“Leave the boxes.”

“Take your handbag, your papers, and get into a cab.”

“Go straight to the Carlyle Hotel.”

“I will have a room booked for you under Julian’s name.”

“Don’t argue with them.”

“Just leave.”

She let out a small, broken sob.

“I’ve lived in this cottage for fifteen years, Evelyn.”

“I know,” I said.

“I will make him pay for this.”

“I promise you.”

I hung up and looked at Julian.

“Put her on your card,” I said.

“I will reimburse you the moment we break his grip on my assets.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Julian said, his eyes dark with anger.

The town car pulled away from the curb, leaving the bright lights of The Monarch behind us.

***

The suite at the Carlyle was quiet, save for the hum of the heater against the windowpane.

The gray morning light filtered through the heavy silk curtains.

I sat at the mahogany desk, a cold cup of black coffee sitting untouched beside my laptop.

Julian knocked and let himself in.

He carried a stack of morning papers and his tablet.