Riley’s POV
I threw myself into the performance with everything I had.
Over the next week, I became the perfect version of what Marcus wanted Erica to be.
The texts got more frequent. More intimate.
Me: “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Me: “I miss the way you touch me.”
Me: “Soon we’ll be together. Nothing will keep us apart.”
Each message made me feel sick. But I forced myself to send them anyway.
Because I needed time. Time to figure out what to do. Time to find a way out of this nightmare.
The calls were harder.
Marcus would call late at night, his voice soft and needy, talking about our future together. About the life we’d build. About raising Cynthia as a family.
And I’d respond in kind, my voice breathy and loving, playing the role of a woman desperately in love.
“I can
