My shoulders straightened. My spine locked. Something fierce and alive sparked in my chest.
If Gideon wanted me at his game?
He could suffer without me. He could look for me in the stands and find nothing. He could realize that signing a contract didn't make me obedient.
That breaking me in private didn't mean I'd bow in public.
I smiled—small, bitter, victorious.
"Let him try to punish that," I muttered.
I stayed long after sunset.
The workers left at five. The construction foreman locked up behind them, nodding once before disappearing into the cooling evening.
I should have left too.
Instead, I pulled books from half-empty shelves and reorganized them by color. Then by author. Then alphabetically within genre because the first two systems didn't satisfy the restless energy clawing beneath my skin.
I'm cleaning, I told myself. Getting ahead of the renovations.
But my hands shook when I shelved poetry. My vision blurred when I passed the romance section.
I wasn't organizing.
I was hiding. From the empty house. From the bedroom that smelled like him. From the memory of his hands washing my skin with unbearable gentleness. From the fact that he'd cared for me—and I'd let him.
The bookstore lights buzzed softly overhead. Outside, darkness pressed against the windows. The street emptied. Cars passed less frequently.
I should go home.
I didn't move.
My phone sat on the counter where I'd left it hours ago.
I picked it up. Checked the screen. Nothing. No missed calls. No texts. No terse commands reminding me where I should be. What I should be wearing. Who I belonged to.
Just—silence.
My chest tightened.
He must be at the game already. Skating onto the ice while fans screamed his name. Scanning the stands for the woman who should be there wearing his jersey. Finding nothing.
Relief flooded through me first—sharp and immediate.
Good. Let him look. Let him realize I'm not some obedient doll he can dress up and parade around.
But underneath that relief, something else stirred.
Something small and ugly and wounded.
He didn't even check. Didn't call to make sure I remembered. Didn't text to threaten or coerce or?—
I slammed the phone down.
"Stop," I whispered to the empty store.
I hated that part of me. The part that felt hurt by his silence. That wanted him to notice my absence. To care that I'd defied him.
