"Good. Get some sleep. I’ll have Vance take you to the clinic in the morning."
He leaned down and kissed my forehead—a cold, clinical seal of approval—before turning and walking toward the master suite. I stood in the center of the living room, listening to the silence of the penthouse. I looked at the spot on the sofa where his hand had been, seeing the faint indentations in the velvet.
He was right. We had been having a good night. And that was the scariest part of all. Every time I started to think I could breathe, he reminded me that the air belonged to him.
I had four days left.
I looked at the clock. 1:15 AM.
Tomorrow morning, I would sit in Dr. Thorpe’s office and play the part of the recovering, compliant wife. I would pass his tests. I would smile when I was told to smile. Be
