I love hearing those words come out of his mouth. He says it so easily now, like he's been saying it from the beginning and we lostno time.
"And you? What happens after?"
He has a stupid grin on his face. "I handle Calder. Then I meet you at the safe house."
"Tristan…we talked about this."
"Fine." He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. "I'll do a little damage, then bring him to the fun house. You can meet us there."
"The fun house?"
"Yeah, where we take care of him…our way." He winks.
The thought of making Ewan pay for everything he's done, all the bruises he's left on my mind and body, makes a dark, satisfied feeling unfurl in my gut.
I've been fantasizing about revenge for far too long.
"Promise?"
"I promise." He kisses me deeply, and it reminds me of tomorrow. "I'll let you skin him alive if that's what your heart desires."
I smile against his mouth. "Kinky."
Footsteps approach, which means the makeup artist is coming back.
We break apart, and Tristan slips through a service door I didn't know existed. By the time she rounds the corner with the setting spray, I'm back in my chair, breathing normally again.
"That was nearly impossible to find."
"Sorry. It's the only one that works for my skin."
She nods. "Let's finish this look. You're going to look amazing tonight."
I smile, and for the first time in years, it's genuine.
I'm going to be free tonight.
Ewan appears at exactly nine.
Not a minute before, not a second after. Making me wait in full hair and makeup, unable to sit properly in my gown,forbidden from leaving the room until he arrives to inspect his product.
Tonight, his inspection takes longer than usual.
His gaze drags down my body like a physical touch—creepily appraising, the same way a collector examines a piece he's about to display.
"Perfect," he says finally. "You're going to make quite the impression."
I barely hear him.
My mind is still wrapped in daydreams—clinging to hope and the future I know is coming—but a part of me can't help running through every possible worst-case scenario. I guess that's trauma, fused into my cells, refusing to leave me alone.
I know it'll likely take years, and maybe some therapy. Healing isn't something I'll be able to fast-forward through. But I'm hopeful that one day, this will all feel like a distant, forgotten memory.
Ewan reaches for my emerald tree gown. He looks happy with his choice. Everything is always his choice. The silk clings to every curve before cascading into a dramatic train, back bare to the base of my spine, neckline bordering on obscene.
A trophy dressed in expensive fabric and borrowed jewelry. Polished and presented for his associates to admire—and maybe touch, depending on how Ewan is feeling tonight.
The thought sends a cold shiver down my legs.
