The car finally stopped.
Through the tinted windows, I saw an upscale apartment building—the kind with a doorman and marble lobby. Julian hauled me out of the car before I could get my bearings, his grip bruising on my arm.
"Smile," he hissed in my ear as we passed the doorman. "Or I'll make this so much worse for you."
The doorman looked at me—really looked—and I saw the question in his eyes. But Julian flashed him a charming smile, the one I used to fall for, and said, "She's had too much to drink. You know how it is."
The lie was smooth, practiced. The doorman hesitated, then nodded.
I wanted to scream, to fight, but Julian's fingers dug into my arm hard enough to make me gasp. A warning.
We took the elevator to the tenth floor in silence. My mind raced, looking for escape routes, but Julian stood between me and the door, his body tense with barely controlled rage.
When the elevator dinged, he dragged me down a carpeted hallway to apartment 10C.
