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I keep asking myself how horrible people get away with so much, and the answer never changes. Because everyone else wants the lie. The pretty version wrapped in faith and tradition and duty. It’s easier to kneel before cruelty when someone gives it a sacred name.

The two men at my sides remain silent as they guide me through the corridor. Their hands stay locked around my arms so I can’t run for it. I’m not planning to, anyway.

The ride up the elevator feels endless. The soft hum of machinery and the occasional shudder of the car are the only sounds between us. It gives me too much time to think. I expected to be taken twenty feet away and shot, not trekking up to the top of the hotel again.

My fear has pushed through into anger.

Why drag this out?

Why didn’t Edwin tell me?

He knew I wouldn’t have agreed to this arrangement in the first place if I had understood the cost. I wouldn’t have knowingly signed my life away.

Termination. That was the word in the contract. I thought it meant the arrangement. But it meant me.

Every step I took, believing I was fighting for our future, now feels stained by the fact that they all knew what losing would cost.

I can’t expect him to save me. Not after seeing the hurt in his eyes from what I said. But I meant every word. Edwin deserves to wallow in the pain of doing this to me.

I sniff back tears. There’s no sense in crying about it. I should have known he only cared about what he could gain. All those times he wanted to quit meant certain death for me, and he didn’t care. My only power against him was to make him suffer my loss.

The elevator doors open, and the men guide me right into a suite. It’s been used, lived in. There’s a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the table next to two flutes, waiting for a celebration. A lamp shines on the dresser, illuminating jewelry laid out. A three-strand pearl necklace lies among the sparkling pieces.

Bridget’s.

This is Patrick’s suite.

I take a deep breath as the thought forms. He’ll get to have his way with me after all, and the realization is so plain it almost doesn’t hurt at first.

Then it sinks in, like freezing cold water seeping into my clothes, stealing my breath.

Patrick touching me, using me, taking his anger out on me for all the trouble I’ve caused him. I swallow hard, keeping the bile down.

I wonder if Bridget will care.

She’ll call it sacrifice, whatever makes her feel above it.

The guards position themselves by the door. One leans his shoulder against the wall to settle in for a long night, his bald head gleaming with sweat like he actually put in work. The other puts on reading glasses to check his phone.

“How long do we have to stay here?” he asks, sounding bored.

The bald man sniffs deeply and swallows. “He wants to deliver her by sunrise.”

I keep my face straight and make myself walk to the bed to sit on the edge with my hands in my lap, the way I was trained. Be composed. Be pleasant. Don’t make it worse. The lessons arrive automatically, rising from years of conditioning.

My gaze drifts to the window. The Mississippi stretches below, carrying its dark current south, escaping this place on its way to the Gulf. Out there is another life, another version of me that never walked into this world. Never met Edwin.

Was it worth running from Ray that night?

If I hadn’t, I would likely be dead by now. The only thing it gave me was a chance to live outside my parents’ prison. A chance to fall in lo—

No.

I swallow the thought before it can bloom into a lie. I can’t afford softness now. I can’t afford romance. The flutter in my chest, the ache between my legs, the way my body reacted when Edwin looked at me like I mattered. Those were just chemical tricks. A foolish animal instinct clinging to pleasure because pleasure feels like proof I’m alive.

I’ll die telling myself that, anyway.

A man who uses me only to let me be killed isn’t worth loving.