“Give it a try, kid,” he insists. “You prove me wrong, and I’ll actually pay you what you earn for two years.”

“If I do this,” I say slowly, “I do it my way.”

Sanford nods. “Of course.”

“I pick the location. I design the space. No bullshit.”

“No bullshit,” he agrees.

I lean back, exhaling sharply. “Fine.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Good. Because I already made some calls.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Fuck, Sanford.”

He just laughs. “Gotta stay ahead of you, kid. Otherwise, you’d find a way to talk yourself out of it.”

He’s not wrong.

I shake my head and try not to laugh at him. He better start saving money because in two years he’s going to be paying a lot of money and I . . . well, I hope I don’t lose a lot of clients because I’ll be staying in one place.

Chapter Two

Henrietta (Blythe)

You know what I love about small towns? How the warmth settles into your bones, sticking around like it has every right to—even if you don’t quite belong. Though I adore the picturesque streets or the familiar smiles, that’s not it either. Though those help. It’s the way time stretches a little longer like the world has taken a breath and softened around the edges.

It’s how people pause to talk, share stories, and actually listen. The way they treat strangers—not as temporary visitors, but like long-lost cousins finally returning home.

When I first left my old life behind, I went to South Carolina. My driver wasn’t interested in going all the way to Maryland without charging me a small fortune, so I ended up in a random motel off the interstate. I only stayed there for a week. It was too close, too risky—I didn’t want him to find me.

After that, I drifted north, ending up in Cedar Hollow, West Virginia, where I nearly bumped into one of his associates. One almost encounter was enough to send me fleeing again.

It’s been nearly two months of looking over my shoulder and desperately searching for a place to settle. A place safe enough not just for me, but for . . .

I touch my belly, anxiety stirring inside. A few weeks ago, I found out I’m pregnant. Definitely not something I expected, and one more reason to stay hidden. If Winston ever discovers that I not only dared to leave him but took away his child, he’ll probably kill me.

Now, I’m on my third fake ID, and my savings are dwindling faster than I expected. The jobs I manage to find are decent, but they don’t offer benefits. I need medical insurance. And a salary that will let me afford a small apartment because a child needs more than a room at a modest motel.