The house felt different today — quieter, somehow more fragile. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to break or maybe for something to mend.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hair, forcing a calm into my expression that I didn't feel. Dominic would be home soon, and if I was going to make it through these last two months, I had to put on the mask again.
Pretend.
Pretend like the hurt didn't echo in every corner of this house. Pretend like I didn't still see the flash of anger in his eyes when he threw that case — the one that missed me but shattered everything in its path.
Pretend like I wasn't still trembling sometimes when he spoke.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself why.
Two months.
Just two months.
That was all. Two months of holding my breath, biting my tongue, walking on glass without letting it cut me open.
I didn't want to forgive him. Not really. Not yet. But I had to survive.
The contract was almost over. After that, I could leave. Finally be free of this tangled mess of pain and promises.
When Dominic walked in, I met him at the door with a steady smile. It was small, carefully measured, but it was there.
"Hey," I said, voice light.
He looked surprised, his eyes searching mine like he wasn't sure if this was real.
"I'm glad you're home," I added softly.
His lips twitched into a shadow of a smile. "I'm sorry, Lila. About everything."
I nodded, letting the words wash over me without breaking.
"It's going to be better," he said, and I wanted to believe him.
But I couldn't—not yet.
Instead, I took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Let's just take it one day at a time."
He leaned in and kissed my forehead, tentative but full of hope.
Inside, I was screaming. Inside, I was scared.
Because pretending to forgive was the only way I could make it through the rest of the contract without losing myself.
I had to be strong for two more months.
Two more months of quiet pretense.
Two more months of waiting.
And then — freedom.