Chapter 9
They lay in the massive bed, separated by three feet of mattress that felt like a minefield. Elsie could hear Hardin's breathing. It was rhythmic, controlled, but she knew he wasn't asleep.
"Hardin?"
"Go to sleep, Elsie."
"Why do you hate me?"
Silence. Then: "I don't hate you. You're just... inconvenient."
"I'm a person," she said. "Not a problem to be solved."
"In my world, people are problems," he said. "Goodnight."
The next morning, Hardin was gone when she woke up.
He had left a note: Don't come to the office. Don't call me. Stay in the house.
Elsie crumpled the note. "Watch me."
She checked her new phone. There was an email from Debbi sent to the secure address Silas had set up. Gallery opening in Chelsea tonight. I'm showcasing a piece! Please come, Silas said it was cleared.
Elsie put on the red dress again. It was her armor now.
She took a car to the city. She slipped into the gallery, keeping her head down. She just wanted to see Debbi, say congratulations, and leave.
The gallery was crowded. Champagne flowed.
Elsie found Debbi near a sculpture made of twisted metal.
"Elsie! You came!" Debbi hugged her. "Is it safe?"
"I'm fine," Elsie said. "Hardin is... managing."
"Speaking of Hardin," Debbi said, her voice dropping. She pointed across the room toward a velvet-roped VIP alcove.
Elsie turned.
There, sitting on a plush velvet bench, was Hardin. He wasn't in a wheelchair, but he looked exhausted, his long legs stretched out as if standing was impossible. He was holding a glass of water, not champagne.
But he wasn't alone. A woman was leaning over him, her hand resting familiarly on his knee. She was blonde, tall, and painfully beautiful.
She was whispering something in Hardin's ear, and he was leaning in to listen. He wasn't pushing her away. He wasn't snarling. He looked... normal. Even if he was sick, he was sharing his limited energy with her.
"Who is that?" Elsie asked, her stomach churning.
"Bridgette Sweet," Debbi whispered. "His ex. The love of his life. She just moved back from Paris."
Elsie felt cold.
So that was it. The reason he wanted Elsie to stay away. The reason he hated her. She was the placeholder. Bridgette was the reality.
Hardin wasn't just hiding his illness; he was hiding his heart.
Elsie felt a tear slip down her cheek. She angrily wiped it away.
She turned to leave. She needed to get out before she screamed.
But as she turned, a waiter walked by with a tray of empty glasses.
Elsie, blinded by tears, walked right into him.
CRASH.
The tray hit the floor. Twenty crystal glasses shattered. The sound was like a bomb going off.
Every head in the room turned.
Including Hardin's.
His eyes found hers across the room. For a moment, she saw shock. Then, she saw him start to rise, pushing himself up from the bench with visible effort.
But Bridgette placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back down.
Elsie didn't wait. She turned and ran.
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