Eleanor's POV
The leather seats of Dickson's car felt like they were swallowing me whole. The scent of his expensive cologne, which I'd once found alluring, now made my stomach turn. He'd simply shown up at my apartment this morning, declared I wasn't going to work, and all but forced me into the car. As a senior manager, his time was his own. My time, apparently, was also his own.
My hands were clenched into fists in my lap, the weight of the ring on my finger a cold, heavy brand. I stared out the window, watching the city blur into suburbs, then into the manicured landscapes that signaled the outskirts of the Moore family estate. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach with every mile.
