CLAIRE ANDERSON
I wake to pale grey light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows, and for one disoriented moment, I forget where I am. The sheets are too crisp, the mattress too firm, and the silence is absolute—no rattling subway trains, no distant sirens, none of the familiar sounds that have lulled me to sleep for the past two years. Then the memories come rushing back, a tidal wave of shame and regret that crashes into my chest and steals my breath. I signed the contract. I moved in. I've trapped myself in a gilded cage with a man who looks at me like I'm a stranger he accidentally brought home.
I sit up slowly, my body protesting the sudden movement. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Xavier's grey eyes, cold and unreadable, watching me sign away my soul. I saw
