By the time the sun was high, the room was filled with an ominous silence. Lisa sat cross-legged on a chair, brushing out her hair with slow strokes. She hadn’t spoken a word since Arthur’s threatening words about hospital visits and abortions.
Instead, she watched the morning sun spill across the expensive carpet and wondered, for the hundredth time, what life decisions had dragged her into this penthouse, this situation, with this double-faced man she had to call her fiancé.
“Be ready in ten,” came Arthur’s voice through the half-open bathroom door.
Lisa sighed. “For what? A funeral? Yours?”
He ignored her. Which pissed her off more. She ended up in the car ten minutes later anyway, because unfortunately, rebellion wouldn't stop a s*x tape, and her contract didn’t recognize sarcasm
