POV : Fiona
The New York mansion was exactly as I had left it two years ago.
It was massive, impeccably clean, and completely suffocating. The towering marble columns and the crystal chandeliers didn't look like a home; they looked like the bars of a very expensive, very beautiful prison.
The moment we stepped through the front doors, Maxwell handed his coat to the waiting butler and turned to me. His mouth opened, likely to issue another demand or perhaps to offer an apology.
I didn't give him the chance to speak.
I did not look at his face. I didn't acknowledge his presence. I simply walked right past him, my heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. I bypassed the grand staircase that led to the master suite and walked all the way down the long, empty corridor of the E
