After His Mistress Framed Me for Hurting His Niece

Dalton didn't ask.

He turned to the two men in black suits standing by the door. His voice was flat. Final.

"Throw her off the balcony."

I stopped breathing.

The bodyguards moved. They crossed the foyer in three steps. Their hands closed around my arms.

"Dalton." My voice cracked. "Dalton, please."

He didn't look at me. He was looking at Kori. She was crying into her hands. Her shoulders shook. He put his arm around her and turned away.

The men dragged me toward the terrace doors.

I fought.

I twisted. I pulled. I dug my heels into the marble and it didn't matter. They were twice my size. My knee screamed. My ribs screamed. They hauled me through the doors onto the balcony like I weighed nothing.

The night air hit my face. Cold. Clean. The estate grounds spread out below. Three stories down. Grass and stone and garden lights.

"Wait." I looked back. Dalton was still in the doorway. Kori's face was buried in his chest. "Dalton, look at me."

He looked.

I searched his face for something. Doubt. Hesitation. Anything.

There was nothing. Just cold fury. Just Kori's hand on his arm.

"Please," I whispered.

The bodyguards lifted me. My feet left the ground. The railing pressed against my spine.

For one second, I saw everything. The house. The lights. Dalton's face. Kori's smile over his shoulder.

Then they pushed.

I went over.

The air opened up. The ground rushed toward me. My arms reached for nothing. My mouth opened but no sound came out.

I thought: This is how it ends.

I thought: I loved him.

I thought: I don't anymore.

The impact was a sound I felt before I heard. A crack. A crunch. A wet snap somewhere deep inside.

Then nothing.

I woke up to white.

White ceiling. White walls. White sheets. The smell of antiseptic and something metallic under my tongue.

I tried to move. Pain exploded through my left side. I gasped and a machine next to me started beeping.

A nurse appeared. Her face was kind. She touched my shoulder.

"Don't move, honey. You're okay. You're at Overlake Medical."

I tried to speak. My throat was sandpaper.

"What—"

"You fell. Three stories. You're very lucky."

Lucky.

I looked down. My left arm was in a cast from wrist to elbow. My ribs were wrapped tight. I couldn't feel my legs.

"My legs—"

"Fractured pelvis. You'll feel them soon. The doctor will be in shortly."

She adjusted something on the IV. The beeping stopped.

"Is there anyone we can call?"

I closed my eyes.

"My father," I whispered. "Gerald Mills. San Francisco."

She nodded and left.

I lay there and stared at the ceiling. I tried to remember falling. I remembered the air. The cold. Dalton's face.

I remembered the moment before I hit the ground. The moment when everything I'd felt for three years just stopped. Like a light going out. Like a door closing.

No anger. No heartbreak. Just silence.

I didn't love him anymore.

I didn't feel anything at all.

The door opened.

I turned my head. It took effort.

Rome stood in the doorway.

He was still in his travel clothes. Dark jeans. Gray henley. His bag was slung over one shoulder. He looked at me and his jaw tightened.

He crossed the room. Set his bag down. Pulled the chair close to the bed and sat.

He didn't say anything.

I looked at him. At the face I'd known since I was seven. At the eyes that had never once looked at me the way Dalton's had tonight.

"How bad?" I asked.

His voice was quiet. Steady. "Broken arm. Two ribs. Fractured pelvis. Internal bleeding. They got it under control."

I nodded. It hurt.

"Millie?"

"Concussion. Broken wrist. She'll be okay."

I closed my eyes. Thank god. Thank god.

"Rome."

"Yeah."

"I didn't push her."

"I know."

I opened my eyes. He was looking at me. His face was calm. Certain.

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he said again.

My throat closed. I looked away.

"Your dad's making your breakfast," Rome said. "I told him I'd get you home."

Home.

San Francisco. My childhood bedroom. The house that smelled like my mother's paintings and my father's coffee.

Not the apartment in Seattle. Not the estate in Bellevue. Not anywhere Dalton Hawkins existed.

"How long?" I asked.

"Three days. Then you can travel."

Three days.

The ten-day cooling-off period would be over in three days.

I looked at Rome. He was still watching me. Patient. Waiting.

"Okay," I whispered.

He nodded. He didn't move. He just sat there. Solid. Real.

I closed my eyes and let the painkillers pull me under.

When I woke again, he was still there.