The silence of the bedroom eventually became more suffocating than the conversation. Betty sat on the edge of the mattress, her fingers digging into the hem of her shirt until her knuckles turned white. She moved toward the door, her heart performing a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every floorboard that creaked under her weight sounded like a gunshot. As she reached the landing of the stairs, she stopped.
A dry, hueless laugh escaped her. She wasn’t even in her own house. Grayson had taken her to his place, a sprawling, rustic fortress tucked deeper into the tree line than she had ever ventured.
She crept down the stairs, her hand hovering just above the railing. The main floor was empty, bathed in the amber glow of the afternoon sun. Then, a rhythmic thud drifted in from outside.
T
