The Billionaire's Doll: Her Secret Escape

Ever's fingers hovered over the delete button, trembling so violently she could barely focus on the screen.

I know your secret, Everly.

The use of her full name was the first dagger. Garrick only knew her as Ever. Everly Montgomery didn't die the day she walked out of the foster system; she went into deep cover, hidden beneath layers of lies and silence to protect the one thing that mattered. But now, someone had peeled back the first layer.

She snatched the phone up from the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She tapped the number to call back.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

She disconnected, tossing the phone onto the bed as if it were a venomous snake. Who? Who could possibly know?

Her mind raced through the possibilities. A bitter foster sibling from St. Mary's? A creditor from her adoptive parents' gambling debts? Or worse-someone connected to Leo?

No. No one knew about Leo. Ernestine was a vault. Ever paid her enough to be one.

She forced herself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. A technique she learned in the crowded dormitory of the orphanage when the older kids stole her food. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. Panic made you sloppy.

She walked over to the wall calendar hanging inside the walk-in closet. With a red marker, she slashed a thick line through yesterday's date. She wrote the number 144 in the corner of today's box and drew a tiny, crude bird next to it. A bird in flight.

She dressed quickly in a modest beige skirt and blouse-her "work costume." It was invisible. Boring. The opposite of the woman who warmed Garrick Head's bed.

The offices of Vanguard Design were a hive of activity. It was a boutique firm, owned by Miles Vane, Garrick's best friend. Ever was a junior associate there, a job Garrick had "arranged" to keep her busy, or perhaps to keep her under surveillance.

"Nice shoes, Ever," Zoe Yates sneered as Ever walked past her desk. "Did you earn them on your back or your knees?"

Zoe was beautiful, talented, and vicious. She knew exactly what Ever was to Garrick, and she hated her for it.

Ever didn't break stride. "Morning, Zoe."

She sat at her desk and turned on her computer, letting the mundane glow of the screen anchor her. She could do this. She could design logos and format brochures. She could be normal.

Her personal cell phone-the one Garrick monitored-sat silently on the desk. But inside her purse, tucked into a hidden lining, the burner phone vibrated.

One vibration. Then two. Then a continuous, angry buzz.

Ever grabbed her purse and bolted for the bathroom. Locking the stall door, she fished the phone out.

"Ernestine?"

"It's bad, Everly," Ernestine's voice was high, bordering on panic. "He spiked. 104 degrees. He's shaking. I think he's seizing."

The world tilted on its axis. Her knees hit the tile floor of the stall.

"Call 911," Ever screamed into the phone, not caring who heard. "Call them now!"

"I did! The ambulance is on the way. We're going to Queens General."

"I'm coming."

Ever hung up and burst out of the stall. She didn't care about the job. She didn't care about Garrick. Her son was burning up.

She ran through the office, papers flying off her desk as she grabbed her bag. Zoe laughed as she sprinted past, but the sound was distant, like static.

Ever barged into Miles's office without knocking. He was on the phone, his feet up on his desk, looking every inch the relaxed playboy. He sat up, startled, as she slammed the door behind her.

"Ever?" He lowered the phone. "What the hell?"

"I have to go," Ever gasped, her chest heaving. "Family emergency."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You don't have family, Ever. That's part of your charm."

"My... my apartment," Ever lied, the words tasting like ash. "A pipe burst. The landlord says it's flooding the unit below. I have to go let the plumber in."

Miles studied her. He was smarter than he looked. He saw the sweat on her forehead, the terror in her eyes.

"A burst pipe in Garrick's penthouse?" He smirked. "That building is a fortress. Pipes don't just burst."

"Please, Miles." Her voice broke. She hated begging, but for Leo, she would crawl. "Please."

Something in her face must have convinced him. The smirk faded. He waved a hand dismissively.

"Go. But if Garrick asks, you were sick."

"Thank you."

Ever didn't wait for him to change his mind. She ran to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly.

Forty minutes later, Ever was sprinting down a cracked sidewalk in Queens. The air here smelled different-exhaust, fried food, and desperation. It was a world away from Fifth Avenue.

She burst into the emergency room waiting area. It was chaos. Crying babies, coughing old men, the smell of antiseptic and old coffee.

"Leo Wells?" Ever demanded at the reception desk.

"Pediatric ward. Room 4."

She found them. Ernestine was sitting in a plastic chair, looking gray and old. And there, in the crib with the metal bars, was Leo.

He looked so small. Wires were taped to his chest. An IV line ran into his tiny hand. His face was flushed a deep, angry red.

"Mommy..."

Ever dropped her bag and rushed to the side of the crib, grabbing his hot little hand.

"I'm here, baby. Mommy's here."

She spent the next three hours sponging his forehead with cool cloths, singing the lullaby Clay used to hum to them at the orphanage. The fever broke slowly, stubbornly.

By 5:00 PM, Leo was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even. Ever slumped into the chair next to Ernestine, exhausted.

"You need to go," Ernestine whispered. "He's okay now. You have that gala tonight."

Ever checked her watch. 5:10 PM.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the exhaustion.

Her phone rang. The screen flashed: Garrick's Driver.

Ever stared at it, paralyzed. She was in Queens. The gala pickup was in Midtown.

She answered, forcing her voice to be steady. "Hello?"

"Miss Wells," the driver's voice was polite but firm. "Mr. Head asked me to pick you up from the office, but the receptionist says you left hours ago."

Her heart stopped.

"I..." Think, Everly. Think. "I'm at the coffee shop around the corner. The one on 52nd. I needed... air."

"I see. I'll be there in two minutes."

Two minutes. Ever was forty-five minutes away.

"Actually," Ever said, praying her voice didn't shake. "I'm walking back to the entrance now. Just wait there."

She hung up. She kissed Leo's forehead, whispered a frantic apology to Ernestine, and ran out of the hospital like the devil himself was chasing her.