Heavy. Everything was heavy. The blackness. Her mind. The beeping. It was slow and far off, like she was under water. She tried to follow it. The sound gradually came into focus. Can sound come into focus? Her arms were leaden. Beep. Beep. Beep. It was closer now. Her legs felt like cement. She breathed deeply. Even the air in her lungs felt solid.

Something touched her hand. She couldn't lift her fingers to touch it back. Opening her eyelids was the hardest thing she could imagine. Blonde. Beep. Beep. Beep. Clearer. Focusing. Meg.

"Christine?" Whisper.

Meg. Her lips were dry.

"Don't try to talk," she said gently. "They said there might be some damage."

Christine tried to concentrate on her friend's face. Relieved. Worried. The rest of the room slowly came into focus. A hospital room. Her head slowly turned on the pillow and she saw the heart monitor, the IV, the oxygen tubes. She looked back at Meg. Why couldn't she get her brain or body to speed up? Everything was sluggish.

"They had to sedate you," Meg said, seemingly understanding her thoughts. She touched her hand again. "You were… distraught. Anyone would be."

Christine tried to recall why she would be distraught.

"Do you remember?" her friend asked gently. "You were in your studio. Robert Carlisle—"

The name brought the memories rushing back in full force and the beeping from the heart monitor accelerated. She nodded quickly. "Erik?" she whispered and tears came to her eyes.

"He's okay, but the police took them both into custody. Mother is with him right now, along with his lawyer. I don't know what they're holding him on. I think they were waiting for you to come to and give your side of the story."

"How long?"

"Have you been out?" She nodded. "Almost fifteen hours."

Christine let out an unsteady breath. Erik had been in police custody for nearly a day. Who knew what they suspected of him, what they would do to him because of the mask. Who knew what lies Robert was spewing about Erik, about her.

"I'm supposed to alert the doctors when you wake up." Meg's eyes were glassy. "They'll examine you to make sure there isn't any serious damage and then a detective will come interview you."

"Stay," Christine said hoarsely.

"I'll be here the whole time."

The nurses poked and prodded. They removed the IV, took her blood pressure, examined her superficial wounds, drew blood, asked her questions about what she remembered. If she had been sexually assaulted.

The official diagnosis from the doctor was minor internal damage to her neck and lungs due to strangulation and smoke inhalation. She was ordered to speak only when necessary, drink plenty of fluids, and to wear the oxygen tubes whenever she was in bed. They wanted to keep her in the hospital one more night to monitor evidence of long term damage like blood clots or changes in brain activity. Christine tried to argue—she wanted to be with Erik—but the doctor's answer was firm.

"You've been through some serious trauma, Miss Denton. Go easy on yourself."

Once the doctor and nurses filed out of the room, a middle-aged woman with dark red hair came in holding a dinner tray. Her pantsuit indicated that she wasn't part of the hospital staff. The detective. Christine thought she should feel nervous but tray reminded her that she hadn't eaten in a while. She was so hungry that even a meal of canned peaches, applesauce, and pudding sounded appetizing.

"Hi Christine, I'm Detective Cooper. I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened yesterday." She handed over the tray of food and pulled up a chair to sit next to the hospital bed.

"Okay."

Meg sat unassumingly in the corner. She was listening intently though, keen to hear Christine's side of the story.

Christine tried to eat at a normal pace as the detective asked her about her relationships with Erik and Robert, how she came to live at the estate, and eventually to recount the events of the previous night. She gave every detail she could, pushing past the raw feeling in her throat. She emphasized Erik's innocence—that he hadn't been holding her captive—but the detective seemed confused.

"What do you mean by he wasn't holding you captive? I haven't heard anything about kidnapping or captivity."

"Rob said he talked to the sheriff's office a few days ago, lying that I was his lunatic wife whom Erik had kidnapped and held prisoner. But I worked for Erik and the Girys. We had a contract and paychecks and everything—you can audit his taxes, it's all there!" she said desperately.

The detective lifted her palms upward in assurance. "Christine, I believe you. Robert Carlisle never so much as visited the sheriff's office."

Christine was stunned for a moment. Of course he had lied to get them to stop calling the police. He was a master manipulator.

Once Christine finished her statement and her meal, Detective Cooper told her that she needed to take photos of her injuries for evidence. Christine understood but hated every burst of the flashbulb. They were like little flares of memories from the night before—the fear of seeing Rob for the first time, the way his eyes changed before lunging at her, the gun, his insane laughter, the fire...

Christine retreated to the ensuite bathroom after the detective left. It was too overwhelming; all these people touching her, asking questions, making her relive it all. She wanted a moment alone to think. Christine leaned against the sink and splashed water on her cheeks, but touching her face hurt. She glanced up at her reflection. She looked horrible. The hospital gown and the fluorescent lighting made her look sick. She had piled her frizzy hair into a bun so the doctor could examine her neck. Her fingers hovered over the dark red bruises that encircled her throat. She tried push away the feeling of his hands squeezing. The helplessness. There was a light bruise on her cheek from where he had hit her defensively. Christine smiled slightly, remembering the wonderful release of hitting him. She had a split lip as well as a smattering of thumb-sized purple bruises on her arms.

She still couldn't believe that he had attacked her. Rob had never physically abused her before—it had all been mental games and emotional manipulation. More subtle. Christine looked at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror; some blood vessels had ruptured when he strangled her. She thought again of how his eyes had emptied of any emotion—or any pretense of emotion. Maybe when he realized he had lost control over her, he believed he had to take it back physically. No one had been around to watch him try to steal it back, so he didn't need to use his charm anymore. Just pure physical control.

Her thoughts turned to Erik and the helplessness set in. Would the detective help him? She didn't give Christine very much information about Erik's situation. What if her account did more harm than good? She had told the full truth, not excluding Erik's violence against Rob. But it had all been in her defense! Christine leaned against the bathroom wall and slid to the cold linoleum floor. Helpless.

And what of her secret? Not knowing what Erik thought about her forced confession was just as horrible as everything else that had happened. In the past when Rob had used her secret against her, to guilt trip or leverage it against her, Christine had sworn to never tell anyone ever again. She hadn't even told her therapist. It was something so dark and ugly that she buried it deep within herself. She had grown accustomed to hiding it. Finally, for the first time since waking up, Christine let herself cry. It was bitter and anguished. It made her throat burn raw all over again.

A warm body sat down close to her on the floor. A soft hand stroked her back. Christine leaned against her friend and Meg wrapped her arms around her.

Christine woke up next morning to the sound of Meg ending a phone call. She came back in to the hospital room looking disheveled but determined.

"The doctor wants to do one last examination and then you'll be free to go," Meg said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "You can come over to my apartment and shower—"

"Who was on the phone?" Christine asked, voice still gravelly.

Meg hesitated. "Mother."

"What did she say?"

"Erik's okay. He's in an interview room with his lawyer, not in jail cell. So that's good."

"But why hasn't he been released yet? After my interview with the detective last night, I thought—"

"Mother said it was a little more complicated than that. The evidence is stacked against him right now. You and Robert were both pretty beat up and Erik doesn't have a scratch on him. Save for his fists."

"And my fists." She held up her bruised knuckles. "I explained it all. I told Detective Cooper everything."

Meg sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "You know Robert is telling a different story."

"He's lying!" Christine said indignantly.

"I know. I believe you. But—"

"Give me my phone. I'm calling the detective."

Meg handed over her cell phone. Christine pulled out the card Detective Cooper had left with her contact information. The conversation didn't go the way she wanted.

"At this point it's your word against his," the detective said after further explaining that they didn't have the proper proof. Her voice was apologetic. "There isn't much the police or even a prosecutor can do without hard evidence. I'm sorry, Christine."

She ended the call and held her phone, staring at it angrily.

"What did she say?"

"There isn't enough evidence to charge him. It's my word against his. This is just how my restraining order ended up," Christine said without looking up. Her frustration flared and she tossed her phone away. "I had this stupid phone with me the whole time. I should have called the police immediately. Hell, I should have recorded him! What was I thinking!" She groaned, covering her bruised face.

"Christine, you couldn't have known what he would do." Meg tried to ease her guilt. "You were in survival mode, not recording mode."

"Recording mode," Christine repeated, seemingly resigned. Then she lifted her face. "Recording mode? Recording! Meg! You're a genius!" She shouted and scrambled to pick her phone back up.

"What? Why?" Meg tried to see what was on Christine's phone but she was just pulling up her recent calls.

"Detective Cooper?" she said. "I think I know where we can find some hard evidence."

Thanks to Christine's tip, the police recovered video recordings from the security cameras Erik had installed around the mansion and studio just a few weeks prior. That evening they released Erik and charged Rob with assault, arson, and attempted murder. Detective Cooper said it was lucky Erik had sprung for audio recording too. Everything from that night had been recorded, including their conversations. If the investigation went well, Rob could be charged with bribery for the Populaire Relations-Carlisle Group incident too.

Meg and Christine met Erik and Annette outside of the police station when they released him. It was cold, but Christine knew she couldn't just sit and wait idly back at Meg's apartment. Every fiber of her being wanted to throw her arms around Erik and kiss him, but she couldn't meet his eyes right away. The fact that he didn't immediately draw her in either scared her. The Girys—the wonderful women they were—sensed their mutual hesitation.

Meg pulled Erik into a bear hug and whispered, "I'm so glad you're ok."

Annette turned and gingerly held Christine's chin. "Oh dear." Her eyes watered at the sight of the bruises. "You're safe now, love. You're safe." She placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Dinner is at my apartment," Meg said to the group. "Or, at least, it will be. Mother and I will pick us up Chinese on the way home. Meet you there in twenty." Annette handed Erik her car keys and went with Meg.

Christine watched them walk to Meg's car and drive out of the parking lot. She finally looked up and met Erik's eyes. He was wearing his foam athletic mask. The police must have taken his other mask with Rob's blood on it as evidence. He looked tired; she couldn't imagine what hell he had been through the last twenty-four hours. Arrested, accused, unmasked, likely mocked, unsure about her state...which would only be hell if he still cared about her.

Erik's eyes searched her face, pausing over her injuries. For once, she couldn't read him. Did he hate her for hiding her deepest secret from him? Did he think she was a monster? A murderer?

His warm hands interrupted her critical thoughts, cupping her face. He kissed her tenderly, like he feared he might hurt her. The familiar sensation of his lips made her heart soar, but she remained motionless.

Erik noticed her apprehension and pulled back to look into her eyes.

She glanced up at him. "I—I didn't know if you'd still… want me. After my secret."

"Of course I do."

"But it's horrible. I'm horrible—"

"It's horrible, yes. But it's okay."

"Okay?"

"Christine, you've seen the worst in me and you still want me. I love you. Your past doesn't change that," Erik said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Stunned by his kindness and forgiveness, Christine cried.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tears, her lips.

"Say it again," she murmured between kisses, finally letting herself lean fully into him.

"I love you, Christine."

Epilogue: One Year Later

It was snowing, rather early in the season. The flakes fell in thick, fluffy clusters. Even though the sun had already set, he could still see the small drifts through the gallery's floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights of downtown Denver glistened vaguely in the distance.

"This is the prime opportunity we've been waiting for, Erik. You knew it was coming."

"I know, Nadir. It's all just happening so fast. I didn't anticipate Khan-Dupont Publishing to require expansion so soon."

"We'd simply need to staff the warehouse, there is no need to move headquarters. Unless—"

"I was waiting to discuss it with Christine until after the show."

"Ah yes. Is she all set up? Let me speak to her."

Erik rolled his eyes slightly and returned to the front of the gallery where Christine stood adjusting the frame of Claire Dupont's artist statement. He handed her his cell phone, "Nadir."

The anxiety melted away from her face as she smiled and put the phone to her ear.

"My dear, congratulations! I'm devastated I can't be there for your opening reception. It's snowing in Philadelphia as well—all flights are cancelled."

"I understand, Nadir. Don't you dare feel guilty. You've been more than supportive this entire journey." Christine couldn't stop smiling when she spoke to him.

"I am so proud of you, Christine. For all you've overcome and all you've accomplished in the last year."

Good thing she was wearing waterproof mascara. "Thank you, Nadir. It means so much coming from you."

They finished their call and Christine looked around a corner to return Erik's cell phone. But he was busy examining one of her pieces. Annette and Meg were walking through another section, enjoying their early tour before the reception started.

She stood back, remembering what Nadir said. He hadn't been exaggerating about what she had overcome in the last year.

About a month prior, Robert had been sentenced to ten years in prison for arson, assault, bribery, and attempted murder. The police had to do a brief investigation on her as well, based on her confession about drunk driving in the recording. But she was never charged with anything and the case was sealed. She wasn't confident Rob would have to serve his entire sentence—that's usually how it went for wealthy white men like him. Facing him in court had been difficult, but this time she had proper lawyers and her family's support. She had also found a therapist to help her work through what happened. It had taken a while, but she wasn't afraid of Rob any more.

They rebuilt her studio after the damage from the fire. Erik insisted in doubling the size. Not all of her works had been destroyed, but they were all ruined in some way. Burned, smoke damage, water damage. She had to cancel her original show at Studio 801 and start over. Nadia understood and gave her as much time as she needed. It took some time to move past the pain of losing all her hard work and passion in such a horrific way. Christine decided against trying to recreate the pieces from before, but she did keep the theme and the original media of papers, charcoal, and pencil. She showed her work a few months later.

Nadia loved the show so much that she referred Christine to a friend of hers who was a national gallery curator. Then her work was picked up for a show in this larger, more prestigious space with the request that she add a few more pieces. That was when she decided to start using the pen name Claire Dupont for her work. She finally shared a portion Erik's intense desire for privacy. And it was only fitting she take his pseudonym's last name.

Christine walked through the show now; she had it so well memorized that she could do it blindfolded. The new pieces she created were from the remnants of the fire—charred paper, burned wood as charcoal, and even some mixed media pieces from the rubble. While the original version of the show had been entitled Enough and followed her process of self-realization through abuse and healing, the revised show was called Phoenix, adding new themes of rising up from the ashes both literally and figuratively.

A murmur started to grow as more guests arrived. Christine's nerves faded as she enjoyed the hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Friends, artistic peers, and critics asked her about her work and she finally felt at ease. She loved sharing about her artistic process and different ways to view the show.

The muted lighting gave Erik ample opportunity to observe from shadowy corners. Seeing Christine so comfortable and confident made him proud and even able to let go of some of his own social anxieties. She was in her element and she was thriving.

Watching Christine from the shadows reminded Erik of the very first weekend they spent together. He remembered thinking that she was spunky, beautiful, and beguiling. He smiled to himself. How right he had been to be intrigued by her. The ring on her left hand sparkled as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. He smiled. How right he had been then and how he loved her exponentially more now.

When the patrons had cleared out of the gallery a few hours later, Christine sat down on a bench next to Erik and sighed happily. He tucked his phone away into his breast pocket and wrapped his arm around her waist. They looked up at the largest mixed media piece, her pièce de résistance.

"How do you feel?" Erik asked.

"Spectacular. Glowing, actually. Is that weird to say?" she peeked over at him, catching the gaze of his eye beneath the stark white mask.

"No. Because you were glowing. It was something to behold." He kissed her temple.

Christine smiled and gathered her hair over one shoulder. "I got some offers."

"To buy the pieces?" he asked, turning fully toward her.

"Some. And another kind of offer."

Erik lifted an eyebrow.

"A curator from New York City wants to talk to me about doing a residency at an artists' collective and gallery for six months!" Christine tried to curb her excitement. "I wanted to talk to you before I seriously considered it…"

Erik's smile was broad and genuine. God she loved him. "Christine, that's an incredible opportunity! And, as fate would have it, Nadir's offer on a warehouse in Manhattan to expand Khan-Dupont Publishing was just accepted."

Christine smiled knowingly and paused before kissing his lips. "Fate has nothing to do with it."

I can't believe I finally finished this story! It has been my baby for five years, following me from the end of college through many stages of adulthood. I feel like I grew so much as a story-teller in this process! I had a vision for the story arc from the beginning and I'm proud of how I got there.

Your faithful reads, favorites, follows, messages, and reviews kept me inspired and excited about this story! I seriously appreciate every single one. Always feel free to message me about this story or anything else :) Please leave one last review!