Page 33 of Peak Cruelty

I tighten my jaw until it fades again.

At some point, I realize I’ve stopped thinking about escape.

Not forever.Just for today.

Because right now, no one’s asking me to make a phone call.

No one’s telling me to smile.

No one’s dropping hints about my weight or my “ambition problem.”

Right now, I’m not anyone’s wife, or aunt, or failure.

I’m just a woman in a sunroom, wearing clothes I didn’t choose, strapped to a chair I didn’t ask for.

And for the first time in a long time—no one expects anything from me.Sure breakfast was subpar, and my company sucks, but it’s not all bad.I’ve had worse vacations.

Time passes.The sun moves like it has somewhere better to be.

I track the sounds: A cabinet closes, slow and careful.

A floorboard creaks overhead.

Waves hit rock—steady, heavy, close.

The breeze shifts across my skin.It’s almost peaceful.

He’s underestimated how comfortable I can be in captivity.

I shift again, stretch my fingers out over the armrest until I can just barely reach the edge of the table.

Not to grab the water.

Just to prove I can.

When I hear him coming down the hall—soft soles, no urgency—I settle back into the chair and close my eyes like I’ve been resting the whole time.

Let him wonder what else he’s missed.

And how much more I’m willing to let him get wrong.

17

Vance

She doesn’t move when I come in.

She hears me—she wants me to know she hears me—but her eyes stay closed.Hands relaxed.Face turned toward the light like she’s auditioning for serenity.

I let the door shut behind me.

“Sleep well?”

Her eyes open slowly.“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Of course not.

I cross to the table.No tray this time.No food.Just a single, leather-bound book.Blank.No title.No marks.I set it on the table between us and take the seat across from her.

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