There was a moment of silence on the line. I could practically hear his mind racing.
"The hotel," he repeated, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right.
“Yes,” I said. “The hotel.”
“You sure?” He seemed sceptical, hesitant.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“I’ll text you the time,” I added.
“All right,” he finally said. “I’ll be there.”
He hung up before I could say anything more.
I stared down at my phone, the screen now black and warm against my palm. I exhaled, slowly, as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time. My heart was hammering in my chest, not just from the call but from what I was about to do.
I didn’t trust anyone in this house. Not Ryan, not his mother, and certainly not this so-called “retreat.” I didn’t know what they were planning, but it had nothing to do with my well-being
