CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Oliver’s breakfast was nearly finished. I removed the butter from the fridge and set it on the table with a butter knife at the ready when his gruff voice cut through the air.
“Smells good.”
His arrival was expected, but a zap of awareness cut through me anyway. I straightened my body and looked over my shoulder at him. He was working from home today, but he’d showered and dressed in casual slacks and a polo shirt. I hated the ensemble. I hated everything that he wore.
Before he could cross the kitchen to me, I said, “I’m feeling a little off right now. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.” I zipped past him, catching his bewildered expression. I threw over my shoulder, “The food is on the table and ready.”
I didn’t wait for his response as I dashed into the nearest bathroom at the end of the hall and closed the door behind me.
I stood in front of the sink, taking deep breaths.
I tried to steady my heart, but it wasn’t going to happen.
I gripped the sink rim tightly and stared at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were wide with fear. Anxiety made my vision spin, so I closed my eyes and took measured breaths.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You got this, Daisy.”
What I was about to do meant there was no turning back. I was going to break the fucking cycle, but I was aware that I might not come out of it alive. Despite that dream, there was no guarantee this was going to even work, but I knew one damn thing:
I wasn’t going to die as his perfect prisoner.
It was no existence at all.
Seneca’s words flashed through me.
“While we wait for life, life passes.”
I opened my eyes and stared at myself. I watched the fear slip away and determination build before my eyes.
Transformation happens gradually, and yet I didn’t realize I was already ready.
I saw the woman before me now, hiding behind a wall of rules and order.
But that wall had been crumbling for years.
I had contested against him enough that I could see the foundation giving out.
The hardness lay dormant inside me, but it was there.
I watched it stare back at me. I watched it say, “Do it now or you will never have this courage again.”
“Okay,” I whispered at my reflection. “Okay.”
I quietly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. I heard the scrape of the fork against the plate as Oliver ate. I moved in the opposite direction, soundlessly slipping into the laundry room. I stood still for several long moments, my ears straining for nearby footsteps.
I took a few deep breaths and then I moved to the linen basket and stooped down. Burying my hand beneath the layers of sheets, I discovered the familiar shape of the foil tablets and removed them—
“Daisy?”
I froze at his voice. For a second too long, I didn’t move. My face burned as I stood up quickly and spun around to look at Oliver. He was still chewing on his last bite of food, but his chews slowed as he looked at me and then down at the basket.
“Are you alright?” he said, though it didn’t sound like a question.
No, I was not alright. I was about to have a nervous breakdown.
I glanced at the doorway behind him and then at him, managing, “No, I’ve been unwell.”
“Why didn’t you return to me? I would have comforted you.”
“You know how I pace.”
He didn’t speak for a few moments, his eyes narrowing on me. The concern he feigned moments ago was gone, replaced by cold indifference, though his voice still hadn’t caught up when he sweetly asked, “Why do you look guilty, Daisy?”
I shook my head, but it felt jerky. “No, not at all. Just sickly, Oliver.”
He considered that response for a moment before slowly giving me a nod. “Come to me.”
I walked to him, though my knees wobbled at every step. I stopped before him, my eyes pinned to his chest. I could feel him assessing me, his eyes roaming me head to toe. “What were you doing in here?”
“Laundry.”
“The laundry is in the hamper in the bedroom.”
“Other things need washing.”
“Like what?”
“Like the bed linen.”
He was quiet for a second. Then, “Bring me that basket you had your hands on.”
My eyes flared as I gaped up at him. His eyes met mine.
I couldn’t read his expression. He looked down at me, his expression empty, and then his brows jumped up, expectantly.
I nodded once at his command and turned around.
I went to the basket and picked it up. The basket was light, but every step felt heavy as I moved to him, swallowing hard when I extended the basket out for him to take.
He grabbed it, and I watched him as he rifled through the linen.
His face remained inexpressive, even when he found nothing.
He set the basket down, rumbling out, “Eat with me.”
We returned to the kitchen moments later. He sat down on the kitchen chair and watched me as I gathered the plates he’d emptied. “Stay off your feet today, Daisy. You’re pale.”
I nodded, offering him a small smile. “After breakfast, I can join you in the office and read.”
“I have a couple appointments first.”
I rinsed the dishes in the sink, sounding dejected as I let out a simple, “Oh.”
“But afterwards you can join me.”
My smile stretched wider when I looked back at his still reserved expression. “I’d like that.”
I opened the cabinet under the sink to fetch a dishwashing pod and bent down.
Behind me, Oliver continued. “I’ve had some issues with a student—”
A soft thud hit the ground by my feet. My face burned again as I glimpsed the birth control packet that slipped out of my bra. I quickly swept it up, but there was no mistaking the crinkling sound it made as I twisted around and buried it under a bag of sponges.
Oliver had stopped talking. I slowly rose with the dishwashing pod in my hand and opened the dishwasher. I could feel his eyes hard on me. I must have looked faint to him because he gritted out, “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing—”
He was on his feet and coming at me, but his focus was on the cabinet beneath the sink.
I stepped back, nearly tripping over my bare feet as he stood still for a moment and turned his eyes on me.
Hard and cold. His threat made the hairs on my skin rise.
“If you’ve been lying to me, there will be consequences. ”
My eyes watered. “Oliver, please, just listen—”
But he was crouched down now and throwing everything out from under the sink.
I stepped back and back, watching his vicious movements as items came flying out.
I truly did feel like I might faint when I heard the distinct sound of that foil crinkling beneath his touch.
He froze immediately and peered down at it.
I couldn’t swallow or speak. I watched him flip it around, reading the name on the back. I could tell the exact second he knew what it was. His spine straightened. He turned around and looked up at me. True shock radiated out of his eyes now.
“How long?” he whispered, his voice coated in pain.
I didn’t respond. I studied the betrayed look on his face, trying to discern whether there was true hurt in it, or whether he was more upset that I’d gotten away with something like this right under his nose. He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“How fucking long?” he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper as he stepped to me. The foil crinkled harshly in his hand as he gripped it tightly. I saw the wheels spinning in his head. Betrayal and shock twisted into a rage I hadn’t seen in so long.
“How could you do this to me?”
I stepped back again, trying to find my voice. I knew what I needed to do, but it was hard to get my body to cooperate. Run, Daisy. “I didn’t do it to hurt you—”
“BULLSHIT!” he roared suddenly, the veins in his throat protruding as he pointed his finger at me. “You knew exactly what you were doing—”
I spun around and bolted down the corridor. My body tingled with awareness. I heard his heavy footsteps pounding behind me, and suddenly, I truly did want to flee. I wanted to whip open the front door and feel the warmth on my skin—
He caught me quickly. My scalp burned as he grabbed at my hair and pulled me backwards.
He didn’t hold back, pulling so hard that I fell hard onto the floor.
Then he dragged me by the hair, even as I kicked out, my body twisting.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay quiet as I looked up at him.
At the monstrous look in his gaze. He said things.
Horrible things. Things he would do to me.
I was a fucking bitch. A whore. Always a whore.
I had tricked him, and he wanted to watch me suffer for it.
Tears spilled from my eyes, but most of it was from the pain.
He dropped me suddenly, and I cried out, looking up at him, pleadingly. “Please, Oliver. Please, listen to me—”
He crouched down, his hand back in my hair.
He gripped it tightly and watched the tears fall from my eyes.
I could taste the wrath in him. It had only just begun.
That single look held everything he wanted to do to me.
My heart stilled in my chest as I stared at him, seeing more than just the unfeeling psychopath I was familiar with.
I had pushed him over the edge.
What had I done?
“Please,” I whispered, and this time I felt the plea on my tongue. It felt genuine and laced with terror. He might kill me. Oliver might truly kill me—
His grip on my hair tightened so hard, I let out another cry. Then he jerked my head with so much force, my vision blurred as he smashed my head against the wall.
Sound dimmed as I went under.