Chapter 2

Lora's POV

The next morning, I opened my eyes to find them swollen and red.

I held a cold cloth to my face at the bathroom mirror before finally opening the door and stepping out.

The smell of food was coming from the kitchen.

I stopped.

I was always the one who made breakfast.

I walked over and found Xander at the stove.

In three years of marriage, he had never cooked.

Something flickered in my chest. Was this an apology for last night?

He heard me come in and glanced back.

"You're up. Sit down, it's almost ready."

He carried the plates to the dining table.

French toast with smoked salmon, and a small dish of poached eggs drizzled with sauce.

I found it odd.

We always had milk and toast in the mornings. Xander knew that.

So why the elaborate breakfast today?

I was about to ask when he turned and went back into the kitchen, like there was still something to finish.

I looked at the food in front of me. It wasn't really to my taste, but I didn't want to waste the gesture. I picked up my fork and knife and made myself eat.

A few minutes later, Xander came out of the kitchen carrying a thermal container. He went straight to the entryway and put on his coat.

I finally spoke up.

"You're not eating? What's the thermal container for?"

"Shea's flying back today. I'm going to pick her up." He grabbed his keys, voice casual. "The food on the plane isn't great. I'm bringing her something."

The front door closed without hesitation.

I sat there with my fork and knife suspended in the air for a long moment.

He hadn't been apologizing.

The breakfast wasn't made for me at all. It was made for Shea.

And once again, I had been the accidental recipient.

I dumped the rest of the food in the trash.

Maybe it was that I wasn't used to that kind of meal. A little while later, my stomach turned. My throat felt tight and itchy.

I was worried about the baby. I didn't want to wait. I called a car and headed to the hospital.

In the ER, the doctor looked at my results and said, with an edge of reproach:

"You're pregnant and you're still not watching what you eat? Where's your family? You have a peanut allergy, a severe one. This could have killed you."

That's when I realized. Xander had put peanut butter in the French toast.

I had a serious peanut allergy. Xander knew. When we went out to eat, he always remembered to tell the server.

But Shea was back, and his whole mind was on her. Everything he knew about me had slipped away.

Lucky I'd barely eaten any of it. The reaction wasn't severe enough to require admission. A few hours on a drip and I'd be free to go.

By the time I walked out of the hospital, it was dark.

I was making my way home alone when I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned. Several figures were following at a steady, unhurried pace.

The blood drained from my body. Cold sweat broke out across my back.

I quickened my pace and pulled out my phone to call Xander.

It rang three times before he answered.

"Xander, someone is-"

"following me" never made it out. He cut me off.

"Hold on, my phone's about to die. I'll call you back later."

A beeping sound. He'd hung up.

I called again. Straight to voicemail.

The footsteps behind me were getting closer. The street was empty and quiet, and the lampposts stretched the shadows of the figures into something monstrous.

I didn't dare take the road home. That route was darker and more isolated. I kept to the main road, walking faster, almost running.

A black Mercedes pulled up alongside me.

The window rolled down. The man in the driver's seat had a kind, middle-aged face. He leaned over and looked at me.

"Hey, you need a lift? Where are you headed? We can drop you."

I glanced back at the figures closing in behind me, bit my lip, and pulled open the rear door.

I got in and nearly jumped out of my skin.

There was already a man in the back seat.

The interior was dim. I couldn't make out his face, but I could feel the sharp edge of his presence, as if the temperature in the car had dropped a few degrees just from being near him.

"Relax," he said. His voice was cool and even. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The force of his composure silenced me completely. Even the thank you I'd meant to say got swallowed.

A brief quiet settled over the car.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

I gave my address quickly.