Chapter 2

They gave me a bath, new clothes. The hot water stung my raw skin, but it felt good to wash away the layers of grime. The clothes were simple, soft, nothing like the bright, hopeful things I used to wear to try and catch Alex's eye. I looked at myself in the mirror, a stranger stared back. Hollow eyes, matted hair they'd had to cut short. Scars. I hid them under the long sleeves, the high neck. Dinner was a quiet torture. Everyone tried to act normal, but the air was thick with unspoken things. Jessica sat next to Alex, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Sarah, dear, you must be exhausted," she said, her voice like honey laced with poison. "We were all so worried." I just nodded, unable to meet her gaze. My plate was full, but the food looked like ash in my mouth. Every time I tried to swallow, the memories choked me. The hunger, the fear, the endless days. Alex watched me, a frown on his perfect face. "You need to eat, Sarah. You look like a skeleton." His words were sharp, impatient. I flinched, my fork clattering against the plate. My stomach clenched. I felt sick. "I… I can't," I whispered. Mrs. Vanderbilt looked worried. "Just a little, dear." But Alex sighed, a sound of pure annoyance. "Don't be dramatic, Sarah. It's over now." Over for him, maybe. For me, it was just beginning. The fear was a living thing inside me, coiling tight whenever Alex was near. He was my kidnapper as much as the men who held me. His indifference, his calculated delay, had been a weapon. Ethan stood by the door, his expression unreadable. He saw it all, my trembling hands, Alex's coldness, Jessica's sly smiles. He was part of their world, Alex's man. But his eyes, when they met mine for a fleeting second, held something that wasn't pity, or disgust. It was something else, something I couldn't name. I excused myself, claiming tiredness I truly felt bone-deep. In my old room, which felt alien now, I curled up on the bed, the luxurious sheets cold against my skin. Sleep wouldn't come. Every shadow was a threat, every sound a memory. I was a prisoner still, just in a prettier cage.