I pause but don't turn around.
"When I get out of here," she says, her voice steady as stone, "I'm taking my baby somewhere you'll never find us. And I'll make sure they grow up knowing their father was a monster who kept their mother prisoner."
The words sting. I don't let her see how much they hurt.
"Good luck with that," I say, and close the door behind me.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
She'll try to escape. I know her well enough now to know that much. And when she does, I'll have to stop her.
Because losing her and our child isn't an option.
24
HANNAH
I've made everyone miserable for a week now, and I'm proud of it.
I refuse to eat meals with anyone, including Mila—not because I don't love her, but because I know it hurts Dante when she asks where I am. I've broken three expensive vases, "accidentally" of course. I've screamed at every staff member who's tried to be kind to me. I've made Maria cry twice, which I feel terrible about, but I can't show weakness now.
I'm at war.
This morning I flooded the guest bathroom by stuffing towels in the sink and leaving the water running. Last night I set off the fire alarm at three in the morning. The night before that, I convinced one of the newer guards that Dante had given me permission to go for a walk in the gardens, then tried to scale the fence.
I'm exhausting myself with this campaign of chaos, but I refuse to give in. I refuse to accept this prison just because I'm carrying his child.
I'm sitting on my bed, plotting my next act of defiance, when Dante walks in without knocking. Again. He looks as tired as I feel, dark circles under his eyes, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
Good. I want him to suffer.
"We need to talk," he says, closing the door behind him.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Well, I have something to say to you." He moves to the chair across from my bed, settling into it with that controlled grace that used to make my pulse race. Now it just makes me angry. "You're making everyone in this house miserable."
"Good."
"Including Mila."
That makes me feel horrible. I've been trying so hard to keep my war focused on him, but of course she's caught in the crossfire. Children always are.
"That's not my fault," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Isn't it?" He leans forward, his blue eyes intense. "She keeps asking why you won't eat dinner with us anymore. Why you won't help her with her drawings. Why you seem sad all the time."
Guilt twists in my stomach. "I never wanted to hurt her."
"Then stop."
"I'll stop when you let me leave."
"That's not going to happen."
We stare at each other, locked in this impossible standoff. I'm not backing down, and neither is he. Something has to give, but I'm terrified of what that might be.
"I have a compromise," he says finally.
