Chapter 11 Faith
My panties.
Cleaned, pressed, folded with surgical precision and placed on my pillow like a calling card. The black silk I wore to the gala, the ones soaked with evidence of what he does to me, now pristine and waiting for me to find them.
I'm frozen in my bedroom doorway, towel wrapped around me from my shower, water dripping down my legs as I stare at the violation on my bed.
Six hours since I locked him out. Six hours of fitful sleep, dreaming of icy eyes and hands that kill.
And while I slept, he was here. Inside my apartment. Inside my bedroom. Touching my things.
In my sleep-deprived state I'd stumbled to the bathroom when I woke, barely opening my eyes.
Now I see it. Underneath the panties, red silk spills across my white sheets like blood.
My hands shake as I approach, already knowing what this is, already dreading the message it sends.
A dress. The kind of dress that makes statements, stakes claims, starts wars. The kind of dress that says I belong to someone dangerous.
My phone buzzes before I can process either gift. Unknown number, but I know those words:
"Put them on."
My fingers type back, fury making them clumsy: "You sick fuck."
"You were dripping in them." His response is immediate, like he's been waiting.
Heat floods my face, my thighs clenching at the memory. "I'm calling my father."
"No you're not."
He's right. I won't. We both know I won't. Instead, I lift the dress, hold it against my body. The mirror shows me what I'd look like wearing it: dangerous.
"Wear it when you're ready for me," his next message says.
"Why would I?"
"Because you want to see what happens next."
I throw the phone on my bed, needing distance from his words, from the truth in them.
The silk slides over my skin like his hands would, marking me as his even as I turn away.
The dress fits perfectly. Of course it does.
He's memorized my body through his cameras, knows every curve.
My nipples peak against my towel, my body betraying me even in anger.
I pull on jeans and a cardigan instead, the uniform of someone harmless, someone who doesn't dream about violence, someone who doesn't even think about killers.
The library needs me at eight for volunteer training. New people to teach about reading to children, about being gentle and kind and everything I'm not anymore.
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in the children's section, surrounded by primary colors and innocence, explaining our reading program to three new volunteers.
Two retirees looking for purpose, and Janine Chapman, fresh from Northwestern with her education degree and enthusiasm that makes my chest hurt.
"The kids can be shy at first," I tell them, pulling picture books from the shelves. "But if you're patient, they'll open up. Books are safe spaces for them."
Janine hangs on every word, taking notes in a rainbow notebook, her blonde ponytail bouncing when she nods. Twenty-two years old, bright-eyed, trusting. She reminds me of my mother, somehow.
The library door chimes at eight-thirty. Trent Neumann enters like he owns the place, which technically he partially does: major donor, board member, predator in philanthropist's clothing.
"Ms. Winters!" His voice carries across the library, too loud for the space. "Just the person I wanted to see."
My stomach clenches, acid burning my throat. But I paste on my librarian smile. "Mr. Neumann, what brings you here today?"
"Quarterly inspection of our charitable investments." He approaches our small group, but his eyes have already found their target. They lock onto Janine like a hawk spotting a rabbit. That same sexual assessment disguised as professional interest I've seen in a thousand memories.
"And who's this dedicated young woman?" He extends his hand to Janine, holding hers a beat too long when she shakes it.
"Janine Chapman, sir. I just graduated Northwestern. Early childhood education with a minor in library science."
"Remarkable." His thumb brushes her wrist before releasing her hand. "Such dedication in one so young. You know, we're always looking for bright minds at Neumann Pharmaceuticals."
Janine's eyes widen. "Really?"
"Absolutely. In fact, we're launching a new educational initiative.
Bringing pharmaceutical knowledge to young children, teaching them about health and wellness.
" He hasn't looked away from her once. "I find group settings dilute the learning experience.
Real growth happens with focused attention, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Chapman? "
"I… yes, that makes sense."
His hand finds her shoulder, fingers pressing down with possessive weight, a touch that looks paternal but feels like ownership. The same possessive touch I saw in those old photos of him with my mother at the hospital fundraiser, weeks before she died.
"Consider it a paid internship. I'd mentor you personally. One-on-one sessions where we can really focus on your development."
"That's incredibly generous," Janine breathes, practically glowing.
"Nonsense. Investing in young talent is how we change the world. Why don't you come by my office next week? We can discuss your future in a more… intimate setting."
My hands shake as I pretend to organize books, watching him position himself closer to Janine, watching her lean into his attention, completely unaware she's being groomed by someone who collects young women like trophies.
"I'll have my assistant call you," he says, finally releasing her shoulder but leaving his hand hovering near her back. "We'll set up something private. Just us."
"That sounds perfect, Mr. Neumann."
He finally acknowledges me again, that practiced smile never wavering. "Ms. Winters, you've trained an excellent volunteer. I'm sure you'll miss her when she moves on to bigger things."
The threat in his words is subtle but clear: don't interfere.
After he leaves, Janine practically floats through the rest of training, unable to focus on anything except her amazing opportunity. The retirees congratulate her. I bite my tongue until it bleeds.
I catch Janine before she leaves, my hand on her arm perhaps too tight.
"About Mr. Neumann's offer," I say carefully. "Please be careful."
Her face shifts to confusion. "Why? It's an incredible opportunity."
"Just… make sure you're never alone with him."
"That's weird advice, Faith. He said one-on-one mentoring."
"Bring a friend. Meet in public places. Please."
She pulls her arm free, looking at me like I've grown a second head. "Are you feeling okay? You're being really paranoid."
"I'm trying to protect—"
"From what? He's a respected businessman. A philanthropist. My parents will be so proud when I tell them." She backs toward the door. "Maybe you should take the afternoon off. You seem stressed."
And then she's gone, taking her innocence and trust with her. I've failed. The warning sounded insane. How do you say "he killed my mother" without proof, without sounding deranged?
Three days pass. Three days of watching Janine glow about her upcoming opportunity. Three days of failed attempts to warn her. Three days of nightmares about history repeating.
Nine PM finds me at my laptop, digging through records I've already memorized.
Neumann Pharmaceuticals' internship program.
Three victims in five years, all following the same pattern of silence.
Lola Nguyen, hired January, gone by July.
Filed a harassment complaint that got retracted within forty-eight hours.
Now she works in Seattle, won't return calls, won't talk to reporters.
Jennifer Park. Six months at the company, then complete silence. A gap in her employment history that screams trauma. When she resurfaces, she's in therapy, working retail.
Amanda Phillips. The worst one. Bright, ambitious, looked a little like my mother in her company photo.
She lasted three months before the suicide attempt.
The hospital records are sealed, but I've pieced together the pattern.
He coerces them, breaks them, ensures their silence with NDAs and threats.
Three victims who learned that speaking up costs more than staying quiet.
My mother was the only one who fought back hard enough to die for it.
I'm pulling up more records when my phone buzzes with a news alert. Entertainment section, why do I even have that enabled? But the headline makes my blood freeze:
"Pharmaceutical Giant Attends Film Premiere"
The photo loads slowly on my old laptop.
Neumann's hand on Janine's waist, possessive, claiming.
The same hand that was on my mother in those hospital photos I found.
History repeating while I sat patient, playing by rules that protect powerful men.
She's wearing an expensive dress I know she doesn't own, looking overwhelmed but smiling, playing the part of the ingénue perfectly.
Another photo. Him guiding her toward the theater entrance, his hand now on her lower back, steering her into the darkness. The timestamp: one hour ago.
The premiere started at nine. It's ten-thirty now. An hour and a half. She's been alone with him in that dark theater for an hour and a half.
For three heartbeats, I sit frozen, staring at the photo. Janine's smile. His hand. The darkness of the theater entrance. Then my laptop slams shut and I'm moving, my patience shattering in an instant.
I'm yanking open my closet, pulling out the red dress, the only one fitting for a film premiere.
The silk burns against my fingers, but I'm already stepping into it, yanking the zipper with shaking hands.
The silk slides over my skin like his hands would, marking me as his even as I run toward danger.
The dress fits perfectly. He knows every curve.
No time for makeup, for planning, for anything except action.