The next step

Lynn's POV

I stood in Armstrong's massive walk-in closet, wrapped in a towel, staring at rows of expensive suits and designer clothes.

Everything was organized with military precision…shirts arranged by color, shoes lined up perfectly, even his ties were coordinated.

I had nothing. The black dress I'd worn last night was pooled on the bedroom floor. My purse was somewhere in the living room. That was the sum total of my possessions.

"Marcus is bringing clothes for you."

I jumped, spinning around. Armstrong stood in the doorway, freshly showered, wearing nothing but low-slung black pants. Water droplets still clung to his chest and shoulders. I forced myself to look away, my cheeks heating.

"I can't accept…"

"You can and you will." Armstrong moved into the closet, pulling out a crisp white shirt. "Unless you plan to wear that towel all day."

I clutched the towel tighter. "This is too much. I should just go home and get my things…"

"No." The word was flat, final. Armstrong buttoned his shirt with efficient movements. "You're not going back there. Not now, not ever."

"You can't just decide that for me."

"Can't I?" He looked at me, and his eyes were hard. "What do you think will happen if you go back? He'll apologize? Promise to do better? How many times has he made that promise before?"

My silence was all he needed.

"That's what I thought." Armstrong selected a tie; deep blue silk. "Your husband is probably losing his mind right now. Calling your phone."

My phone buzzed from somewhere in the bedroom. Then again. And again.

"That'll be him," Armstrong said calmly, knotting his tie. "Marcus will be here in twenty minutes. Make yourself comfortable. There's food in the kitchen."

He started to leave, and I heard myself say, "Where are you going?"

Armstrong paused, looking back at me. Something flickered in his expression. "Business. I have companies to run."

"Will you be back?"

"This is my home, Lynn. Yes, I'll be back." His lips curved slightly. "Don't look so worried. I'm not abandoning you. I'm just giving you space to breathe."

After he left, I finished drying off and reluctantly pulled on the black dress from last night. It felt wrong, tainted by everything that had happened.

I made my way to the kitchen and found it was as impressive as the rest of the penthouse….all stainless steel and marble, with appliances that probably cost more than most people's cars.

I found coffee and managed to figure out the expensive espresso machine. The first sip was heaven. When was the last time I had good coffee? Festy always bought the cheapest instant, said anything else was a waste of money.

My phone buzzed again from the bedroom. I retrieved it with shaking hands.

Seventy-three missed calls. Dozens of texts. I scrolled through them, watching Festy's messages evolve from confused to angry to threatening.

Where are you?

Lynn answer your phone

Did you finish the job? When are you coming home?

This isn't funny

You better not have screwed this up

ANSWER ME!!!

You're making me look bad. He won't give me the rest of the money if you don't confirm you did what you were supposed to

I swear to God Lynn if you ruined this for us…

Us. Like we were a team. Like I had any say in being sold to a stranger.

My finger hovered over the delete button when a new message came through.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. Come home. We'll talk. I love you.

I love you.

Three words he'd said maybe a handful of times in three years of marriage. Three words he wielded like weapons when he wanted something or after hurting me.

I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I did something I should have done years ago.

I blocked his number.

The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Sheldon? This is Marcus Webb, Mr. Goldwyn's assistant. May I come up?"

I pressed the button to unlock the elevator. A moment later, a sharply dressed man in his forties emerged, carrying several large shopping bags.

"Ms. Sheldon." Marcus's smile was professional but kind. "Mr. Goldwyn asked me to bring you some essentials." He set the bags on the kitchen counter. "Clothes, toiletries, basics. I took the liberty of guessing your size based on—" He paused delicately. "Well. I hope everything fits. If not, I can arrange exchanges."

I peeked into one of the bags. Designer labels. Expensive fabrics. "This is too much."

"Mr. Goldwyn was very specific about his requirements." Marcus pulled out his tablet. "He's also asked me to provide you with contact information for various services you might need. A physician, if you'd like a check-up. A therapist who specializes in…" He paused carefully. “…difficult transitions. Whatever you need, just let me know."

My eyes burned with unshed tears. "Why is he doing this?"

Marcus smiled slightly. "Perhaps you should ask him that yourself."

After Marcus left, I opened the shopping bags with trembling hands. Everything was perfect; the right sizes, elegant but comfortable clothes, expensive toiletries, even underwear in delicate silk and lace. Someone…Marcus? Armstrong? had paid attention to what I might need.

I changed into soft gray leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget used to be. The clothes felt like armor, like becoming someone new.

My old phone sat on the counter, Festy's number now blocked. I picked it up, scrolled through old photos. Me and Festy on our wedding day. My smile, bright and hopeful. His; distant, distracted.

How had I not seen it? All the signs were there. But I was so blinded by love…or what I thought was love…that I ignored every red flag.

I deleted the photos. One by one. Methodically. Until there was no trace of Festy Vale left on my phone except the blocked number.

Then I found a card Marcus probably left in one of the expensive bags. Diane Chambers, Esq. Family Law Specialist.

I stared at the name for a long moment. Armstrong hadn't pushed this on me. He'd simply made the resource available. The choice was mine.

And for the first time in three years, I knew what I wanted.

I wanted out. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be Lynn Sheldon again.

My hands shook as I pressed the call button.

The receptionist answered on the second ring. "Chambers and Associates."

"Hi, I'm calling for Diane Chambers." My voice was steadier than I expected. "My name is Lynn Sheldon. I need to file for divorce."

"One moment please."

Elevator music played. I paced the kitchen, nervous energy making it impossible to sit still.

"Lynn Sheldon?" A warm, professional female voice came on the line. "This is Diane Chambers. I understand you're looking to file for divorce?"

"Yes. From Festy Vale. We've been married three years."

"And what grounds are you citing?"

I took a deep breath. This was it. The moment I took control of my life back.

"Emotional abuse. Financial control. And..." My voice wavered. "He sold me to another man for sex without my knowledge or consent."

There was a pause. Then Diane said, her voice harder now, "I'm going to need you to tell me everything."

So I did. I told this stranger about the isolation, the control, the way Festy had systematically stripped away everything that made me who I was.

I told her about the job that wasn't a job, about the phone call, about discovering I was worth four thousand dollars to the man I'd loved for years.

By the time I finished, I was crying. But they weren't hopeless tears. These were angry tears. Cleansing tears.

"Lynn," Diane said when I was done. "I'm going to get you out of this marriage. And I'm going to make sure your husband pays for what he did to you. Legally, financially, and publicly. Are you ready for that?"

I looked out at the city sprawling below, glittering in the morning sun. Somewhere out there, Festy was probably still trying to call my blocked number, still trying to manipulate me back into his cage.

I was done being caged.

"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."