Page 153 of Freed
28
Birdie
There are a million questions swirling through my mind as the elevator doors close.
But then a horrible memory slashes through me.
The sleek metal doors seal shut with a soft, final whisper, and suddenly it feels like the room tilts sharply to one side. My breath comes fast and thin. The bright penthouse blurs around the edges.
My hand flies to my stomach as the memory opens like a wound.
Not this penthouse.
Another room. Another day. Francesca in front of me, smoothing her skirt with elegant fingers, her voice turned almost gentle.
“As I said, I’m here with a peace offering.”
My pulse had thundered then, just as it does now.
“One where you get more than you deserve,” she’d said coolly, “though, I admit, I’ll be getting something out of it too.”
I remember swallowing hard, my throat dry with fear andhope and the strange, fragile disbelief that maybe—finally—someone was offering me a way out.
“What is it?” I had asked.
Her smile had barely moved.
“I’ll help you leave.”
The words had hit like a punch.
Even now, in the present, I feel them all over again. That terrible jolt of hope. That desperate, reckless part of me clawing to life because freedom had been standing right there.
“You pick the city,” Francesca had said smoothly. “I’ll make sure you get there without Lorenzo knowing. You’ll be able to live your life.”
Then she’d leaned in, lowering her voice.
“And we can finally move on with our life and our family.”
My stomach twists hard.
Even then I had known it wasn’t kindness. She hadn’t been offering freedom because she cared about me. She’d been offering exile so she could secure her place by Lorenzo’s side and erase me from the board. But buried beneath that poison had been something worse. A chance at a life that didn’t belong to him.
The memory rushes faster now, the edges sharp as glass.
“I’d say I’d give you time to think it over, but we don’t have time,” Francesca had said crisply, rising from the bed like a woman who had already won. “If you want to go, we need to be at the airport in an hour.”
My heart had pounded so hard it hurt.
“How do you know he won’t find me?”
She had smiled then.
“Because the moment you leave this penthouse, Elizabeth Miller goes away. I’ll even let you pick your new name,” she had added, mockingly kind. “Once you’re ready, meet me in my room. One hour. Or it’ll be too late.”
Then she’d gone, leaving her perfume behind like a curse.
Back then, I had stood there shaking, wondering what the right choice was. Wondering if leaving without a goodbye would destroy Lorenzo. Wondering if maybe that was exactly what he deserved for tampering with my birth control. Wondering whether protecting the baby meant running before his world swallowed us both whole.
