Vivienne sat in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. The engine was running, the low hum vibrating through the seat, but she didn’t move.

She stared at the closed iron gates of Simon’s estate.

Go, a voice in her head screamed. Drive away. Keep your dignity.

But another voice, louder and colder, whispered back: And go where? To a bankrupt company? To parents who are been called human traffickers?.

The image of her father’s defeated face in the boardroom flashed before her eyes. The panic in her mother’s voice. The sheer magnitude of the mess she had created by trusting Samuel.

If...