“Let her go.”
The voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Henry freezes.
I blink, gasping for breath, vision blurring. I know that voice. Even after everything. After years and miles of silence.
George.
Henry turns, still holding me against the wall, but slightly loosening his grip.
“Mind your business,” Henry grits out, not turning around.
"She needs to learn.”
Footsteps. Steady. Calm. Then George steps into view, and my heart stutters.
He hasn’t changed much, those eyes, the cold, calculating ones I used to trust—are exactly the same. He’s not dressed in a three piece suit, like always. My stomach drops.
He looks Henry dead in the eye.
“I said,” George repeats, voice low and dangerous,
“Let. Her. Go.”
Henry finally let 's go.
I drop to the mattress, coughing, arms around my chest, blouse hanging off one shoulder, breath coming in ragged gasps.
George doesn’t look at me. Not right away. He just stares at Henry until the bigger man backs off—not much, but enough.
“She’s not ready yet,” George says, like he’s talking about a patient. Or a project.
Like I’m anobject.
Henry nods slowly. “Just trying to have a little taste.”
“Next time,” George says coldly, “you check with me first.”
Henry snorts, but doesn’t argue. He glances at me—one last look, dark and heavy, then walks out without another word.
The door closes behind him. Silence.
Then George finally turns to me. My breath hitches.
“Hello, Ava,” he greets, tone clipped and unreadable. “It has been some time.”
My throat burns. Every breath scrapes like glass.
I clutch what’s left of my blouse around me, glaring up at George from the corner of the bed, where I’ve half-curled to protect myself from the man I used to callhusband.The fact that he was once my husband makes me sick to my stomach, especially knowing he played a part in my kidnapping, and probably worse.
“Why are you here, George? Why did you kidnap me?” I rasp, voice raw from Henry’s grip.
His expression barely shifts. Cool. Controlled. The same mask he always wore during fights he insisted we weren’t having.
“I didn’t take you, Ava,” he says evenly, as though the distinction should mean something. “Strictly speaking, that was Henry’s doing.”
I bark a laugh that sounds more like a sob.
