The next weekend was supposed to be for me to get a break to get a breathe . Just forty-eight hours away from the stifling air of the penthouse, away from Logan’s unblinking slate-grey stare, and away from the heavy, territorial weight of his hand resting on my stomach every single night.
I needed to breathe. I needed to remember the sound of my own voice when it wasn't echoing back submission.
My small duffel bag was already hidden in the trunk of my car. I had gone to Potter Watts earlier in the week, using a carefully manufactured excuse about a family emergency back home. Potter, surprisingly, had approved the personal time without digging into the details. Maybe even the team's general manager could see the quiet, fraying edges of my sanity.
The arena parking lot was still buzzin
