Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

The orphanage's iron gate shut in front of me.

"Visits require an appointment," the guard said through the glass window, not even glancing at my soaked clothes.

"My daughter was just brought here. Julia Reed. She's two..."

"All new admissions undergo a two-week isolation and observation period. No visits allowed."

I grabbed the bars. "I'm her mother!"

He finally looked up at me. "Legal documents show guardianship has been transferred to this institution. Please leave."

"At least tell me if she's okay…" My voice trembled.

"Please leave."

I took a step back, my foot sinking into a puddle.

As I looked up, I saw the window on the far right of the second floor. A small figure was pressed against the glass, clutching a faded bunny plush toy.

It was Julia.

I waved frantically.

She raised her little hand too, leaving a smudgy print on the glass.

The guard rushed out and shoved my shoulder. "Move along!"

I stumbled and fell, my knee scraping against the curb. When I looked up again, the window was empty.

I searched all my pockets.

Seventy dollars in total, a waterlogged taxi receipt, and the birthday card Lawrence gave me a year ago, the ink on the message "Love you forever" on the back had bled.

Forever was shorter than I'd thought.

I threw the card into a roadside trash can.

My phone had three percent battery left. I searched for "daily work high pay." The first result read: "Warehouse Stocker. $300/day. Lunch provided."

I dialed the number.

"Send me the address," I said.

The address in the text message was in the abandoned industrial zone west of the city.

The taxi driver watched me in the rearview mirror. "Lady, that place has been empty for years. You sure about going there for a job?"

"Just drive."

The area grew more desolate. Paved roads turned to gravel, then dirt.

The driver stopped. "Car can't go any further. You sure this is it?"

I checked the address in the text. "This is it."

After paying the fare, I had thirty-five dollars left.

The warehouse door was ajar. I pushed it open. Inside were piles of rusty machine parts. No lights.

"Anyone here?"

Footsteps came from behind.

I turned and saw three men wearing masks.

"Are you—"

A needle stabbed into my neck.

Cold liquid flooded my veins.

My last conscious thought was someone whispering in my ear: "Mrs. Reed, Ms. Winters sends her regards."

Darkness swallowed everything.

When I woke again, a chain was locked around my ankle.

The air was hot, thick, and reeked of decay, filled with the sound of women crying and cursing. A man in uniform whipped a girl who tried to escape, blood spattering the concrete floor.

"Number 479." Someone kicked my shin. "Get up!"

I looked up and saw a dark face with a scar by the mouth.

He said something in a language I didn't understand, then pointed outside the cage.

On the dirt lay three bodies covered with white sheets, flies buzzing above them.

The iron door slammed shut.

In the dark, I bit my wrist, swallowing the scream.

Julia was still waiting for me at the orphanage.

I had to survive.

Three hundred and fifty-six days.

I learned to play dead when the overseers approached, learned to swallow moldy food, learned to curl into the smallest ball before the whip landed.

The only thing I never learned was to forget Julia's little hand pressed against the orphanage window.

The day the gunshots rang out, I was washing what felt like the thousandth piece of clothing.

Shouts. Running. The clatter of handcuffs hitting the ground.

Someone pulled me up and wrapped a blanket around me.

"You're safe now," a female police officer said, her voice choked. "We're FBI."

On the way to the border hospital in the police car, I grabbed her sleeve. "A phone… can I borrow it?"

She handed hers over.

I logged into my email.

My inbox held seventy-two unread emails, all from the orphanage's official address.

The most recent one was from yesterday:

"Julia Reed has been added to the transfer list and will be relocated to a mountain-region welfare institution next Monday."

Next Monday.

Today was Thursday.

Four days left.

After the hospital checks, the police bought me a plane ticket.

"Go home and live well," the female officer said, patting my shoulder. "If you need counseling—"

"No," I cut her off. "Can you help me find a job I can start immediately? Anything."

She was silent for a long time, then wrote on a slip of paper. "A friend runs a bar. Needs a server. But that kind of place… Are you sure?"

I took the paper. "Thank you."

I went to work as soon as I got back to New York. The bar lights hurt my eyes. The manager was a redhead with diamond-studded nails. "Uniform's in the back. Keep your own tips. Don't make a scene if you get groped a little."

I changed into the black minidress. The fabric was practically see-through.

The first table recognized me.

"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Reed," a man said, swaying over with his drink. A golf buddy of Lawrence's. "Heard your kid wasn't Lawrence's after all? Pretty ruthless."

I kept my head down, pouring drinks.

He grabbed my wrist. "Have a few drinks with us. I'll double your tip..."

"Mark." A voice came from the entrance.

Lawrence walked in, Vanessa on his arm.

He wore a black shirt today, no tie, like he'd just happened by. But when his eyes landed on me, I saw precise, calculated coldness.

He'd come for me.

Mark immediately let go. "Lawrence! What a coincidence! I was just teaching this woman a lesson."

Lawrence raised a hand, silencing him.

He walked up to me, his eyes sweeping over the uniform dress.

"Suits you," he said.

Vanessa tugged gently at his sleeve. "Let's go. Places like this are so… unclean…"

"What's the hurry?" Lawrence pulled a card from his wallet and tossed it on the table. "Your most expensive bottle."

The bottle arrived. He filled a glass and pushed it toward me.

"Drink," he said.

I didn't move.

He smiled. "Afraid I drugged it?" He leaned close, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "When you drugged Vanessa, did you think about whether she'd be afraid?"

"I didn't do it."

"The DNA report was fake? The security footage was fake?"

"Yes."

He stared at me, something unreadable churning in his eyes. Finally, he said, "Drink this, and I'll give you a hundred thousand."

The surroundings fell silent instantly.

I picked up the glass and drank it in one go.

The liquor burned my throat raw.

He clapped. "Good." He poured another. "Again. Two hundred thousand."

I drank.

Third glass. My stomach began to cramp.

Fourth glass. My vision blurred.

Fifth glass. I braced myself against the table, streaks of blood mixed with liquor dripping onto the marble surface.

Lawrence finally called a stop.

He took the glass away, gripping my chin. "For money, you'll really do anything."

My voice was hoarse. "Julia is being transferred on Monday… I need money for the adoption process…"

His eyes turned icy.

"That bastard child. You still haven't given up?"

"She's my daughter."

"Not legally."

"By blood, she is!" I grabbed his sleeve. "Lawrence, please… Even if you hate me, the child is innocent…"

He pried my fingers off, one by one.

"Innocent?" He sneered. "When you set me up, did you think about whether I was innocent?"

Vanessa spoke up just then, her voice tearful. "Lawrence, I feel dizzy… Can we go home?"

He immediately turned to hold her. "Of course."

After two steps, he looked back at me.

"If you want the money, tomorrow night. The usual place. My assistant will give you the keycard."

He pulled a fresh card from his wallet and slipped it into the neckline of my dress.

The metal edge scratched my skin. Cold.

"A million. For one night." He leaned close to my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. "This time, I want to see exactly how much more you've lied to me over the years."

After they left, I collapsed onto the floor.

My coworker Lisa helped me up. "You okay?"

I shook my head, fishing out the keycard from my dress.

The Crystal Hotel. Room 2808.

"You're really going?" Lisa looked at me, worried.

"It's fine," I said with a faint, humorless laugh. "I need to get the money."

Outside the window, the night was thick as ink.

I knew what lay ahead.

But Julia was being sent away on Monday.

I had three days left.

I had to go.