“Why you must rile this boy up every time he’s calm, I’ll never understand,” Christiana commented without looking up.

“Because he’s mine, Christiana. He’s my son. I can do whatever I want to do with my child,” Morgan stated.

Christiana lifted her eyes slowly until she was staring Morgan directly in the eyes. “The amount of authority you think you have over these children is cute, Morgan Atkins. You’re soon to be a Fredrick. Mrs. Sebastian Fredrick. The power in that is leased. I own it. I own you. I own them. The sooner you realize that, the more you’ll begin to fit your new life. Use the name he’s giving you. Stop running back to that mediocre lifestyle you used to lead. When you’re ready, I’ll open the world to you. Until then, no medical school, no nothing. You’ll be a wife and mother and nothing else.”

The chill she spoke with made Morgan’s eyes prickle. When she had first met Christiana, she had admired her. Morgan had respected her. To be a black royal had seemed so honorable—like a privilege—but Morgan hadn’t recognized the price. It wasn’t until Christiana began stripping Morgan of the things that made her her that Morgan began to see the cost of prestige. It started with her clothes. Then her hair. Then her posture. Then the places she could and couldn’t go. Now the people she could and couldn’t see. Another girl might be willing to erase her past, but Morgan’s past meant everything to her, despite how painful it had been. Her past was where her family lived. All she had were the memories of them to get her by. She couldn’t erase that part of her if she wanted to.

“Yeah, let me get out of here real fast,” Morgan scoffed. “Messari, baby, follow Mommy.”

Morgan ran away as if she were never coming back. She drove so fast that dirt kicked up behind her car. Escape. She was looking for a way out, even if it was just temporary. Morgan headed west, hitting the highway that would take her back to Flint. The red rose she had saved sat dried up on her dashboard. The lone survivor of the bouquets Bash had put in the trash.

She wished she could run to him. Once upon a time, she would have. It seemed like so long ago. She picked up her phone and dialed one number. It was like a lifeline. A direct connection to the best listener she knew.

“Hey, baby girl.” The voice was instant relief, and Morgan let out a sigh. She had love. She possessed so much of it outside the walls of Bash’s castle.

“Can you meet me somewhere?”