Roberto fixes a drainpipe as I look on, waiting for him to answer me. My eyes continue to flicker to the window, where I know Norman's tinted vehicle is waiting to conceal me from the dangerous streets.

I hear the man on his back groan beneath the sink. "This damn thing."

"Roberto, I really need to get going. My ride is waiting downstairs."

His thick accent echoes against the peeled wood. "I don't know what to tell you, babe. The only time the guy resembled anything of a decent human being was when he was with you. When you left, he really fell apart. A nasty, nasty deadbeat... I'm sorry, doll, I have nothing on him, and I don't know why you are looking for it, but I'd tell you to let it go. He ain't worth it."

"I would let it go if I could."

It's not easy to push past the dejection I experience at yet another letdown attempt to put Dixon in his place. Roberto climbs out from the cabinets, rubbing his aching back as he straightens.

"This must be bad. You were arrested last week, right? I saw it in the paper. Was it because of him?"

With just a sharp look, I answer him. He begins to shake his head, huffing to himself.

"I don't envy you right now. I can't imagine cameras and people following me around all day. The downside of breaking up with a celebrity." He must catch the quick divert of my gaze, which lands on my towering stilettos, because he immediately checks himself. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't believe everything I read."

"We ended things amicably, together. There was no dumping."

"Well, I hope you aren't too upset over it. You're probably better off anyway. You don't need all that drama."

I ignore that, tittering in place agitatedly. "Come on, Rob. There's gotta be something you can tell me about him, something you remember."

He sets down the tools he had been cleaning with a dirty hand towel with a sigh, and directs his line of sight to the floor, trying to think back.

"I know his dealers? I mean, not personally of course, but I know who they are."

I'm already pulling out my phone to input whatever information he chooses to divulge. He holds up his hands, towel hanging from his left.

"Now, Scarlett, these guys are the real deal. I doubt they'd enjoy an interrogation from a former cop's wife and trust me, they'll find out if you don't tell them."

I smile with determination. "Let me worry about the details."

...

With a slide into the backseat of Norman's limo, I shut the door with finality and grin.

"You look like you got something."

I turn to Norman, handing over my phone. He squints, scanning the names I typed in, unable to see clear without his glasses.

"Fernando Vasquez. Connie Leto. Who are these people?"

"Dixon's old suppliers."

Norman's already pale, but he shades to the color of a ghost at my admission.

"And what do you expect to get from them?"

"Information, of course." When he doesn't pick up on my excitement, I lean closer. "Norman, this is gold. If I can link Dixon to these men—"

"No."

"No?"

He shakes his head, eyes buggered. "No way in hell you are meeting drug dealers."

"Norman, it's a few questions. I'll be careful, of course."

"No."

I blink back my disbelief, having expected relief from him, considering the huge step forward this has taken us, when since the start, we've been in the back lane. He only regards me with sternness. "Norman."

"Your P.I. can go check on them, from a distance. But in no way am I letting you anywhere near these guys."

I click in my seatbelt, a ticking anger rising up from its slumber. "It's hilarious that you think you can forbid me from anything."

"I'm not doing all this to put you in more danger, Scarlett. I'm trying to take care of you. Now is not the time to make stupid decisions."

"Stupid?"

"Yes. Stupid. In a perfect world, you'd show up in front of those guys, they'd tell you what you need and they'd let you leave without so much as a question. But, a pretty woman showing up at their door, asking questions about her former cop husband's drug preferences will make them shut the damn door on you. And that's best case scenario."

"I don't have the luxury to be afraid. Every day we wait is a day Dixon gains more power against me. Against Giovanni."

"Your fear is warranted. But there are other ways, less immersive ways, to get ahead. You have an investigator. Use him."

My silence is truly loud, vibrating throughout the backseat.

"I know you want this for yourself. You want to be the one to hurt him, but at some point, you have to think about your own life. You don't, far too often. Giovanni has made his decision. He knows how fast this could go wrong and he's accepted it."

I shake my head, my nerves and irritation strangling my sense of hope. "We won't survive something like that. Even if Giovanni were able to get past losing everything, his family would never let him."

"He wouldn't be losing everything," he retorts. I peer at him beneath thick lashes and he shrugs. "If he loves you as he says he does, he'll realize what he fought for. Winning or losing will mean nothing."

I roll my eyes. "Your wisdom sounds like a damn Hallmark movie."

"Your romance is far too complicated for Hallmark, darling."

His smile begins to break my resistance but I conceal my wavering rage, focusing on the yellow taxi speeding to make the light beside us. We slow to a stop, hearing blaring horns and shouts from vendors from a short distance away.

"Whether you believe it or not, I know what I'm talking about. I have loved a great deal in my life—"

"You're talking about my mother?" I turn my attention to him, pointedly. "That was a cheap trick, sending me to the cabin with no explanation, no warning."

"I figured you wouldn't go if you knew."

"I probably wouldn't have."

"She and I were extremely happy in that one-bedroom house. My happiest memories were there." He swallows. "I-I remember when she told me that she was pregnant—"

My eyes shut tight in an effort to steel myself. He's determined to make her real.

"Norman, please."

"I'm sorry," he says, after a moment. "I just wish you would listen."

I lean into the leather with a long sigh. As much as I don't want to get into this, I know we're about to.

"I know you were in love. And yes, I could sense the happiness there." The car surges forward again and turns. I reach out to steady myself. "It... looks as though you haven't been there since she died."

"I haven't—couldn't."

"Your memories will go to waste there. You shouldn't neglect them," I force myself to say, refusing to sound as though I care.

"Losing her nearly destroyed me, Scarlett." He frowns, the wrinkles along his forehead crinkling deeply. "We had just moved to the city. I was in an apartment that was still half unpacked. I had forced her to come here because my business was booming and I didn't want to commute anymore."

"That's understandable. It's a two-hour drive," I whisper, hearing the uneasiness in his voice.

"She didn't want to leave Cold Springs. She fought so hard on it, said that the city was no place to raise a child."

"That's probably true."

He lets out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, well. I just have trouble still. I can't go to that place. Not now. I let her down... in the greatest way."

My head shakes at his words, but my mouth remains sealed shut. At my lack of a reply, he sighs and leans his head back onto the seat, closing his eyes. Mine travel over his tired, pasty features, noticing a weakness in him that's only appeared in the last couple of days.

"Are you alright?"

He loosens his tie, swallowing with a sharp nod. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I can go to the event alone, Norman. If you're feeling sick—"

"I'm fine," he replies with more emphasis. I shut my mouth, positive I'm not sure how to handle this situation. Do I provide him comfort? Do I act like he's not sick? What does he want me to do?

"Monica can't make this one. She's heading to a book signing in Brooklyn so it'll just be me and you. Connor will be there. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

Connor will be there.

Damn, I should expect to answer quite a few questions tonight then.

...

"You look beautiful." Carlos presses a kiss to my cheek, taking hold of my hands to pull apart my arms, forcing me to show him my gown in all its glory. There was something incredibly depressing about putting on a dress that Giovanni once purchased for me. The feeling has lasted through the ride here and now I have to put on a happy facade, reminding everyone that I am the face of this company, that despite the current exploitation of my personal life, I am still on top of my work.

"Satin looks great on you."

"You know you always rock a tux," I respond as he leads me into the building's event room, which is discreetly decorated to promote our largest clients. Posters and boards are hung and perched throughout the crowded space. The catering tables surround the walls, but nearly all the guests are nearing their seats to prepare for the fancy dinner they are about to be served while listening to Norman give an obligatory speech. The lighting is dim and intimate, and the chatter is warm, accompanied by soft hums of laughter.

"You've been DOA for a while. I thought you staying from Cali would mean I'd see you more but it's had the opposite effect... I miss you."

"It's been a lot. Staying when I thought I was leaving. I'm just getting situated again."

Carlos retrieves two flasks of golden champagne from a server passing by with a tray. "And life without Giovanni? Bec told me you ended it to focus on work?"

I sip the bubbly drink, wrapping an arm around my body. "Yeah, we did."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Rebecca did too."

He nods. "Because we know you."

My eyes roll towards the ceiling, but I refuse to lie further to him. "I like our conversations better when we're talking about you."

"I'm sure you do. Always avoiding shit."

If only he knew how much I was actually confronting on my own time.

He rubs my back in soothing circles and smiles down at me warmly. "Want to get a quick dance in before din—?"

"Scarlett."

Carlos and I turn together toward the call, and find my P.I. walking towards me. I blink stupidly, having told him to only use the pass into the building for matters of the utmost importance. He stops a few feet away, giving me the opportunity to excuse myself.

"Who is that?"

"A friend," I tell Carlos, resting my hand against his tux jacket. "I'll meet you at the table."

I don't give him time to answer, immediately gravitating towards Donnie Osborne, praying he has good news for me. We seclude ourselves in the corner lacking bodies, huddled close.

"What did you find?" I whisper to him.

"Martinelli's ex is involved with someone."

"Lola. Okay." I don't understand the importance. "Who is the guy?"

"A movie director. Big hot shot jerk."

"Okay."

"And a married man."

The pure joy I feel at those words. I begin to smile. "Is there proof?"

He nods. "My guy got photos."

"Perfect." There isn't a hesitant bone in my body. While this doesn't take me a step further in my fight against Dixon, this will give me satisfaction. She blew up my life once. I will return the favor. "Leak them to tabloids."

He nods once affirmatively, backing up. "I've sent all the information to your email."

"Anything on Dixon? Did you get my message about the dealers?"

"I did. I'm looking into it tonight, when my guy arrives back from California."

"Thank you, Don. Good work."

He nods and turns, exiting the way he came. With my hands on my hips, I keep my face towards the ground to hide my menacing excitement.

I begin to walk toward the tables, finding the executives table within moments. Norman is on stage, speaking about the current and future projects we will take on the rest of this year and the beginning of next. As I take a seat next to Carlos, smiling to him reassuringly, my eyes dart back to the CEO, who is illuminated beneath a white spotlight. I find myself hoping that it's the gritty lighting that is making him look so sick but I know better. He's gripping the sides of the podium, knuckles white. The seat beside me is pulled out and I look up, seeing Connor scooting himself into the space.

"Long time no see."

I smile softly. "Hello, Connor."

Our attention is directed to the stage as we listen devotedly.

"So, you really are back? I can't believe it. What did he offer you?"

"It's a long story," I reply back, not looking away from Norman.

"I bet it is. Must have really been something to leave Giovanni. You had everything planned."

"We're going to need to talk about this later," I whisper, not relishing the fact that Carlos can hear every word I'm saying. Last thing I need is him angry with me for keeping deeper secrets than he can imagine.

"How long are your plans on hold?"

"With everything that's arisen, I cannot say."

He must sense my lack of openness because he shuts his mouth, leaning back to listen in on Norman's closing statement. There's a thunderous applause and Norman quickly makes his exit. When he doesn't reappear right away, I begin to grow worried. I stand up, excusing myself politely.

I corner the stage, and search for him, coming up empty. I walk to the closest hallway, and peer into the window. He's there, unscrewing a pill bottle with difficulty and for the first time in a very, very long time, I'm genuinely concerned for him and willing to show it.

I open the door, and he turns, as if he's a child caught stealing candy. I sigh, closing the door gently behind me.

"What's going on?"

He shakes his head. "I-I just need to get this open."

I focus on his shaking hands and move towards him, reaching out. "H-Here. Let me."

"No. I've got it. No."

I stop, biting the inside of my lip as fear gathers at the pit of my stomach. He's sweating profusely.

"Norman, please."

"Scarlett, I've got this."

He pulls the cap open with a triumphant chuckle. He turns the bottle towards his outstretched palm but his tremors are too strong. I shoot out my hands and catch the bottle before the contents spill over the edge. He grunts to himself, lost in his own frustration.

"How many do you take?" I ask, cautiously containing the tone of my voice, ridding it of any worry so I don't agitate him further.

"Two."

"It says one here," I murmur after scanning the prescription briefly.

"Well, I take two."

"Is that safe?"

"I don't know. It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

At his agitated reply, I decide to do what he says, placing two tablets into his palm. He shoots them back, and swallows them without liquid.

I snap the cap tight and hand him back the pills. As he stuffs them into his tuxedo jacket, I step closer to him.

"I think you need to call it a night."

"Don't overreact now."

"I'm not. You're sweating, pale and shaking. Norman, you're not well."

"I'm the host of this event. I cannot just leave. There are people to greet, things to be—"

I rest my hand on his arm, stopping him. He looks at me, his eyes glossy.

"I am here. Norman, I will handle it. We can say something came up and you had to go."

I watch him wrestle with himself, his mouth twisting in frustration and barely suppressed anger. I have a hard time seeing him this way, realizing that he's much sicker than I had initially thought.

"Please," I whisper. "Your health is the most important thing right now. Please."

I'm relieved and shocked to see him nod, even if it is reluctantly. And I hear my own exhale of relief as he presses his lips together.

"Make sure you speak to Gloria and her husband. We're about to launch—"

"The Interior Design app. I will reassure them of the date. They will know it's our top priority."

"I didn't know you read up on them."

"I also spoke to Derry, who says he is ready to sign to the firm."

"Is that the—?"

I nod. "He's franchising his bar, spreading out over the country."

"Oh right." He regards me with interest, even in his state of discomfort. "I shouldn't have underestimated you then."

I smile softly, clearing my throat. "We'll be fine here."

When he takes hold of my hand, squeezing gently, I don't pull back.

"Yes, you will be."

There's so much weight in those words, so much he's actually saying without saying it. My eyes follow him as he exits the hallway, stiffness to his step as he turns the corner. I resist going after him to make sure he gets to his ride alright, knowing that would just stir gossip.

The moments I spend in complete silence, soaking in the sight I just saw, leave me baffled. The man I've known for so long, always so fearless and strong, so determined to find his next step, is nearly gone. This disease is beginning to tear that away, and soon, he will no longer be the person I know.

He will try to be, but you cannot fight this. Not really.

He knows that. You can see he knows that.

I feel what's to come in this moment. My world is about to be shaken even further, and there is absolutely no way to change the outcome. No bribes, no pleads, no research can change this.

The door opens, and Carlos is there, perking up at the sight of me. "What are you doing in here?"

I shake off the chill still hovering over my skin, and mumble an excuse of catching some air, following him back out into the party. The towering stage conceals us from the guests, but there are congestions of people from the catering company, delivering large trays of fragrant foods. The comforting smell of marinara wafts through the air, promising the satisfaction of a real Italian dinner.

"I hope you and Giovanni left things on good terms," he murmurs beside me. My brows furrow at his crypticness.

"What? Why?"

"Because he walked through the door a few minutes ago." He nudges his chin toward the fountain beside the bar. "He's here."

The initial loss of breath in reaction to his words is quickly recovered by the joy of setting sights on my fiancé, standing in a classic tuxedo—tailored white jacket, black dress pants—speaking to someone in casual banter while waiting for a drink at the bar. I hardly remember Carlos is beside me. I would have forgotten if he'd not grabbed my hand.

"Do you want to go talk to him?"

Containing myself, I tear my eyes from Giovanni and shake my head to Carlos, a muted smile on my lips. "No. There's other people to see. Norman had an emergency at home, so, I'll be taking over the mingling duties."

"God help you, babe."

I chuckle, squeezing his hand before I slide out of his grasp, laying my hand against his back instead to urge him to head into the party. "Dinner is about to begin. I'll meet you. I need to head over to Gloria before she gets too drunk."

He takes my bait with grace and heads back into the party, disappearing into the crowd. My gaze swivels to Giovanni, my feet starting forward in ridiculous heels as I enter the room officially again. I'm not sure if it's my platinum blonde waves, the shiny satin of the dress, or the fact that we're naturally pulled to each other that catches his attention, making his eyes dart to mine within seconds, as if he already knew where I had been.

At first glance, they are full of an underlying relief, overwhelming emotion. However, with just a few more safe seconds to stare before people catch on to our proximity and the scandal that will continue to accompany us everywhere we go, he rids of any affection in them.

Expertly, I do the same, turning away from him just as I notice people begin to look between us, realizing the significance of being together in the same room, and not approaching each other. Even as I go through the motions, uttering quick hellos to our prominent investors and upcoming clients, I remain vigilant on where he is, who he speaks to, where he sits.

I have no idea why he is here.

Perhaps it is simply to stir up more gossip, so that people will truly believe we aren't attached anymore.

Perhaps it is to tell me something, something important. I feel if it were that though, he'd already found a way to get me alone.

Maybe he's just been in agony these days apart and needed to see me again.

Throughout dinner, as I watch him speak to the pretty woman who was placed beside him a few tables away from my own, my fingers turn in on each other, closing into fists, my chest expanded painfully. He's distant, but obliging to her incessant doting. I'm caught in my turbulence, as Carlos uncurls my fingers to take my hand under the table.

"Honey," he whispers. "Just let it go. You know how he is."

I nod and look down; hearing the people around me talking politely about a Broadway play one of them had just attended. Unable to help it, I peer his way once more, expecting him to still be engaged with the girl. However, he's not looking at her. Relaxed around the corners, gentle and unmarred with complication, his eyes bore into my own, stealing the air from my lungs. Just a few seconds staring into them, and I'm reassured, any worries I had dissipated into thin air.

His mouth extends wider into a hidden smirk, saying so much with barely any action. He knows my frustrations, my desire to be close to him. His features tell me that he is experiencing the same need. I tear myself from his bewitching spell before he produces a smile from my lips as well.

Throughout dinner and then some, I am constantly asked about Norman's whereabouts. I inform them of the family matter he had to attend to, offering the same story every time, until it resembles something of a memorized speech. I avoid Connor's probing, careful to be friendly, even when I am diverting myself from the subject of the man seated a few feet away from me.

Eyes are always felt. Whether they are Giovanni's or the guests, who take much enjoyment in basking in my own private life and the scandal of having to remain so close to an "ex" of mine for work purposes, they are no less intense. By the close of the night, my nerves are shot, my brain a jumbled mess of excuses and polite uttering's.

Giovanni escapes when the first round of guests begin to file out—the early birds. I follow his quick, discreet exit in silence, noting that he doesn't head in the direction of the lobby, but toward the elevators. My heart, remembering this feeling of secrecy from our earlier days, begins to pound in my chest as my body wrestles with my brain, which tells me I must remain here a while longer.

Which is why I stay put. I go through the motions, until everyone is gone. Connor. The investors. Carlos, who leaves reluctantly, thinking I'm staying behind because I cannot face going home. Little does he know—my home is right here, in this building.

With only the catering company left cleaning and packing, I set down my scotch and head in the same direction I saw him go, hoping he's waited for me. I offer small smiles to the guests trickling out of the lobby as I make my way to the elevators, hopping into an open one before it closes. The ascent seems to span forever, each red blink of a flashing number moving too slow to meet my satisfaction.

I try to calm myself, realizing it's been a while since he left and that it is a good possibility he left already thinking I wasn't going to come, or that I hadn't seen him head in this direction. But somehow, deep down, I know better than that.

There's no way he'd leave without seeing me.

The chime sounds loudly as the sliding doors part, revealing the man I've been looking for, leaning against the glass wall to the conference room. His hands are tucked into his pants, his feet crossed, casually debonair without even trying. His hair has gotten a trim. It's hard to tell how short because it's styled back with gel, although delicate strands have begun to escape the hold. Usually, his curls are untamed and gloriously healthy—wild ebony spirals to frame the sharp angles of his face perfectly. But now, standing here, they resemble that of a neoclassical sculpture, rippled back into perfect waves as if someone had smoothed and doted upon them for hours to achieve perfection.

I know him better than that. He's done next to nothing to pull of this look.

It comes naturally for him.

He straightens the moment my feet are skipping off the elevator and has his arms extended for my inevitable embrace before I've even reached him. I don't jump into his arms—I crash.

In the darkness of the office, he pulls back to gaze down at me, all brooding gone. His mouth is breaking from the wideness of his grin as he grasps the nape of my neck, his slender, strong fingers moving over the bare skin until they nestle into my hair, taking hold of the clip keeping it all up and pulls with enough force that the mess all comes down.

"Think we fooled them?" he whispers, disrupting the silence, the forbidden charade we've managed to pull off all night. My eyes close, my head nodding distractedly in agreement as he grabs a greedy handful of the waves, inhaling deeply.

I don't move, content in this moment, enjoying the knowledge that his mouth is only inches from my own, his eyes scouring every feature I have. I stumble a step closer, my hands slipping into his jacket, wanting to feel the hard curves of his body through his clothes but I don't open my eyes.

The moment is strikingly intimate. To not be kissing. To not be speaking.

Just standing, nose to nose, in a deserted office neither of us should be in.

His hands eventually move from my hair, feather-light against my bare shoulder, spreading out over my spine to hip, where he pulls me even closer until he surprises my mouth with his. When they only press to mine for a second before leaving me bereft, my eyes part with a heavy reluctance to find his are alight with a warmth I've only seen when we are together.

"It's like we've turned back time," he murmurs to me.

"Quick exits, stolen moments, lingering stares. I remember this well."

"It's strange... how easy it comes."

I nod, reluctantly. "And how good it makes me feel."

"The only time we've ever been truly safe was when we were hiding." He smiles, ruefully. "If only that were enough."

Before my eyes close, my face tilting into his palm, I catch a glimpse of a tender smile, as he appreciates my affection, my reactions to his touch. He knows I cannot help it. That his skin is a tonic for me, a relief and distraction from the cruel, cruel world I live in. I take every ounce of warmth he has to offer with greed, truly living in this private seclusion with him.

"Would it frighten you if I said I wanted to possess you?" he whispers into the air, the deepness of his voice laced with a hungering need.

My eyes reopen, meeting his in silence. He stares down at me, letting me witness the adoration that is constant in his gaze. Naturally, the sentence takes me aback, but instead of fear, I only feel longing. A longing to be possessed by him.

His thumb gently slides along my lips, and his eyes follow the movement. I'm left stuck on his face, wanting more. More words. More kisses. More lavishment.

"None of this is enough for me. To marry you isn't enough for me. To love you isn't either." He entraps me in his intensity, and I hang on every word, as if they were my only form of oxygen. "I want to possess every part of you—I need to. I need your mind... your body."

His fingers dig deeper into my back, tugging me closer, as close as possible until I'm pressed tightly to his frame, staring up helplessly at him as he tells me of his demands. The hand that had been caressing my face, moves down, hovering over my chest. He rests his palm against my heart.

"I need your soul. I want it."

My soul. My tormented, misfit soul.

He wants it. He needs it.

I'm sure he can feel the way my organ beneath his hand thumps unsteadily at his request, mostly because, he already has what he is asking for. He's had it from the moment I saw him cross the empty, snow-covered street on Christmas day. The day he decided to be my someone when he knew I had no one.

My eyes bounce off his expression, drinking in his flawlessness, his passion.

The fact that we're alone when we should be apart only heightens the moment, knowing this is a stolen minute we'll have to live on later. There's so much I need to tell him, so much that needs to be said before he has to go, but for right now, I don't want to move. I don't want to even think about anyone else, the world outside these walls.

"It's not much."

He shakes his head immediately. "I don't care."

I know I'm glowing beneath his touch. "And yours? Your mind, your body, your soul?"

His smile is blinding as he takes my face between his capable hands. "Yours. It's always been yours, from the moment you dropped into my life and drove me up the damn wall."

I'm warm all over, to the very bone. I laugh at the frustration I hear in his tone at the last part of his admission. I reach up, touching his face for the first time since I arrived, gliding the front face of my finger along his smooth jaw, freshly shaved for this elegant occasion.

"Do you ever think for one second that you didn't have it?" I whisper, now watching him gaze upon me with wonder and longing, hanging on my words. "Even when we first started this, even when you went away... there's no one else I'd give this to. No one but you."

He smiles and exhales, leaning in. I close my eyes, and stretch up to wrap my arms around his wide shoulders, pressing my face into his jacket. Our constant need for reassurance, our constant need to hear words of love and devotion have calmed and comforted us. And now, we can stand the thought of being apart.

"It's fragile," I remind him after a moment, suddenly able to remember what waits for me at my new temporary home. Norman, and his illness, and all that means. And even what awaits me just outside this building, and the possibility of the reporters, of Dixon.

His grip tightens, his hand cradling the nape of my neck. "I'll protect you."