on the 6:00 AM flight to Nanxi City. It just took off."

Damon felt the floor drop out from under him. Gone. She was gone again.

He spun around, grabbing his jacket off the chair.

"Damon? Where are you going?" Campbell screeched. "You can't leave me!"

Damon stopped at the door. He looked back at her. "Get an Uber, Campbell. Or call your agent. I don't care."

"If you walk out that door, I'll tell the press you abandoned me!"

"Tell them whatever you want," Damon said, his voice deadly calm. "I'm done."

He walked out, leaving her screaming his name.

He pulled out his phone as he strode down the hospital corridor, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"Prep the Gulfstream," he ordered. "I'm going to Nanxi City. File a flight plan. Now."

He hung up and dialed again.

"Chief Harrell."

The voice on the other end was groggy. "Hansen? It's 1 AM in Nanxi City."

"That transfer request," Damon said, pushing through the hospital doors into the cool night air. "I'm calling in a favor. I want Station 19."

There was a pause. "Station 19? The penal colony? Are you sure? That's a political minefield, Hansen, even for you."

"I don't care," Damon said, getting into his car. He slammed the door and ignited the engine. "I want the transfer effective immediately."

"Okay," Harrell sighed. "Welcome to the rainy city."

Damon peeled out of the parking lot, the engine roaring. He looked up at the sky, where the first light of dawn was breaking.

Run all you want, Adria, he thought, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his leather gloves creaked. I'll chase you to the ends of the earth.