I had learned to breathe through the silence.
Silence was the only peace I had now, and even that felt like a luxury when Kendrick wasn't around. When he left the hospital room for a "meeting," I sat upright in bed and stared at the sunlight filtering through the curtains like freedom was waiting just outside those glass windows.
I was pregnant with a man's child who treated me like a toy. A thing. Something to be chained, used, broken,and now, to be bound to him by blood.
But today, I wasn't going to cry.
Today, I would start setting myself free.
The nurse, Elise, had told me to rest. But I had no intention of resting. The moment the door clicked shut behind Kendrick, I forced myself out of bed, ignoring the soreness in my thighs and the aching bruises on my wrists.
I walked slowly to the window, noting the guard pacing outside near the gate. Always one at the front. Two around the back. Kendrick didn't trust anyone, and for good reason.
If he trusted me now, it was because I'd made him believe I was broken. Helpless.
But I wasn't.
Not anymore.
That night, I greeted him with soft eyes and obedient hands. I kissed his shoulder in the dim light as he laid beside me, tracing the inked scars on his back with my fingers. Every gesture I made was calculated. I whispered to him that I missed him. That I needed him.
"Did you?" he asked, brushing a thumb across my bottom lip.
"Yes," I lied, pressing a kiss into his palm.
He looked at me as if I'd finally bent to his will, as if he had fully reshaped me into what he wanted. I saw it in his eyes — that dangerous gleam of power.
"You're learning," he murmured, and I let him pull me underneath him.
I didn't resist. I moaned when he wanted me to, held him when he demanded it, and whispered his name with the exact ache he craved to hear. I gave him everything he wanted, just enough for him to never question me.
All while my mind raced with plans.
Every touch he laid on my body hardened me inside. Hardened my resolve.
I would play the role until the curtains fell.
The next few days passed like a dream I couldn't wake up from.
Kendrick took me home — to his private estate in the countryside, far away from the city. He called it a "fresh start." I called it what it really was,a prison with expensive furniture.
But I smiled. I let him think I was grateful.
He told the staff I was "his." No one questioned it. No one dared.
He had a private wing built just for me. There were guards. Cameras. Locked doors that opened only with his fingerprint. But what Kendrick didn't know was that when he brought me here, he gave me something more important than keys.
He gave me access.
To his home.
To his habits.
To his weaknesses.
I began watching everything. The time he left for meetings. The wine he drank before bed. The way the guards rotated shifts. I paid attention to where he placed his spare keys, to when the power flickered during generator testing.
Every smile I gave him hid a calculation. Every time I curled into his lap, I memorized the angle of the hallway behind him.
And he… was obsessed.
More than ever.
He didn't go a night without touching me, devouring me like he feared I'd disappear if he didn't claim me every chance he got. And I let him.
I let his hands roam my body while my mind stayed sharp and distant.
"You're mine," he whispered after one of those nights, holding me too tightly against his chest.
"I know," I whispered back, gripping the pocketknife I'd stolen from his drawer the day before.
On the seventh night, I tried a test.
Just a small one.
I told Kendrick I wanted to cook dinner for him. "A proper meal," I said sweetly, "for the man who saved me."
His eyes softened in that dangerous way again. "You're full of surprises lately."
"You inspire me," I said, touching his jaw.
He watched me like I was a puzzle he thought he'd already solved.
But I was changing the picture now.
In the kitchen, I moved quickly. One of the maids helped bring in groceries, but I dismissed her gently. Kendrick had told them to obey me without question. I was his queen now, after all.
Once alone, I opened the pantry and found what I was looking for...a powdered laxatives. Not poison, not yet. This was just a test.
I stirred it into his wine, smiling at my own reflection in the glass as I thought, You don't see me coming, do you, Kendrick?
He drank it. Didn't notice a thing.
Three hours later, he was in the bathroom, swearing at the porcelain god.
And I was in the living room, smiling to myself like a mad woman with a ticking clock.
The next morning, Kendrick looked pale but didn't mention what happened. I pretended not to notice.
He kissed my temple before heading out to meet with one of his business partners. "Behave," he said, brushing his fingers over my belly. "For both of you."
That sent a chill through me.
The reminder of the child inside me,his child, burned like acid in my stomach. But I nodded and said, "Always."
When the door slammed shut and the guards followed him out, I ran.
Not to escape. Not yet.
But to check his study.
I'd memorized the code from watching him type it in from across the room a dozen times.
Click. Click. Click.
The door opened.
I was inside.
There were papers, files, keys, even a burner phone.
I grabbed the phone and hid it between the mattress and the bed frame in my room. I copied down his meeting schedule, his travel routes, and most importantly,the name of a man who seemed to work against Kendrick. A competitor, maybe. Someone who hated him.
Someone who might want to help me.
When I was done, I closed everything, sprayed a hint of his cologne on my wrists, and waited by the piano, pretending I had played a soft song while he was away.
That night, he was rougher. As if sensing something off. My body screamed in protest, but my face didn't show it.
I cried after he fell asleep.
I stared at the ceiling, at the patterns of light and shadow, and made myself remember every second of the pain, because when I finally escaped, I never wanted to forget what he had done.
What he had tried to turn me into.
I wouldn't let him win.
Not now.
Not ever.
The next morning, Nurse Elise called to check in.
I locked myself in the bathroom and whispered into the phone I had hidden.
"I'm still here. But not for long."
Her voice was steady. "Do you have a way out?"
"Almost."
"When?"
"Soon."
There was silence on the line. Then she said, "You're stronger than you think. Just stay alive long enough to get out."
I stared at myself in the mirror, at the girl I barely recognized anymore.
"I don't want to survive him," I said. "I want to destroy him."