Set soon after the events of the finale.

Prologue

She wandered aimlessly around her empty apartment, an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. She wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that she was feeling. Anger didn't feel right, disappointed didn't cover it. The sting of betrayal, excruciating as it was, barely even scratched the surface. Hurt. Scared. Stupid.

It had been years since she had last really let anyone in, deciding it was better than the alternative. Better that the danger and the loss. Better than the fear of being let down. She'd believed her defences were so strong that no one would ever manage to break through them. Somehow, though, slowly but surely, he had. Somehow he'd made her like him, found a way into her heart. Saved her from her self-imposed isolation. Then he'd broken her. Taken that connection, the mutual love and respect she had believed they had, and shattered it without a second thought.

A part of her wished she had gone to him that night, told him the truth about his father right away, but she'd reasoned that despite his fractured relationship with the man, it would only hurt him, and it's not as if he could have done anything about it. She downplayed those events in her mind, clinging to the knowledge that she had got away in time, that, as she always did, she had saved herself once again. She had to, it wasn't as if she could have gone to the police. In her position, that would have done way more harm than good.

His opinion of her had spiralled. A lie from his father sparking a series of events she never could have predicted. That she could never have imagined. A distracted slip of the hand in the OR that she knew she'd never really be able to explain – and that he'd probably never believe if she tried. A complaint she never made, one that could have also derailed her own career had she said the wrong thing to the wrong person – sure, he made the call, but she knew he was making it. She didn't stop him despite knowing she should have, she agreed to play along.

Mere months ago she'd never have believed he would be so willing to hurt her so much. Now it was all he seemed to want to do. Every little thing that went wrong in his life was suddenly her fault. He couldn't trust her, he had claimed, and she didn't really blame him, she'd told him practically nothing about herself. He knew nothing of her past, of her family. Nothing about the hopes and dreams of the little girl she no longer allowed herself to think about. She'd suppressed everything about her past, boxed it all up in a dark corner of her mind and did everything she could to ignore it.

It's not that she didn't want to tell him.

She couldn't.

And now he was accusing her of murder.

She'd made a mistake when she'd realised just what he was thinking. She'd let her anger and frustration get the better of her, giving him more ammunition against her, and now she had no doubt he'd be raising his concerns with anyone who would listen. There was no coming back from this. She knew that no matter what happened, she'd never be able to forget his thinking that of her. She'd never be able to move past it. She wasn't even sure how she could continue working with him, but she didn't really have an option on that front. She'd have to play nice, smile through the pain and hope she didn't fall apart again.

For now though, she had bigger concerns.

She threw herself onto the couch, grasping her cell phone from the coffee table. Dialling that familiar number.

Voicemail.

"Hey, I need to see you. I'm working all day tomorrow but could you come over in the evening? Around 8?"