Anthony was far from satisfied with my compliance; a flash of cruelty passed through his eyes.
"Get in the car."
The heat inside hit me like a wall, sharp with cedar.
A pink cartoon throw pillow sat on the passenger seat—Audrey Swanson's style.
I was soaked through, shrinking back, not daring to sit fully.
Anthony got in. Seeing me like this, his brow furrowed deeper.
"What's with the innocent act?"
He clamped a hand around my waist and yanked me onto his lap.
Mud and dirty water smeared across his expensive suit pants.
I panicked, trying to get up. "Mr. Vance, it's dirty—"
"So you know you're dirty too?"
His tone was mocking, and his fingers traced mercilessly across the burn on my forehead.
"Who you are now is only worth this price."
The car sped through the city, arriving at a hillside villa in the south.
That was where Anthony lived now.
Inside, he pointed straight at the bathroom.
"Go wash yourself clean. Don't dirty my floor."
There were no clean clothes to change into.
I came out wrapped in a bath towel. Anthony was on the sofa, smoking.
He tossed me a silk nightgown.
It wasn't new.
"Put it on."
I unfolded it and caught the scent of perfume.
Mon Paris. Audrey's signature.