Chapter 3 - The Reconstruction of Identity
The townhouse was minimalist, clean, and filled with the scent of polished wood and fresh linen. There were no family photos, no personal items, no traces of the dangerous world Dominic governed. It was a blank slate—a place designed for a person to disappear into.
"The master bedroom has a connected bath," Dominic said, guiding her through the wide living room. "There are clean clothes in the closet. Sweatpants, shirts... things my assistant ordered from a boutique down the street an hour ago. They should be your size."
"You ordered them an hour ago?" Anna asked, turning to look at him, her brows furrowing. "But I only called you twenty minutes before you arrived."
Dominic stopped, his gray eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the breath catch in her throat. "The moment you married him three years ago, Anna, I kept a team on your perimeter. Not to interfere. Not to break your peace. But because I knew the type of man who wears charity pins on his lapel. I knew he was a coward. I’ve had three safe houses prepped for you since 2024. I was just waiting for the phone to ring."
A tear slipped from Anna's eye, tracking through the dust and dried blood on her cheek. "Why didn't you stop it? If you knew... if you were watching..."
"Because you wanted normal, Anna," Dominic said softly, his voice dropping into a rough, emotional register that shook her to her core. He stepped a fraction closer, his hand hovering near her cheek but never making contact. "You told me beneath the elevated train tracks three years ago that my world was too dark for you. You wanted a man who built schools. If I had broken into your house and dragged you away, I would have been no better than the monster you were living with. You had to choose to leave him. You had to want me to come get you."
Anna closed her eyes, the sheer weight of her past choices crashing down upon her. She had run from Dominic because she was afraid of the rumors, afraid of the men in dark coats, afraid of the power he wielded over the city. She had chosen Grant because he was safe, respectable, and universally loved by the community. And that respectability had become her cage.
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"Go wash your face, Anna," Dominic said, his tone shifting back into that steady, protective tone. "I'll be downstairs in the kitchen. I'm making some food. Real food. Not country club garbage."
As the bathroom door clicked shut behind her, Anna looked at herself in the wide silver mirror. The dusty-blue bridesmaid dress was ruined, stained with rainwater and mud from the patio floor. Her jaw was swollen, a deep purple mark forming near her ear. But as she reached back to unzip the silk fabric, she realized something profound—the chain around her neck was gone. For the first time in three years, Grant Ashford didn't know where she was breathing.
