Aubree lay curled up on her side, frowning at her phone. After checking into a hotel in San Francisco, she'd immediately crawled into bed, passing out. She'd slept a straight eighteen hours, waking only to take a quick shower before falling right back to sleep, again. It had been a deep cathartic sleep, rest she'd desperately needed.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, turning it back on. 42 missed calls, 100 text messages. Aubree sighed heavily. Fuck.

Ignoring the texts for the time being, she checked her missed calls; the last 5 had been from Gemma. Sighing heavily, she rose to her feet. She began to the pace the room, phone in hand, staring down at the screen.

"Gotta face the music eventually," she muttered to herself, as she dialed Gemma's number.

After four rings, a familar voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Aubree?" Gemma asked, static crackling in the background.

"Yeah," Aubree affirmed, holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she paced her hotel room.

"How are you holding up?"

Aubree sighed, rolling her eyes. "I've spent the past 48 hours unconscious, if that's any indication of how I'm doing."

Silence.

"I went and saw Chibs the other day," Gemma said finally.

Aubree froze, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"Aubs, you still there?" Gemma asked, breaking the silence.

"What did you say to him, Gem?" Aubree retorted, a wave of uneasiness rolling over her.

Gemma sighed heavily. "I didn't know that you hadn't told him."

"Fuck," Aubree swore, rising to her feet again. She resumed pacing the hotel room, her hands clenched into fists. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"I'm sorry, hon."

Aubree paused, squeezing her eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe. What's done is done. "Let me guess, he's overwhelmed with guilt, right? Is that why you called?" she asked bitterly.

"Aubree-"

"I told you Gemma. I told him if it happened again, this was over. He promised me. He fucking promised that this shit would end. I don't care if he's sorry. Goddamn right he should be sorry. Not that he's even sorry for the right reason… he's not sorry because he hurt me, Gem. He's sorry he got caught."

Aubree shook her head, laughing coldly. "I'm so fucking stupid. I knew what the fuck I was getting into. I knew what club life is. Of fucking course he wasn't going to stop fucking around with any skank who threw pussy his way. Jesus fucking Christ."

"Aubree, he loves you."

"Yeah, I'm so fucking sure," she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "This is the story of my life. First Chris, now him."

Gemma sighed. "You know that he's nothing like your ex… he would do anything for you."

"Yeah, sure. Anything. Except keep his word, betraying my trust by fucking around behind my back," she said icily. "I'm a living, breathing doormat. I can't keep doing this to myself. I lost so much, I can't give up the last shred of my dignity."

Silence.

"Is that what you really want, Aubree? To call it quits."

Silence.

"I don't know," she mumbled, collapsing back onto the bed. "I don't know what I want, Gemma."

"I went and saw Juice," she continued.

"You did? When?" Gemma asked, sounding surprised.

"Couple days ago… before I told Filip I was leaving."

"And?"

"He told me he wouldn't blame me if I left."

"Huh. Interesting," Gemma replied. "Surprising, honestly. Most of the boys would sooner take their brother's side than their old lady's."

"We're friends. I don't know. He's always been honest to me. Never sugar coated shit or out and out lied to me when I'd ask him things," Aubree retorted, shrugging. "He's a nice guy."

"Where are you?" Gemma asked, changing the subject.

Aubree closed her eyes again, arching her back. "Does it even matter?"

Tara stared down at the paperwork before her, frowning. Though she was due within the next few days, she'd continued working.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" Lyla asked, observing her from the armchair in the corner of her office.

"Just want to wrap up some paperwork for some of my cases before I'm out on maternity leave," she replied, scribbling a few notes down on the current file she was working on.

"Have you heard from Aubree?" Lyla queried.

She shook her head, continuing to write. "Nope."

"Has anyone?"

Tara put her pen down, glancing up at Lyla. "Gemma spoke to her the other day," she offered.

"How is she doing?"

"From what Gemma said, she's not doing well," Tara said, shaking her head. "She wouldn't even tell her where she is."

Lyla sighed. "Do you think she'll do it? Actually leave him?"

"I really don't know."

Aubree strolled down Rodeo Drive, cigarette in hand as she paused to look at the Louis Vuitton display window. After a few more days holed up in San Francisco, she'd headed south, wanting to put more distance between her and Filip. Between the decision that needed to be made. She'd checked into the Ace Hotel, a relic of her old life. God, she missed those days. Those late nights spent at the rooftop bar, throwing back cocktails with her colleagues after a long day at the office. Why did I have to fuck everything up? Sure, things with Chris had been awful, but it hadn't been all bad. She'd loved her job, loved the friends she'd made at her firm. She'd loved her apartment, loved everything LA had to offer her as a young, professional twenty-something.

She took a deep drag, watching the plume of smoke as she exhaled. "I just can't ever get it right," she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

She'd decided to take a trip down memory lane, visiting all of her favorite stores, where she'd spent so much time and money, what felt like a million years ago. Before she'd been disbarred. Before her life had fallen apart. Before Filip.

She'd gone into Dolce & Gabbana, where she'd tried on half a dozen brightly printed dresses.

At Valentino, she'd tried on little black dress after little black dress, in every fabric imaginable.

She'd browsed the luxurious cashmere in Loro Piana.

She'd stopped into Hermes, sighing wistfully at the gorgeous Birkin bags on display.

At David Yurman, she'd tried on bracelets, stacking half a dozen bangles up her right arm.

She'd lustfully eyed the Love bracelets at Cartier. In her old life, she'd have thought nothing of throwing down eight grand for one of them. Money had been plentiful, she could have anything she wanted. Her closet was an attestment to that. A dozen Chanel bags. God knows how many Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Dior ones. Racks full of designer clothing. Shoes. The jewelry. I'd sell my soul for my old life back.

Lyla entered the clubhouse, feeling exhausted. She'd just returned from a shoot that had lasted over six hours. It had been a while since she'd participated in a gangbang scene, and she'd forgotten how draining they could be. Probably should stick to girl-on-girl. Though, the money had been too good to refuse.

"Hey babe."

"Hey Ope," she replied, smiling at Opie.

"How'd the shoot go?" he asked, motioning for her to join him at the bar.

"Oh, you know.. It was fine," she noted, taking a seat beside him. She nodded at the prospect behind the bar, who quickly brought her a beer. "How was the run?"

"Fine," Opie affirmed, taking a sip of his own beer. "It wasn't a big job. Just me and Chibby."

Lyla nodded, pressing her lips firmly together. "How is Chibs?" she asked, her gaze firmly focused on her beer.

Opie sighed. "How do you think, Ly?"

Aubree had been gone for two weeks. No one had heard from her since her call to Gemma.

"Has he heard from her at all? Has he even tried getting in touch with her?" she asked.

"Of course he did," Opie replied sharply. "She's his old lady. Do you really think he isn't worried about her, concerned for her safety?"

Lyla sighed. "I didn't mean it that way, Ope. I just meant…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

"He's been drinking too much," Opie noted, taking a sip of his beer. Even before noon, he reeks of scotch."

"Hmm…" Lyla hummed, frowning. "He fucked up, you know."

Opie opened his mouth to speak but she waved her hand, cutting him off. "No, before you say anything, just let me finish," she told him.

She took a swig of her drink, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "I understand how club life works. Fuck, Aubree does too. You think I don't know what you are probably up to when you're out of town, on a run? She made it pretty clear to him what her expectations were, after the last incident. Are you at all surprised that she followed through on her threat?"

Opie shrugged. "Aubree never has been the typical old lady," he conceded.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

Opie sighed. "I don't know, Ly. She's cut from a different cloth than most of the girls 'round here. Had a whole different life before this," he said, gesturing around the clubhouse.

"So did Tara," she replied.

Opie rolled his eyes. "Exactly. Don't be naive. Tara has no problem voicing her opinion about what she wants or thinks when it comes to club happenings."

Lyla nodded but said nothing, staring back down at her beer.

"Are you guys going to have someone go out looking for her if no one hears from her soon?" she asked finally, breaking the silence.

Opie took a sip of his beer. "The thought crossed my mind," he replied, shrugging. "The problem is we have no idea where she is. For all we know, she could have fled the west coast, altogether."

"She took her car," Lyla noted. "I doubt she'd want to put that kinda mileage on the beemer. Especially since she left most of her things at the house."

"Where do you think she'd go?" Opie asked.

Lyla paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Honestly?" she started, rapping her fingernails against the bar. "My money's on Los Angeles."

Aubree brought her fork to her mouth, taking a bite of her salad. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," she said, offering the man sitting across from her a weak smile.

"Of course. It's been a while, Aubree. I'd wondered how you'd been after you'd appeared to have fallen off the face of the Earth," her former boss, Michael Hollister replied, taking a sip of his whiskey rocks.

After much deliberation, she'd bit the bullet and reached out to one of the partners at her old firm, who she'd directly reported to. To her surprise and delight, he'd gotten back to her quickly, agreeing to meet her for lunch at The Polo Lounge.

"I needed to put some distance between me and…. Everything that happened," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Understandable," Michael replied, cutting into his salmon.

"I'm assuming you know um… that I went back up north and resumed my… prior line of work," Aubree mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"I know how word gets around in the office," she added, reaching for her drink.

Michael nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

"So what brings you back down to LA? You didn't get back together with that guy, did you?" he asked, frowning.

Aubree shook her head. "No. We've severed ties permanently. Things haven't really panned out up north. So I figured… why not come back down here, where I at least once had an actual life, you know?"

"You know you can't petition to be reinstated until it's been five years, Aubree," Michael noted, shooting her a pitying look.

"I know," she agreed, taking another sip of her drink, draining the contents. "I was thinking that maybe I could get work as a paralegal."

"Aubree, you know the other partners-"

"I know," she interrupted, tears pooling in her eyes. "I know. But you have to know someone, anyone that might take me on. Please Mike… I don't know what to do."

Michael watched her sadly as she wiped away stray tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her lower lip still trembling. "I just… I fucked up so badly and I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You could go back to school," he suggested, wringing his hands. "Get an MBA, maybe. What was your undergrad in?"

"Legal studies," she replied, laughing shakily. "Probably should have gone with a business degree, huh?"

The two sat in silence for some time, Aubree struggling to reign in her tears.

Finally, Michael cleared his throat. "I'll ask around, see what I can do."

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Mike."

"It might not be here in LA, though. Or at a very big firm," he continued.

"That's fine. I'll go anywhere. Anything is better than this."