The scent of white lilies was becoming the soundtrack to my nightmares.
I sat at my desk on Thursday morning, my eyes burning from a lack of sleep and a surplus of repressed fury. I stared at my monitor, but the spreadsheets were just a blur of black and white.
All I could think about was the systematic way Julian was dismantling my life.
He made sure it didn't seem like he was doing anything entirely detrimental, he was just making me irrelevant, one "helpful" suggestion at a time. He had planted Isabella in my space like a flag of conquest, and I was expected to smile and "support" her while she snatched the importance of my role right out from under me.
But the real sting, the one that felt like a serrated blade in my chest, came from William.
I kept replaying Friday night in my head.
The heat of the kitchen island, the way he'd looked at me and promised we'd find a way.
We find every back door, every service elevator, and every midnight hour we can, he had said.
