The digital clock on the microwave read 3:42 AM.
Maggie moved through the platinum suite like a ghost. Her heart drummed against her ribs with terrifying intensity as she slipped out of her ruined blue dress and pulled on a thick, oversized black trench coat over comfortable sweatpants. She grabbed her purse, her medical records, and the burner phone, her movements swift and silent.
She glanced toward the guest room door. A sliver of light shone underneath. Elliot was awake, or perhaps he never truly slept—just a predator waiting for dawn.
Taking a deep breath, Maggie unlocked the suite’s main entry door with agonizing slowness. The heavy brass hinges didn't squeak, thanks to the hotel’s meticulous maintenance. She stepped out into the carpeted hallway, pulled the door shut until it clicked softly, and hurried toward the service wing at the end of the corridor.
Ryan had mapped out the hotel’s internal layout for her during family dinners long before Elliot isolated her from her family. Following his mental blueprint, Maggie navigated the labyrinth of linen closets, trash chutes, and industrial freight elevators used by the housekeeping staff.
Descending in the service lift, her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her bag. Every ding of the elevator bell felt like a gunshot.
When the doors slid open in the subterranean delivery bay of the Harrison Hotel, a blast of cool night air hit her face. She kept her head down, ducking past stacks of laundry carts and wholesale food crates until she reached the alley exit opening onto 42nd Street.
The Manhattan rain was falling in a cold, steady drizzle, mixing with the grease and neon reflections of the city streets. Maggie pulled her hood up, stepping out onto the wet pavement and shielding her protruding belly with her arms.
She walked three blocks south, her legs aching from exhaustion and the lingering trauma of the beating, until she reached West End Avenue.
A sleek black town car idled by the curb, its hazard lights blinking dimly. As Maggie approached, the rear passenger door swung open silently.
A hand reached out to steady her elbow. She looked up into the weathered, serious face of David Morrison.
“Get in, Maggie,” David said gently, helping her into the warm leather interior of the car. “You’re safe now.”
As the town car pulled away smoothly into the rainy night traffic, Maggie collapsed back against the seat, letting out a breath she felt like she had been holding for two agonizing years. But as she looked out the tinted window at the distant, glittering silhouette of the Chambers Global tower piercing the skyline, she knew the war had only just begun. Elliot Chambers was about to discover what happened when a cornered beast fought back.
