Brad’s toxic influence came roaring back full force, making me relive all the sick, distorted feelings that our relationship had ground into me for over two years. My vision clouded, my lungs burned, my stomach twisted with anxiety.

No, I couldn’t tell Noah. The way he’d look at me . . . I didn’t know which would be worse, his disappointment or his pity. My pride couldn’t take another blow. I’d just shatter.

In that moment, I hated myself more than I’d hated anyone in my life. I was trembling with shame and helpless rage.

Why the hell did I ever take those pictures for Brad? I’d always let that scumbag use me, just rolled over and did whatever he wanted. If I hadn’t been so naive and desperate, I wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Why did it take me so long to hear the tiny voice in the back of my head screaming this relationship is wrong, it’s killing you, get out now?

Well, I’d listened too late. And unless I did something right now, our whole company was going to pay for my mistake.

I had to find Brad and stop him, although I had no idea what I was going to do or say when I got to his office. My instincts just screamed that there was a threat and that I needed to meet it and fight and kill it, because if I stood still, it would find me and hurt me first. Letting it come to me would mean that I’d already lost.

Half-blind with adrenaline, I ran out of the cottage, jumped into our rental car, and hauled ass for Nantucket’s only airport. I had one thing on my mind: taking down Brad and making him pay.

Dark and frantic thoughts barreled through my brain. I’d been right all along to feel skittish about marrying Noah. If Brad was going to ruin our company no matter what I did, then what was the point? If this exploded into a media scandal, the best-case scenario was that I’d have to step down while the company carried on without me. In which case, the question of my inheritance was moot. I could already see the headline—“CEO Forced to Resign Amidst Nude Photo Scandal.” Not how I wanted my first appearance on CNN to go down.

Nauseated, with tears stinging my eyes and still decked out in all my meaningless finery, I floored the gas pedal and left our wedding far behind.

The flight from Nantucket, as short as it was, still forced me to sit and think. I realized that I’d let my emotions run away with me—quite literally. How the hell was bolting supposed to fix anything? As satisfying as it would feel in the short term, I couldn’t just barge into Brad’s office and start screaming obscenities at him. No, I needed a plan before I acted.

I needed help too. But with my stomach still churning with anxiety and shame, I didn’t want Noah to know about my dirty pictures—or about how much power Brad apparently still wielded over me.

So instead of meeting Brad, I took a cab to an Upper East Side hotel, promising myself that I could solve this problem alone, and nobody would find out what I’d done for Brad or what he’d done to me.

I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t totally useless. I knew that stopping Brad wouldn’t make up for the way I’d treated Noah that day, let alone justify it. But I figured that a victorious return was better than slinking back with my tail between my legs. It was bad enough that I’d betrayed my fiancé; I didn’t want to dump all my problems into his lap too. I was determined to stay independent. I was Olivia Fucking Cane. I would find a way to fix this.

In the end, though, I couldn’t keep inventing excuses to avoid Noah. I spent two sleepless nights pacing my hotel room, trying to brainstorm ways to defuse Brad’s blackmail threat . . . and I came up with jack shit. Every idea was worse than the last. There was no way I could fight back without getting other people involved and drawing attention to my dirty little secret.

At sunrise today, I gave up and went to bed, where my mind kept spinning until I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Later in the morning, as I stared into the mirror, I was forced to admit what I’d known all along. I can’t do this alone. This mistake was too old and too deep to be undone easily—or maybe at all. And Brad’s claws were sunk too deep in me. Just remembering his voice on the phone made my heart race and my stomach twist. I could barely think straight, and that asshole wasn’t even here right now.

No, I had to face facts . . . and Noah too. So I took a shower and made my haggard face as presentable as I could. With nothing else to wear, I put on yesterday’s clothes—what should have been my wedding dress. I went downstairs, ate a bagel without tasting anything, and took a paper cup of coffee from the continental breakfast bar, then called a cab to take me to our penthouse.

It was time to go home to my husband.

• • •

The sound of the doorknob turning startles me out of my painful memories. I jolt upright and watch, my heart beating fast as our front door swings open.

Noah steps over the threshold . . . then sees me and freezes. He stares into my eyes like he’s seen a ghost. Anger, relief, and hurt fight for control of his expression.

All my carefully rehearsed words desert me at the sight of him. My throat feels dry, and with my heart hammering, I utter the first words I can think of.

“I need your help.”

For a minute he says nothing. He just keeps staring at me, fighting to school his features. Finally, he replies, “First, I need some answers.”

His voice is tight, barely keeping control. But he didn’t say no. That’s about the best I could have hoped for—hell, the best I deserve. I nod and rise to my feet.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks. He still hasn’t moved from the door, as if he doesn’t want to get too close to me.