Half a month had crawled by, Eloise hadn’t seen Ainsley once. Hank showed up occasionally, always in a rush, dropping off clothes like he was trying not to be seen. The pack house guards moved differently now, stiffer, more alert, their faces tight with something she couldn’t read.
She stood at the window of her small room, watching the driveway beyond the tall gate, her reflection hollow in the glass.
Then, one afternoon, the heavy iron gates creaked open again.
Her heart jerked. A black Bentley rolled through.
From the second-floor landing, she stared. Her breath caught in her throat. That was his car.
She didn’t move. Her fingers gripped the railing. She was frozen in a place between resentment and feelings far more dangerous; hope.
He was back.
Kevin knocked once and pushed open
