I cross to the bed on legs that feel like lead. The mattress dips as I climb in, and I stay as far to the edge as physically possible without tumbling onto the floor. I turn my back to him and curl into myself.
The quilt settles over me, warm and soft, smelling like cedar and woodsmoke and something else underneath it all—something that might be him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will myself to sleep, but it doesn't work.
I can feel him behind me. He’s not touching me, he’s kept his word about that, at least. But he’s undeniably present. The heat of his body radiates across the mattress toward me. I can hear him breathing in that slow, steady rhythm, and I'm acutely aware of the weight of him, the sheer physical mass that makes the bed feel so much smaller than it is.
The silence between us is oppressive, heavy with everything we're not saying.
I think about the dinner and the emerald dress and the way he looked at me when I walked out of the guest house, like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. I think about the beach and the way he held me after I confronted him about his parents, the crack in his voice when he swore he didn't know the truth. I think about all the moments between us: the touches, the looks, the way my heart raced every time he walkedinto a room. I was starting to fall for him despite my mother's warnings and my own better judgment.
Was any of it real? Or was I just a convenient solution to a business problem, a prop to be positioned and displayed and discarded once I'd served my purpose?
The thoughts spiral through my mind, chasing each other in endless circles. I should be planning my escape right now. I should be figuring out how to get my phone back, how to signal for help, how to get out of this cabin and away from this man who has turned my life upside down.
Instead, I'm lying in his bed, wearing his clothes, my stomach full of food he made for me.
Pathetic, Mom’s voice whispers in my head.This is exactly how it starts.
But Mom isn't here. No one is here except me and Phoenix and the darkness and the trees pressing close outside the window.
I feel the mattress shift slightly as he adjusts his position, still not touching me, still keeping that careful distance he promised.
"Jade." His voice is barely a murmur.
I don't answer.
"I know you're awake."
I stay silent, refusing to give him even that small acknowledgment.
A long pause stretches between us before he speaks again. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For the way this happened."
The words hang in the air. It’s an apology, the first real one he's offered since this nightmare began.
I should respond. I should tell him that sorry isn't enough, that nothing he says can fix what he's done, that I'll never forgive him for any of this.
Instead, I say nothing. I let the silence stretch on and on, let him wonder whether I heard him or whether I care.
Eventually, his breathing slows and deepens. He's asleep, or at least pretending to be.
I lie awake for what feels like hours, staring at the dark wall in front of me while I feel the warmth of him radiating against my back.
And I hate myself for the traitorous part of me that wants to roll over, forget everything that happened and lose myself in him again. Because even after everything he's done, even knowing what I know now, some broken piece of me still wants him.
Seven days. I just have to make it seven days.
But lying here in the dark with his warmth seeping into my skin, I'm not sure I'll even make it until tomorrow.
26
PHOENIX
Iwake before dawn.
The cabin is still dark, the only light a pale gray glow seeping through the window as the sun begins its slow climb over the mountains. I lie motionless for a long moment, orienting myself to the unfamiliar space and the familiar weight of the woman beside me.
Jade is curled up on the extreme edge of the mattress, balanced so precariously that a strong breath might send her tumbling to the floor. Even in sleep, she's trying to get away from me. Her body is a tight ball of defensive tension, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself.
