Chapter 38
The morning sun was making way for the afternoon, its rays spilling directly into the room, softened only by the curtains.
Half of that light caught the sharp features of Celeste's face, but what gleamed more vividly was the injury on the side of her forehead. She sat beneath the dry duvet alone, surrounded by wicked quietness and the bitter aftermath of toxicity. The faint metallic scent of her own blood still lingered in the air. Normally, her feelings never lingered long — she was quick to numb herself, quick to move on. But now, she sat on that bed fed up, cornered by her own reality.
Her only ticket out of these shackles was the Cross family. She needed an escape plan. That's what she told herself.
Or she could tell him the moment he walked through that door that she was done.
Done with all this.
No. That would be stupid of her. Larry was a psychopath. He might kill her right on the spot. She hissed under her breath, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
