Then I turned on the shower.
No hesitation.
I needed the heat. I needed the noise. I needed to feel something that didn’t have his fingerprints on it.
The water poured over me, scalding and steady, and I tipped my head back until it roared in my ears loud enough to drown him out.
The ring on my finger felt heavier under the stream. I twisted it. I thought about ripping it off. Throwing it. Flushing it.
But I didn’t.
Because he’d know.
And he’d make me pay.
Not now. Not like this.
After, I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Red eyes. Damp lashes. A mouth that still hadn’t stopped trembling.
Not from fear.
Not entirely.
Get it together.
I dug through the closet, shoving past the silk and lace he liked until I found something simple—a black ribbed dress that hugged my curves without clinging. Not soft. Not sexy. Mine.
No jewelry. No makeup. Hair up. Clean lines. Clean conscience.
I pulled the towel off and slipped into the dress like armor.
When I looked in the mirror again, I didn’t see prey.
I saw a woman waiting for a war.
And when Cliff arrived?
He wouldn’t find a broken bride.
He’d find the girl still standing inside the cage—and daring the devil to try again.
Not today, Sinclair.
The doorbell rang.
I flinched.
The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot, startling me out of my own skin. My heart stuttered in my chest—just for a second—before I remembered. Cliff.
My feet moved before I could second-guess the decision. Across the hardwood, past the velvet box still sitting like a threat on the counter, past the scent of crêpes and tension baked into the walls.
I opened the door—and there he was.
Cliff.
Jeans. Fitted tee. Tousled hair. Concern written all over his face.
He looked like comfort. Like a memory of who I used to be before this madness swallowed me whole.
