And Marcus isn't my fiancé.
He's my buyer.
I look at him now—really look—and see the same cold calculation I'd glimpsed in my mother's eyes when she'd adjust my chin just so before pressing the shutter. The same proprietary satisfaction when she'd review the perfect shot.
"You've gone quiet," Marcus observes, head tilting. "Are you feeling overwhelmed by my thoughtfulness? I know it's a lot to process—how long I've been preparing to take care of you."
I swallow the acid rising in my throat and force my face to soften. "It's just... surprising," I whisper, making my voice small, grateful. "All this time, you knew me so well."
The words are soft, but inside, my resolve hardens. Not just determination to escape this cabin, this man, these restraints. Something deeper. The resolve to burn "Savannah Ashby" to the ground—the perfect, curated doll they've spent three decades crafting.
If I get out of here alive, that woman dies first.
"Another bite?" Marcus offers, his tone suggesting generosity rather than force.
I accept it, my jaw working mechanically. Cherry juice leaks from the corner of my mouth. His free hand slides up to brush the juice away with his thumb, lingering on my lip. I don't flinch. I've spent twenty-three years being posed, positioned, perfected for cameras. This is just another performance.
"You're being so good today," he says, like I'm a child or a pet. "Much better than yesterday."
I barely even remember yesterday.
Hell, at this point, I barely remember what freedom tastes like.
Is this how it was for Legion? Being locked up in that prison for things he never did? To earn his place in that club? Some stupid patch?
Marcus places the pie container on the nightstand and checks his watch. "Time for your medicine."
"Please," I say, trying to keep the trembling out of my voice. "Marcus, my dear. Can you please let me go to the bathroom."
"Of course, Savannah," He pets my head like I'm a dog. "You didn't respond well to the catheter on the first day, so I've been drugging you just enough to allow you to walk and relieve yourself after eating."
What kind of drugs? How long do I have?
Marcus goes into the bathroom, turns the light on, and I watch as he gets a pill bottle. Twenty minutes, I decide. It will take about twenty minutes to work. Marcus will know this. He will be timing it.
I need to stay awake and lucid. Because this is something far worse than kidnapping.
It's enslavement.
He comes back out, places two white pills on my tongue, and offers me the water glass with the bendy straw.
I sip, try not to swallow them, but they go down anyway.
Stay awake, I tell myself. Over and over in my head. Stay awake. One chance, Stay awake….
"Ready?" Marcus asks. He cuts the zip ties. "Oh…" He chuckles. "This one was nearly broken. Well, we'll double up next time." Come along,"
Stay awake.Stay awake.
Marcus helps me up into a sitting position, my eyes swing wildly around the room, searching… searching….
"Let's stand now, sugar-plum."
My feet hit the floor.
I walk.
Stay awake.Stay awake.
But the next thing I know, I'm once again waking up in bed.
My bindings tighter than ever.
