I forced myself to stand, body shaking. A closet door stood open, and inside—
All of them. Every outfit from the past twelve weeks. The white dress from that first day. Pink sweaters and lavender skirts. The leather pieces, the lace, the cotton panties I'd worn while serving him breakfast. All hanging in perfect order like museum pieces. Like evidence.
"No." Stronger this time, edged with hysteria. "This isn't right. He wouldn't—"
The kitchen drew me, stumbling and unsteady. On the granite counter—so similar to his but wrong, wrong, wrong—sat an envelope. Thick, official looking. My name on the front.
Not Bunny.
Lilah.
My hands shook so badly I could barely open it. Cash spilled out—neat bundles that had to equal around 500k So much money. Enough to start over anywhere, become anyone.
But I only wanted to be his.
A single sheet of paper floated to the floor. I dropped to retrieve it, ended up on my knees again because standing felt impossible.
Lilah,
The Mire Institute thanks you for your participation in our program. As agreed, your compensation has been provided along with relocation to appropriate accommodations.
We wish you the best in your new life.
Dr. Catherine Wells
Director, Mire Institute
Not from him. Not a single word from the man who'd promised—
"You said forever." The words came out broken, directed at empty air. "You said I was ready. Said we'd go to the mountain house. Said I'd cook for you and—"
My voice cracked completely, sobs taking over. I crawled toward the bedroom, some desperate hope that I'd missed something. A note from him. An explanation. Anything that made sense of waking up alone with money I didn't want in an apartment that wasn't home.
"Please," I whispered to no one, checking drawers, closets, under the bed like a child looking for monsters. "Please, please, please. I was good. I was so good. I didn't burn the toast again, didn't fight, didn't—"
The bathroom. Maybe there—
But the bathroom held only expensive toiletries I'd never chosen, fluffy towels that smelled like nothing, a mirror that reflected a woman I didn't recognize. Hair wild, eyes swollen, wearing a silk nightgown I'd never seen before.
Where were my collar marks? The faint bruises from his hands? Any evidence that the last twelve weeks had been real?
"Think," I told my reflection, trying to channel his calm control. "You're spiraling. He taught you how to handle this. Breathe. Ground yourself. Find your center."
But my center had been him. My grounding had been his touch. My breath had synchronized to his, and without him I couldn't remember how lungs worked.
I made it back to the living room before complete collapse. Everything was perfectly arranged—a new laptop on a desk I hadn't chosen, a phone charging on a side table, fresh flowers in a vase like someone had staged this life for me to step into.
The phone. Maybe—
But when I grabbed it with desperate hands, the contacts were empty. No numbers, no history, no proof that Dr. Gabriel Mire had ever existed in my world.
"No!" I threw it across the room, watched it shatter against the wall. "You don't get to erase this! Don't get to train me to need you and then—"
"Dependency on physical contact is concerning."
His words from days ago, suddenly significant. Had he been preparing me for this? Teaching me to survive without touch because heknew—
"You knew." Horror crept in alongside rage. "You knew you were going to leave me. All that talk about forever, about the mountain house, about building a life—"
