The Runaway Wife: Escaping His Gilded Cage

d it open. It was a third-floor walk-up in a pre-war building, the air in the hal

dlord, a portly man named Sal, offered, ge

nk you," Ava said

. The sound of its wheels on the worn hardwood floor

py, floral-print sofa and a scarred coffee table. A kitchenette tuck

al. And as she looked at the water stain on the ceiling and the cheap, mismatched

s quiet, shabby sp

slumped. The cold, empty stillness she had shown Damian dissolved, and in its place came a wave of exhaustion so profound it made her knees weak. She sank onto the lumpy sofa. She had been strong

me. It had been a gift from the head nun at St. Jude's Home for Children, given to her on the day the C

tal, the familiar weight of it a s

the dinner menus selected a month in advance to the flowers arranged in the vases. Ava had been a ghost in her own ho

ooden table she'd placed it on.

WITH CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART ISABELLE STE

ross the street. Damian and Isabelle, walking into L'Aura, the ridiculously

tion was a flurr

getting together.

me nobody. He'll probab

ue Carlisle queen.

grade stress. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, breathing through the pain. She w

throat, dousing the last embers of weakness inside her. She would n

d to life, a portal to the world she was about to re-enter. With a deep breath, she mentally

a secure folder. It was filled with the evidence of her secret life for the past three years. Mark

l III pass n

on. Her armor. Her escape route. With this, she didn

n for years, began to dissolve. The distant sound of a siren, the rumb

he had researched weeks ago. She had already consulted with them in secret, feeding them the necessary details over encrypted calls. The demand was simple: draft the divorce

over the keys, and hit 'Send.' The lawyer

e. The machinery of her departure was in motion. She felt the weight of the decision settle on her, n

n the ceiling and the single window that faced a brick wall. It

fade from the Brooklyn sky. The city was indifferent to her,