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“It’s so good to see you.”

I glance at Connor, who watches us intently. According to him, Chris is a master manipulator. But right now, he seems so genuine, so relieved.

Could Connor have been wrong about him?

“I wish I could say the same,” I reply, my voice cool despite the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me. “But considering the circumstances…”

Chris leans forward, his elbows resting on the small ledge. “I know you must have questions. I’ll answer anything you want to know.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “Did you… did you really plan to drug me that night?”

Chris’s eyes widen, his face a mask of innocence. “What? No, of course not! I would never do that to you, Mary. You have to believe me.”

I want to believe him, but the doubt lingers, a bitter taste on my tongue. “Then why are you here?”

He leans closer, his breath fogging the glass. “It’s all a misunderstanding. I was set up. Someone’s trying to keep us apart.”

I peer at Connor, who watches us with a stony expression.

“Who is he, anyway? Your new boyfriend?” Chris asks.

“He’s… a friend.”

“A friend who brings you to visit your ex in prison? Sounds more like a jealous lover to me.”

I bristle at the insinuation. “It’s not like that.” And we were never together. How can Chris call himself my ex?

“Then what is it like? Because from behind this glass, it looks like he’s trying to control you.”

My jaw clenches. “You don’t know anything about him.”

He holds up his hand in a placating gesture. “I’m just looking out for you. I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I laugh, a harsh, brittle sound. “You care about me? Is that why you lied to me for months, why you planned to drug me and do God knows what else?”

He flinches as if I’ve struck him. “I told you, that’s not true. I would never hurt you. I love you. Please, you have to help me.”

I want to. A part of me still cares for him, still hopes there’s some truth to his words. But the facts don’t lie. And neither does the calculating glint in his eyes.

“What’s my favorite food?”

“What? I—We never really talked about favorites like that.”

“My favorite color? Favorite book or movie?” I press. “You said you love me. So tell me, what are my favorites?”

His eyes dart away for a second, and the warmth has disappeared. “I don’t actually know those kinds of details about you anymore.”

A bitter taste spreads in my mouth. “Because you were never interested in me as a person. I was just a means to an end, wasn’t I?”

“Mary, no. I cared about you.” But the words sound hollow.

“Tell me about our first conversation. What did we talk about?”

He leans back in his chair, feigning thoughtfulness. “We talked about… dreams, goals.” His words are vague, a shot in the dark.

Those blue eyes that once made my heart skip a beat, now just look cold and calculating. The charming smile that used to make me weak in the knees is nothing more than a mask.

“No, Chris. We talked about art, remember? The painting you wrote me about because I posted it?” I lean closer to the glass, seeking the man who once spoke with such passion, but all I see is an imposter wearing his face.

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