Sean swung down from the horse and helped Catherine slip off the side. Before her feet could hit the hard concrete floors of the table, he caught her and held her. His strong arms pressed her close to his body before he released her to the floor.

She stood inside the stable with her legs spread awkwardly. She'd never ridden before, and her butt felt slightly bruised. Resisting the urge to rub it, she followed Sean out of the stable. As she walked back to the car, she froze with worry. The tampon she'd used wasn't meant for vigorous activity, and she's foolishly worn a pair of light wash jeans.

​​

"What's wrong?" Sean asked, turning to look at her.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"Well, get in the car," he said. "You can't distract me from Marco all morning."

"I wasn't trying to," she murmured.

She jogged across the path towards the car. As she moved, she tried to look behind to check to see if her pants were stained, but it was impossible to tell without stopping completely.

"We can come back here later," Sean said, his voice suddenly gentler.

Catherine started to correct him but stopped herself. It was better to let him think she was looking back at the stables with regret than to explain her embarrassing situation. With a deep breath, she got into the car—hoping the back of her jeans was fine.

The car glided away from the stables and headed toward the old brick servant's quarters. Within two minutes, Levi parked it in front of the buildings, and the atmosphere turned icy. Catherine took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but her heart raced, and her palms sweat.

Somewhere in one of those buildings, Sean was keeping Marco prisoner. What would happen when she walked into the room? Would Marco try to blame her? Would Sean get jealous? Would she fly into a rage and attack Marco, or would she burst into tears?

"Come on," Sean said, his voice cold and hard.

Her legs shook as she climbed out of the car. Sean's hand closed around her upper arm, but the grip didn't feel supportive. She wiped her palms on her jeans and let him lead her toward the houses. He stopped outside the last house in the row and knocked once on the door.

She heard the sliding of chains and the clicking of locks, and then the door scraped open. Sean let go of her arm, and she stood outside the door, scared to step into the room. A firm hand pushed her, and she stepped inside.

She blinked in surprise at the brightness. She had expected the house to be dim, but fluorescent lights shone as bright as day. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. She'd been expecting the interior to match the outside—cheery red brick, wooden floors, and simple but neat furnishings. She was shocked to find herself in a long, modern hallway with concrete floors, pristine white walls, and buzzing lines of lights.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and a bodyguard appeared, "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"I want to see him," Sean said.

"Yes, sir, follow me, sir," the guard said.

Sean prodded Catherine in the back, and she followed the bodyguard down the long, bright corridor. He stopped outside a thick metal door that looked like it belonged in a prison. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door.

Catherine shivered, and her skin prickled with goosebumps. What kind of place was she in? Why did Sean have a sort of prison on his estate?

The door swung open, revealing a dim room. A small old fashioned window was covered in a thick iron grate. The guard flicked a switch in the hallway, and fluorescent lights buzzed to life in the room. The room was painted white and covered in the same concrete floors. A single chair sat in the corner, and a figure was slumped over in the chair—the room stank of bleach and body odor.

"Wake him up," Sean snapped.

The guard stepped forward, producing a bottle of water from his pocket. He poured the water onto the figure's head, and the man spluttered and lifted his head. Though his face was badly swollen and bruised, it was Marco.

Catherine stared at him, confused by the waves of emotions coursing through her: horror, shock, anger, rage, satisfaction. How many times had she dreamed of beating Marco the way Sean's men had? It must have been thousands, and yet seeing him like that made her recoil.

Marco stared blankly at her and Sean, and then his eyes filled with recognition. He groaned and cleared his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Blair," he croaked. "I made a horrible mistake, but I've learned my lesson. Please just let me go. I promise you'll never hear from me again. Please, just let me go."

Sean's face was a cool mask as he turned from Catherine to Marco, "You tried to elope with my wife. How is that a mistake?"

"I don't care about her," Marco whimpered. "I don't care about her at all. I just wanted to study abroad and make a name for myself. Madison promised me if I married Catherine, we'd both be happy, and I mean, she's an Stewart for Christ's sake. Her family money and name could have opened many doors for me."

"You're telling me this had nothing to do with Catherine at all?" Sean asked.

"No," Marco said. "I mean, she's not exactly hard on the eyes, and I did flirt with her. Wouldn't mind having a piece like that on my arm and—"

His sentence trailed off in a groan as the guard punched him in the stomach. Catherine stared down at her feet. She didn't want to look at Marco, and she was terrified to see the expression on Sean's face.

"So you were ready to run away with a man who cares nothing for you?" Sean asked.

Catherine stared down at her grass-stained shoes, "I told you, I was manipulated."

"Look at me when you talk to me, Catherine," he said.

She took a deep breath and pressed her fingernails into her palms. She raised her head and stared at Sean's pale blue eyes.

"I thought he cared about me," she said. "And Madison helped convince me he did."

Sean's eyes narrowed, but he didn't reply.

Marco took a deep shuddering breath and continued, "Mr. Blair, you have to listen to me. Catherine and I were just classmates. Sure, I flirted with her from time to time, but it didn't mean a thing. And yeah, I'll admit I told her I loved her and all that, but it wasn't real. It was just to get her to run away with me."

Catherine pressed her nails even harder into her palms, wondering if she could make herself bleed. Though she'd known the truth about Marco for a long time, hearing him say it out loud still made her want to hit him. He was so pathetic. So weak and spineless and stupid.

"I didn't mean to insult you," he said. "It was nothing against you at all. I was just thinking of my own future, and I'm sorry. Just please let me go."

"So this is the man you loved?" Sean asked. "What do you think of him now, Catherine? Don't you have anything to say to him?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What could she possibly say to him? What could she possibly say that would hurt him as much as he had hurt her? It was impossible. For the last ten years, she had suffered the most humiliating and painful abuse at his hands, and he didn't even remember any of it. In this new reality, it hadn't even happened yet.

He hadn't pinched or hit or kicked her yet. He hadn't left her covered in bruises and cuts that she couldn't hide with makeup or explain away to the people on the street who looked at her with pity and horror. He hadn't called her names or screamed at her so loudly the very house seemed to shake. He hadn't forced her to sleep with his greasy, middle-aged boss.

Still, she knew he was capable of all those things. Though her skin was unblemished and unscarred, she remembered it all. She would remember it for as long as she lived.

***

Sean watched Catherine. As soon as they'd entered Marco's cell, her face had gone deathly pale except for two bright spots of color in her cheeks. Her graceful body was tense as a wire, and her hands were clenched into tight fists—the knuckles were pale white.

Her eyes were the scariest. They flashed and flickered with a turmoil of emotions he wished he could read. She wasn't just angry or scared or betrayed—she was some strange combination of the three. Was that how a woman looked at her ex-lover? Was there any regret in her expression at all?

His heart hammered in his chest. He'd never met such a confusing, unreadable woman. He wished there was some way to make her speak her mind openly, to make her explain every flicker of emotion he saw in her face.

"Well," he said. "I'm waiting."