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CHAPTER ONE
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ivy pulled the belt on her coat a notch tighter, savouring the soft creak of the leather as it cinched her waist. Sure, she got some strange looks from self-proclaimed fashion divas for pairing a wide, brown leather belt with a soft, grey wool coat, but the fabric belt that had come as part of this ensemble just hadn’t done what it needed to. It hadn’t given her the sense of pressure she needed when feeling insecure.
For as long as she could remember, that deep pressure had brought her comfort and security. It made her feel safe, and contrary to how it seemed, the constriction made it feel like she could breathe. And right now, she needed to breathe. Her hands were still trembling, and she needed to be calm and composed when she reached the apartment she and Miles called home.
Her cold fingers wrapped around the strap of the well-loved bag. Timeworn and creased with age, even the strap groaned under the pressure of her movements as she strode away from the building she had moments ago exited. Her head was down, vision firmly focused on the sidewalk, trying not to notice if anyone walking the busy streets of Manhattan looked her way.
She often joked that, by walking this way, she had more chance of spotting a stray note or lost coin than anyone else, and on those occasions, when something found its way in her path, it found a new home in the nearest charity box, along with some extra of her own.
Ivy was always one for supporting a good cause. Before her abduction she had befriended a local homeless man, bringing him and his loyal companion, a dog as old and run down as its master, regular meals, not to mention clothing and blankets when the weather turned cold. She’d been keeping her eye out for him this last year or so, but no one had seen the kindly man, and she feared during her own trials, he may have finally succumbed to the inoperable cancer that had forced him from his home.
She felt a twinge of guilt as she walked past his normal entryway as, for the first time, she was almost relieved not to see him there. The last thing she needed, today of all days, was for someone to recognise her.
A friendly face, a kind smile, that’s all it would take at this moment to send her spiralling. She could feel it. Despite the walk, tension, coiled tight to point of causing aches and pains through her taut muscles, was still present from her recent therapy session. It had been three years today since she had been rescued from the sadistic and twisted man who had forced her to call him Owner. He had abducted, raped, and brutally tortured her, and still, there were times when she opened her eyes to find herself back on that yacht; a prisoner once more.
The memories sometimes seemed more real than the life she now led. Often she thought that this, everything she saw before her, was her mind’s escape. After everything she endured, to be reunited with the man she had loved since her eyes first met his, seemed unreal, as did the thought he returned those feelings, that he’d looked after her, embraced and became part of a lifestyle he had known nothing about, just for her. Or at least, just for her at the beginning.
There were mornings she would still pinch herself, days that her mind couldn’t accept this as reality. It had been difficult coming back from everything that had been done to her, but she had fought, she had survived, and she was finally living a life she often felt undeserving of.
Being anonymous was difficult. Somehow, on the same day as the engagement announcement had been run, the media had got wind of her plight, splashing her face across the newspapers. The thought of the announcement had been tying her in knots already, but that,thathad destroyed her.
The story had been selective, praising the rescue boat that saved the lives of the ship’s crew that had come to the aid of a sinking vessel.
The story run by the media had been altered drastically from the truth of the events. It had mirrored the official version of events, or at least the version that the law enforcement had been fed by her legal representatives. After all, you couldn’t be involved in a shooting, abduction, and rescue without questions being asked, especially since law enforcement had still been processing the information Miles’ lawyers had released in regards to her previous abduction that was already on their files thanks to the jet skiers who had dragged her from the ocean and contacted the emergency services.
There was no mention of her owner in the papers, or his chief of security who had gone down with the ship. Nor did any of it mention that Miles and his team had been responsible for her rescue. It left the possible leak options too many to count. Nothing had been said to suggest it was anyone who knew inside information.
The media had a field day. Always hungry for a gritty story filled with horror and suffering, they’d hounded her for months asking for interviews, while Miles and his family tried to quash the story.
To this day, they didn’t know how the information had been leaked. The survivors of the yacht, and those tracked down from footage and records, were being monitored and had spoken to no one. She didn’t blame them, with the charges that hung over their head should they so much as breathe a word about what had happened.
At the time, they had believed Ivy to be a willing participant in her owner’s game because, from what they’d told the team conducting the interviews, every woman before her had been paid to do exactly what she was. Although they admitted they should have, perhaps, seen something was wrong since she sported injuries more brutal than any of the others. From their story, it became abundantly clear that the other women, who had entertained them, had been willing participants in a game that had been designed for the sole purpose of capturing and enslaving her.
While looking at those who had participated had made her stomach burn with acid and bile, their silence was certain. No charges were filed, NDAs were signed, and the people made themselves scarce, never to return to this state. She can’t say she blamed them. Most were horrified to learn the truth of what they’d been party to. Some were even in therapy, she’d been told, unable to live with the guilt from the things they’d done.
Jordon Taylor, Miles’ father, had people keeping tabs on them, and assured them that the leak had not come from anyone who had been aboard the ship that day or participated in the events her owner had held aboard, and since her owner and James lay dead at the bottom of the ocean, courtesy of Miles, how they got their information remained a mystery, because there was one thing to be said for the media, they protected their sources.
The day of their wedding announcement, three major papers had run the story of her abduction, plastering the front page with pictures taken of her hooked up to machines with many of the brutal injuries, that she now carried as scars, bared for the world to see, splashed across the front page. Horror sold, and what she endured had been vicious.
She’d been in a medically induced coma for six weeks following the rescue, so her body had time to heal, and while she saw the scars, she’d not seen the wounds like that before. She had known the photos existed, taken for legal reasons and medical files, but it was the first time Ivy had seen her injuries displayed on something other than a mirror. She still remembered walking past the newsstand, the way the feeling of fire and ice chased through her veins. Her world had spun until her breakfast rose, expelling at force into a nearby trashcan.
It had been the doorman of their apartment that had seen the event unfold on his way to work. He’d watched as her knees gave out and panic consumed her. He’d carried her from the street into the apartment block, calling Miles while trying to comfort her the best he could.
Only one reporter cooperated with the questioning as to where the information and photos had come from. Because, whilst there were limited details, it was never suggested that her abductor had been caught. One reporter, Monica Barnski, realising her abductor hadn’t been apprehended, had the common sense, or decency, to reach out to the police when the files had landed on her doorstep.
The way she reported it, the pictures, along with a printed account of the details released by the other papers, had been waiting on her doormat in a manila envelope. Unfortunately, despite her handling it with care once she’d realised its contents, forensic investigation revealed no trace evidence that could point to a suspect.
Because of this reporter’s integrity, Ivy swore she would be the only person to have the story if or when she decided to tell her side. She also gave her the exclusive to what was being called, the wedding of the year. She’d spent many hours on the phone with her, giving her inside information about the plans for the big day to ensure she had all the information for the article. The woman was strangely easy to talk to, and never once touched on the things she had seen in those photos.
It wasn’t every day the heir to a Fortune 500 company decided to hang up his most eligible bachelor title. Ivy thought this exclusive was the least she could do in thanks, whilst Miles’ father and lawyers commended her quick thinking, believing it would make Miss Barnski eager to come forth with any new information that should find its way to her door.
The information had been studied in great depth. It was clear that the focus of the piece had intended to be Ivy, because aside from her, no one else’s identity had even been implied. It was aimed at shaming and embarrassing her, and the timing had been a little too convenient to go unnoticed.
If it hadn’t been for Miles, Devon, Penny, and Becca, seeing her image on the front page of every paper, along with the sea of reporters following her every move in the hope of squeezing just a little bit more information from her, the hounding and questions would have been enough to push her over the edge. She’d lost herself once before because of what had happened, and it took all her strength, and that of her friends, to ensure she didn’t regress once more. She wouldnever, not even if given all eternity, be able to repay them for all they did for her.
A sudden movement on her right caused her to flinch. Her attention snapped in that direction to see a familiar pair of blue eyes looking back at her. Releasing the breath she’d unknowingly held, she turned away from the mirrored windows of an apartment block, arms wrapping around her waist in a self-hug. The slight slowing of her pace was enough for someone to knock her with their shoulder, muttering something under their breath as they hurried past. A sharp exhale left her lips as she tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear, wrapping her arms around her torso, continuing on her way, now seemingly the target of every hurried person’s shoulder.
Stress coiled tight within her gut. She needed to calm down, and soon. There was only one thing to do, concentrate on her breathing.
