Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

She slid the phone back into her bag, message unread.

They stayed up late watching Crazy Rich Asians, eating buttered popcorn and drinking more wine. It felt so bizarre and wonderful to be just a regular person again, no slave collar, no protocol, no one to please but herself. When they eventually said goodnight, Rowan teared up as she hugged her friend.

“Thanks, Sheri. Thanks so much for taking me in like this. And for not judging.”

“Hey,” Sheri said with a laugh. “Remember my brief disaster with Mr. Billionaire Supermodel, the one you warned me might be too good to be true?”

Rowan chuckled, remembering all too well. Sheri had hooked up with a guy she’d met online. He claimed to be a self-made millionaire at the age of twenty-five, having sold his start-up tech company to Apple for a gazillion dollars. He had a penthouse on Central Park West and a wardrobe to match.

Yet, somehow, he always seemed to be short of cash at the crucial moment, his wallet inexplicably misplaced. During their brief romance, Sheri ended up footing the bill for pricey dinners and expensive clubs, with his heartfelt, endearingly chagrined promises to pay her back the next day. Turned out, he was actually an unemployed would-be actor, house-sitting for a friend’s rich uncle who apparently wore the same size clothing as he.

“You were there for me when that whole thing blew up, and you never once said I told you so. I’m just glad you’re back, Rowan. And hopefully we’ve seen the last of Master Dickhead.”

Ensconced in her tiny room, Rowan undressed and sat on the bed. There were several missed calls from John but, she was relieved to see, no voicemails.

A new text had come in, this one from Eric. She clicked on it first.

Just checking in you’re doing all right.

She thumbed back a quick response, ignoring the slight twinge of desire low in her belly.

Doing great. Thanks again for everything, Eric. You’re the best. ?

Finally, pulse kicking up, Rowan clicked on the earlier message from Master John.

Come home, Rowan, back to the safety of my loving arms. NOW. Your Master is waiting.

“No,” she huffed softly. Her fingers flew of their own accord over the screen.

Fuck you, John. Fuck you to hell and back. I thought I loved you but I was just in awe of you. You betrayed my trust. You took away my safeword. You stole my peace of mind. I’m never coming back. Never. Never. Never. Never.

Breathing hard, she reread what she’d just written, her finger hovering over the send button.

She didn’t care about her clothing and other crap, most of which could be crammed into a large garbage bag. But he still had her canvases. Her life’s work to that point, not counting the six pieces waiting at the SoHo gallery, were still under his roof. Despite her assurances to Eric, she really had no idea what John might do, once he understood she wasn’t coming back.

Flinging furious texts back at him wasn’t a wise thing to do. John honestly didn’t get it, and it wasn’t entirely his fault. After all, she’d never said no to him. Not once. Even when things didn’t feel right to her, she’d pushed down her own reservations, just assuming he knew what was best for her. She’d done that so often and for so long that she’d lost herself in the process.

Now, from his perspective, she’d suddenly broken all the rules. She’d breached the terms of their Master/slave contract in a dozen different ways. He was probably feeling as betrayed and confused as she was, maybe more so. Riling him up with an incensed text wouldn’t be productive. It might even be dangerous, like poking a stick at an angry bear.

She deleted the text. Thank goodness she hadn’t accepted when he’d offered to switch her cell service to his account. It was still set to autopay through her checking account, and there remained enough money in there to cover the monthly nut, at least for now.

He didn’t know where she was. He no longer had power over her. She was free, and could answer from a position of strength, not fear.

I’m sorry, John, for how things worked out. I never should have let your good looks, charm and masterful air disarm me. On some level, I knew I was in over my head from the beginning, but I ignored my own inner voice. I was just so thrilled and amazed that a man like you would take such an interest in a girl like me. The blinders are off now, and I’m never going back. Not to that lifestyle. Not to you.

After a moment, she deleted that text as well.

She stared at the phone for a long while. Finally, she typed:

I’m safe where I am. I’ll be in touch. Take care.