But to me, he had been a shield.

“I would like to keep working,” I said. “If you will have me.”

“As an analyst?” Adrian asked, a slight smile touching his lips.

“Yes,” I said. “I think I am finished being just a secretary.”

“The position is yours,” Adrian said. “You have proved your skills are far beyond what we were utilizing.”

Mrs. Gable returned with a silver tray, placing two cups of hot chamomile tea on the table between us.

The steam rose in lazy curls, catching the firelight.

I picked up my cup, the warm porcelain heating my palms.

The rain outside had stopped completely, replaced by the quiet rustle of the wind through the oak trees.

For the first time in years, I did not look over my shoulder.

I did not listen for footsteps in the hallway.

I sat in the quiet library of the estate, knowing the lock on the door was no longer my only defense.

I was safe.

The battle was over, and the future was finally mine to write.