OLIVIA
The heavy, wrought-iron gates of my family’s New York estate groaned open, welcoming my black town car into the freezing, rain-slicked courtyard. The bleak Manhattan weather matched the hollow ache in my chest.
I stared through the tinted window at the towering, gray stone facade of the only place I ever truly called home. Armed guards in thick black coats patrolled the perimeter, their breath pluming in the icy air. It had been two years since I last stepped foot on this property. Two years of an Italian cage.
That's when the car stopped.
When the driver opened my door, the biting, bitter wind immediately whipped my hair across my face and chilled my skin through my thin wool coat.
Michael was already standing at the top of the marble steps, in a dark navy sweater.
Getting
