His back remains to us as he chuckles, his tone low, amused. “Does he now?”
Ella grips my arm so tight, her nails bite into my skin.
Jason finally faces us, his smile stretching just a little too wide. His eyes flick to me, gleaming with something dangerous. “Well. I guess I’ll have to do better, won’t I?”
The smell of artificial cheese sauce fills the air, clinging to my skin like something rotten. The girls love mac and cheese, but neither reaches for their spoons. Their hands stay wrapped in mine beneath the table, small, warm fingers clutching tight.
I squeeze back. I don’t know if I’m reassuring them or stealing their strength.
Jason sets the bowl in front of them with a flourish. “There we go, princesses. Just like Mom used to make.”
Jason watches the twins eat like a proud father, as if he’s actually done something to deserve their trust. As if he hasn’t ripped them away from their home. Drugged them, stolen them.
The worst part is, he’s enjoying this. The control. The compliance. The power.
I force myself to take another bite, if only to keep him from noticing the way my hands shake. The girls mimic me, lifting their spoons in sync, their movements slow, careful.
Jason leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze pinning me down. “You’ve done a good job with them.”
I swallow against the bile rising in my throat.
“They’re polite. Obedient.” He tilts his head. “You trained them well.”
I grip Emmas knee under the table, keeping her from reacting. If she snaps back at him, if she shows him that she’s not the docile little girl he wants her to be, I don’t know how he’ll react.
“They’re strong,” I correct, my voice even. “Stronger than you’ll ever be.”
His smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers behind his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
The girls shrink closer to me.
Jason sighs, shaking his head. “Mia, Mia, Mia… always so combative.” He gestures toward my plate. “Eat more. You’re going to need your strength.”
I force down another bite. Not because I want to, but because I need to stay ahead of him. If I fight him on something small, he’ll push back harder on something bigger.
“Good girl,” he says.
My fingers curl into a fist under the table.
Jason reaches for his glass of wine, taking a slow sip, watching me over the rim. “Tomorrow, we start fresh. I think it’s time the girls get used to their new life, don’t you?”
Their new life. My heart slams against my ribs. I don’t know what he means by that, but I know it’s not good.
I keep my face blank, my voice neutral. “What do you mean?”
Jason smirks, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts his glass in a silent toast. “To new beginnings.”
Emma flinches, and Ella squeezes my hand. I stay silent, throat burning with all the things I can’t say.
Tomorrow.
I have until tomorrow.
I don’t care what it takes—I have to get my daughters out of here. Before it’s too late.
I observe Jason. There’s something off about him. And that’s when I realize what it is.
The way Jason watches them. The way he holds himself, the way he mimics Damon’s head tilt, Zane’s watchful stance, even Asher’s playful lilt when he talks to the girls. He’s been studying them. Learning.
