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By eleven, I can no longer keep my eyelids open. Resigned, I head up to my old room. Curling up beneath the duvet, I finally let myself go, sobbing into my pillow, great heaving unladylike sobs of grief . . .

My head is heavy when I wake. Crisp fall light shines through the great windows of my room. Glancing at my alarm I see it’s seven thirty. My immediate thought is where’s Christian? I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. On the floor beside the bed is Christian’s silver-gray tie, my favorite. It wasn’t there when I went to bed last night. I pick it up and stare at it, caressing the silky material between my thumbs and forefingers, then hug it against my cheek. He was here, watching me sleep. And a glimmer of hope sparks deep inside me.

Mrs. Jones is busy in the kitchen when I arrive downstairs.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

“Morning. Christian?” I ask.

Her face falls. “He’s already left.”

“So he did come home?” I need to check, even though I have his tie as evidence.

“He did,” she pauses, “Ana, please forgive me for speaking out of turn, but don’t give up on him. He’s a stubborn man.”

I nod and she stops. I’m sure my expression tells her I do not want to discuss my errant husband right now.

When I arrive at work, I check my e-mails. My heart leaps into overdrive when I see there’s one from Christian.

423/551

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Portland

Date: September 15, 2011 06:45

To: Anastasia Grey

Ana,

I am flying down to Portland today.

I have some business to conclude with WSU.

I thought you would want to know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh. Tears prick my eyes. That’s it? My stomach flips. Shit! I am going to be sick. I race to the powder room and make it just in time, depositing my breakfast into the toilet. I sink to the floor of the cubicle and put my head in my hands.

Could I be any more miserable? After a while, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Ana?” It’s Hannah.

Fuck. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Boyce Fox is here to see you.”

Shit. “Show him into the meeting room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Do you want some tea?”

“Please.”

After my lunch—another cream cheese and salmon bagel, which I manage to keep down—I sit staring listlessly at my computer, looking for inspiration and wondering how Christian and I are going to resolve this huge problem.

My BlackBerry buzzes, making me jump. I glance at the screen—it’s Mia.

Jeez, that’s all I need, her gushing and enthusiasm. I hesitate, wondering if I could just ignore it, but courtesy wins out.

“Mia,” I answer brightly.

424/551

“Well, hello there, Ana—long time no speak.” The male voice is familiar .

Fuck!

My scalp prickles and all the hair on my body stands to attention as adrenaline floods through my system and my world stops spinning.

It’s Jack Hyde.

“Jack.” My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. How is he out of jail? Why does he have Mia’s phone? The blood drains from my face, and I feel dizzy.

“You do remember me,” he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.

“Yes. Of course.” My answer is automatic as my mind races.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you.”

“Yes.”

Hang up.

“Don’t hang up. I’ve been having a chat with your little sister-in-law.” What? Mia! No! “What have you done?” I whisper, trying to quell my fear.

426/551

“Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life.

Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay.”

Hyde’s contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?

“What do you want?”

“I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So you’re going to get it for me. I want five million dollars, today.”

“Jack, I don’t have access to that kind of money.” He snorts his derision. “You have two hours to get it. That’s it—two hours.

Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband.

Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?” He pauses and I try to respond, but panic and fear seal my throat.

“You understand!” he shouts.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Or I will kill her.”

I gasp.

“Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her.

You have two hours.”

“Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?” The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone, my mouth parched with fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia, he has Mia. Or does he? My mind whirrs at the obscene possibility, and my stomach roils again. I think I’m going to be sick, but I inhale deeply, trying to steady my panic, and the nausea passes. My mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Christian? Tell Taylor?