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His lips parted to say something—anything to ease her discomfort—but her hands trembled and tightened around the strap of her bag.

He couldn’t fix this.

Why did he want to? He didn’t know her.

Lukas set the food down at her feet, as she seemed too afraid to take it directly from him, before turning away from her and disappearing into the crowd. But he watched her departure.

Something was very wrong.

He needed to get home and speak with Professor Velastra to find out what the hell was going on.

3

AN OFFER SHE CAN’T REFUSE

Blaire hurried home for nothing; Caleb wasn’t home yet.

After dinner, she cleaned up and took a quick shower to rid her hair of the smell of fries. Caleb still wasn’t home, so she spent time browsing the internet. After clearing her search history, Blaire called Charlotte from their landline to tell her what Ricky did and how she suspected Caleb was behind it.

Charlotte agreed with her, so Blaire confessed Caleb took her money again, which naturally pissed Charlotte off. She adamantly insisted that Blaire move in with her and her parents. But going to them would paint a huge target on their backs. Charlotte’s mother’s business would be at stake. Her other mother’s job. Charlotte’s job. Their lives. Charlotte didn’t know murder was on the table. Now that Blaire knew how far her step-grandparents would go, she wouldn’t risk harm coming to those important to her, even if it meant remaining trapped in her own personal hell.

While her stepfather lived, she received all the benefits that came with his old money lineage, hence her single school year at Magnolia Heights, but her mother had foolishly signed a prenuptial agreement that left Blaire with nothing after his death except the name. Retaining the Wilcox name required her to meet expectations and not make waves. Keep her head down and obey.

When the door downstairs opened, Blaire cut the conversation short. Once off the phone, she waited until the shower turned on before venturing downstairs to the kitchen to grab yogurt and strawberries. As she bent over in front of the refrigerator to put away the container, Caleb came up behind her and grabbed her backside. She jumped and spilled strawberries everywhere.

“God, you’re a mess,” he slurred as he leaned against the counter.

Alcohol fumes wafted off him. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with it, but Caleb, in a drunken state, didn’t take well to backtalk and excuses. Play nice, and he’d go away.

She cleaned up the mess while he watched her with a sneer.

“You know… you really should lay off the midnight snacks,” he said as she stood up. “You’re starting to get a little chunky around here”—he reached out and put his hands firmly on her sides, squeezing—“and here.” He ran his hand across her stomach, sliding it under the hem of her shirt to rest on her bare skin.

Blaire froze as he took the strawberries from her and set them on the counter with his free hand. He leaned down to smell her hair, but she pulled from his hold, walking around the counter to throw away the ruined strawberries.

He smirked and narrowed his eyes. “I think getting takeout wasn’t a good idea for you. I mean, the money you left barely covers my phone bill, so you must have bought enough food for a family of four. Did you really eat all of that by yourself?”

She turned sharply and glared at him. To hell with playing nice. “How much money do you think I make? My paycheck was cut by more than half when Ricky cut my hours.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “And today he told me the cut is permanent, so this is going to be the new normal from now on.”

She bit back her suspicions he was the reason; she didn’t want to deal with his shit when it wouldn’t change anything, so she kept her mouth shut on further sass.

He leered at her. “You can make it up to me in other ways, now that I’m essentially the breadwinner. You can start by attending to your wifely duties.”

Blaire fought against him, denying his advances when he tried to force her to her knees on the kitchen floor. Then he dragged her by her hair down the hallway to his bedroom, cussing at her. In his drunken rage, Caleb tore off her shirt and fondled her, but she fought with elbows, knees, and nails. When she didn’t submit like the good “wife-to-be” and scratched his face, he punched her.

When she came to, Caleb lay passed out next to her on his stomach fully clothed, and she still had her pants on. Other than her throbbing head and bruised face, she detected no pain and concluded nothing more had happened after he knocked her out. She scrambled out of bed like it was on fire, then ran and barricaded herself in her bedroom upstairs. Grateful she had work as an excuse to leave the house, she slipped out the door before Caleb woke up.

Slipping into her uniform at the diner, she looked at herself in the staff bathroom mirror. Sighing, she used the compact of pressed powder to apply additional coverage to her cheekbone where angry bruising threatened to appear.

Last night was the first time Caleb had crossed that line; the memory brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to disappear. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a shuddered breath, looking away from the mirror. She felt so dirty. If he hadn’t been drunk, would she have been able to stop what he planned?

Blaire closed her eyes to stop the tears from spilling. Caleb’s piercing hazel eyes waited there, haunting her every waking moment.

A loud knock on the bathroom door shook her from her reflection. She quickly wiped her eyes.

“Blaire, you got a guest,” Ricky’s rough voice boomed.

“Coming!” She stuffed her makeup into her duffel and entered the staff room.