Simmons gently but firmly removed her hand.

“I cannot disclose that information. It is a secure location.” He looked down at her, and for a split second the granite mask cracked. Something like pity moved behind his eyes. “Boss’s orders, Eliza. He said — ‘Don’t let her see me.’”

The words hit her like a physical slap.

Don’t let her see me. Not I don’t want to see her. But don’t let her see me.

It was shame. It was pride. It was Dallas building a wall so high and so thick that she would break her hands trying to climb it.

“He thinks I’m weak,” Eliza whispered, her voice trembling. “He thinks I can’t handle it.”

“He thinks he is protecting you,” Simmons said softly. “Go home, Eliza. Please.”

He turned and walked back into the elevator. The doors closed, severing the connection.

Eliza stood there for a long moment, staring at her reflection in the polished metal doors. She looked like a ghost — pale, disheveled, haunted.

She turned and walked toward the exit.

The automatic doors slid open, and a gust of freezing wind hit her. It was raining — a cold, miserable New York sleet that stung the skin. Eliza stepped out onto the sidewalk, shivering. She hadn’t brought an umbrella. She didn’t care.

She walked toward the taxi stand, her arms wrapped around herself.

A movement in the shadows caught her eye.

Near a concrete pillar, sheltered from the worst of the rain but still getting soaked by the spray, stood a woman. She was wearing a silver evening gown — the kind one might wear to a charity gala — but the hem was muddy and ruined. It was Bella Rose. She must have heard the news and run straight here from some event. Her blonde hair was plastered to her skull, and she was shivering violently, her teeth chattering audibly.

Eliza recognized her instantly. Her colleague. Her friend. Bella had been Dallas’s shadow, her loyalty unwavering. To see her now, so broken, was a stark mirror to Eliza’s own crumbling world.

Bella was staring at the hospital exit with a look of utter devastation. She wasn’t crying. She was simply waiting — like a dog whose master had not come home.

Eliza stopped. She should have felt anger. Jealousy. This woman had once wanted her husband.

But looking at Bella now, all she felt was a hollow ache of recognition. They were both out here in the cold, shut out by the same man.

Eliza took a step toward her, intending to offer — what? A ride? A coat? But before she could move, a black sedan pulled up to the curb near Bella.

The rear window rolled down.

Dr. Vance leaned out.

Eliza froze, stepping back into the shadow of a pillar.

“He won’t see you, Bella,” Vance said. His voice carried easily over the sound of the rain.

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