In that single second I glance down to fill it with cold water, I hear bare feet slapping against marble, fast and desperate.
As soon as I spin, the glass drops and explodes between us in a sparkling shatter.
My hand shoots up on pure instinct, catching the blade just before it plunges into my heart. Steel bites deep into my palm, blood pouring instantly, streaming down my wrist and soaking the sleeve of my black shirt.
I grip the knife tighter, refusing to let go, my emotionless eyes locked onto her wild ones.
She pushes with everything she has left, both bound hands wrapped around the handle, weak arms shaking from the force.
Yet I hold firm, staring into the void of her pain—a pain I know all too well—as if it could swallow me whole all over again.
“Bastard!” she bites, followed by a whimper as she suddenly yanks the blade free from my grasp.
I hiss through clenched teeth as fresh fire explodes across my palm and she stumbles backward through the mess of blood, water, and broken glass, the blade still held out in front of her like an unsteady shield.
Her gaze never pulls from mine as she retreats, every step leaving crimson footprints across my pristine floor.
Then, she finally twists on her heel and bolts.
Bare feet smack frantically against the floor as she races toward the far end of the living room, a delicate ghost in a white dress.
But I remain rooted in place, bleeding silently, watching her as she reaches the tall double doors leading to the pool side.
She yanks them open with surprising strength, and a forceful sweep of cold night air surges inside, carrying the thick scent of chlorine and damp earth.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, causing fresh blood to pulse from the deep gash in my palm, trickling in rhythmic patterns onto the marble below.
Let her go,I tell myself, although, for some reason, everything within me doesn’t seem to want too.
But she suddenly stops, right under the threshold, where the light of my mansion bleeds into the nightfall outside.
And for a long, cold moment, only the wind moves around her as she stares ahead.
Slowly, she turns her head over her shoulder, her eyes finding mine across the distance, and I can see it—the realization hitting her.
I amnotchasing her, and I haven’t moved.
Confusion cracks her expression, melting into something deeper, and more delicate. A disbelieving stare that carries the weight of every horror she expected and the terrifying mercy she never asked for.
And still, she stands there, poised between escape and the strange, curious gravity pulling her back toward me.
Then she finally twists to face me fully.
“Why?”
I barely catch the question, yet it slivers straight through me.
“Why what?” I reply, my voice calm and almost tender against the roaring night.
“Why am I allowed to run? Why am I allowed to leave?” Suspicion drips from every syllable. “You just paid sixty million dollars for me.”
I blink twice, slow and blank, the number sounding stupid even to me.
“Because you’re free to go,” I say simply. “I had no intention of keeping you.”
Her brows knit tightly, perplexity carving deep lines into her face.
“There’s no need to go out back, though,” I continue, gesturing with my injured hand. “The front door is right there, unlocked. Walk out freely.”
