Chapter 2 — She Is Not Yours

“You saw plenty of people last night,” I said. “Did you bring all of them home?”

Sebastian’s gaze moved briefly to my backpack.

“No.”

“Then give me a better answer.”

The driver busied himself opening the sedan’s rear door.

Sebastian gestured toward it.

“You can leave while we talk. No one will stop you.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know.”

His willingness to admit that made me angrier.

“Did you expect me to be grateful enough not to ask?”

“No.”

“Are you always this difficult?”

“Usually with people who ask fewer questions.”

It was almost a joke.

I refused to help it become one.

“I need my apartment back. I need a job. I don’t need a stranger deciding what happens to me.”

“What happened with your apartment?”

“The landlord said the building had to be emptied.”

“Did he give you anything in writing?”

“He taped a notice to the door.”

“Do you still have it?”

I hesitated.

Then I opened the front pocket of my bag and took out the crumpled sheet.

Sebastian read it without taking it from me.

His jaw shifted.

“Keep that.”

“Why?”

“Because he may tell you something different later.”

I folded it carefully this time.

He looked toward the driver.

“If Miss Carter wants to go back, take her. Don’t enter the building until someone has checked it.”

“Why would someone need to check it?”

“Because a man who gives you an hour to leave may be willing to do worse.”

I had spent so much time being ashamed that I hadn’t allowed myself to think of my landlord as the one who should be afraid.

Sebastian’s words changed that.

Only a little.

Enough to make me put the notice in my wallet instead of the trash.

“I can stay at a friend’s place,” I said.

It was a lie.

“Then the car is yours.”

“For how long?”

“Until you get there.”

There was no triumph in his voice. No suggestion that he had caught me pretending.

I hated him slightly less for it.

Marta appeared on the steps carrying a wool coat.

“Your sweater is still damp.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re cold.”

She held it out rather than trying to put it on me.

I accepted.

Sebastian checked his watch.

“I have to leave. Marta can help you make arrangements.”

“What do you want in return?”

His attention returned to my face.

“Nothing today.”

“That sounds as though there’s a tomorrow attached.”

He was silent long enough for me to notice.

Then he said, “You should eat more than toast.”

I looked at Marta.

She looked at him.

Something passed between them that had nothing to do with breakfast.

“Don’t talk about me as though I’m not standing here,” I said.

Sebastian nodded once.

“You’re right.”

He walked toward the SUV.

His phone rang before he reached it.

He answered in Italian.

I knew no Italian. But names don’t need translation.

“Olivia,” he said.

Then his voice changed.

He turned toward me.

I was already watching him.

Whatever he heard next made his expression close.

He got into the car, spoke to the driver, and left.

I waited until the SUV had passed through the gates.

“Who was he talking to?”

Marta adjusted the coat over my arm.

“I don’t know.”

“He said my name.”

“Yes.”

“So this isn’t just a guest room and a ride somewhere warm.”

She looked toward the gate.

“Come inside, Olivia.”

“Tell me why he knows me.”

“The driver can still take you wherever you choose.”

“Stop offering me a car instead of an answer.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the coat.

For a moment, she looked less like a woman who belonged in this house than someone waiting to be told she could stay.

“Your mother worked here,” she said.

The driveway seemed to fall silent.

“My mother?”

“Yes.”

“Evelyn Carter?”

Marta closed her eyes briefly.

“Yes.”

My mother had died when I was eight.

I remembered a funeral. My aunt’s black gloves. A coffin I wasn’t allowed to approach.

No one had ever mentioned this house.

“What did she do?”

“She worked with the accounts.”

“And you knew her?”

“Yes.”

“Did Sebastian?”

“He did.”

I looked down at the coat.

Something that had felt like kindness now felt rehearsed.

“He knew who I was at the bus stop.”

Marta didn’t answer.

I stepped toward her.

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

Her mouth trembled before she pressed it flat.

“Mr. Romano has never forgiven himself for what happened to her.”

A sound came from the gates.

Metal moving over gravel.

I turned.

A second black SUV had stopped outside. A man in a gray suit stood beside it, rain collecting in his silver hair.

He held a sheet of paper against the bars.

At first, I thought it was an advertisement.

Then I recognized my blue backpack.

The photograph showed me curled on the bus shelter bench, my face tucked against my sleeve.

Across the bottom, four words had been written in red.

SHE IS NOT YOURS.

Marta caught my wrist.

Her thumb pressed against the small bone below my hand.

The touch was so familiar that I looked at her instead of the man.

My mother used to hold me that way at crosswalks.

Firm enough that I couldn’t pull free into traffic.

“Inside,” Marta said.

The man beyond the gate lifted two fingers.

His smile suggested we had been introduced already.

“Who is he?”

“Please move.”

Two guards came down the steps.

One spoke into his sleeve. The other positioned himself between me and the gate.

I let Marta draw me toward the house, but I stopped inside the doorway.

“No. You don’t get to keep doing this.”

The front door shut behind us.

Somewhere deeper in the house, a lock engaged.

“You said I could leave.”

“You can,” Marta said.

“Then why are they closing everything?”

“To keep him out.”

“Who is he?”

She looked toward the guard.

I stepped into her line of sight.

“Look at me. Who is he?”

Before she answered, my phone began ringing.

I pulled it from my pocket.

UNKNOWN CALLER.

Marta reached for my hand.

“Don’t answer that.”

That was enough to make me answer.

“Hello?”

“Olivia.”

A man’s voice. Cultivated, calm.

“Who is this?”

“My name is Adrian Vale. I believe Sebastian has mentioned your mother.”

I looked at Marta.

She had gone pale.

“What do you want?”

“To make sure you understand whose house you’re standing in.”

“I understand where I am.”

“Do you understand how you got there?”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“I accepted a ride.”

“After you lost your job, your apartment, and your boyfriend. An extraordinary coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

Marta whispered my name.

I walked away from her.

“What are you saying?”

Vale’s voice became almost gentle.

“I’m saying Sebastian Romano didn’t find a woman with nowhere to go.”

He paused.

“He made one.”