I want to burn something to the ground.
“So I went, though I had misgivings,” she finishes quietly, then draws in a deep breath like she’s bracing herself.
I reach out and take her hand—not tight, not possessive.
Just there. Warm. Real.
Letting her know I’m not going anywhere.
“He didn’t hit me,” she says quickly, like she’s afraid of what I’ll think.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
Okay.
So maybe I won’t kill him on sight.
But I’m not ruling anything out yet.
“But he did other things,” she continues. “He hated the way I looked. He used to leave notes in the fridge. About what I ate. How much. He started locking the pantry. Only he had the code.”
Something dark and feral rises in my chest.
I don’t stop the sound that rips out of me this time—a low, dangerous growl that surprises even me.
“We opened a joint bank account. All my checks went in. But I never got my debit card. And every time I brought it up, he’d accuse me of being greedy or not trusting him.”
I inhale.
She flinches. Just a little.
And I immediately soften, squeezing her hand gently.
“That son of a bitch,” I mutter.
“It—it sounds stupid now,” she says, tears spilling freely. “The things I let him do. I stayed because I thought… I thought it was what I deserved.”
That does it.
I shift closer, tipping her chin up until she has no choice but to look at me.
My voice is steady, but it’s packed with every ounce of conviction I have.
“Willow, listen to me. You are not stupid. And you didn’t deserve any of that. Not one goddamn second.”
She sobs then, quiet and broken, and every instinct in me screams to pull her into my chest and lock her there forever.
But I don’t rush her.
I let her finish.
Because I need to hear it all.
And because somewhere in the back of my mind, a cold, lethal focus is sharpening around one single thought.
I need that man’s name.
Willow swallows hard, shoulders drawing in on themselves like she’s bracing for impact.
