Iris’s POV
I stood in front of my closet for a long time before Marcus came home, staring at my clothes like they might have answers. My fingers drifted over the soft sweaters and simple tops I always wore without thinking. None of them felt right with the marks still fresh on my skin.
I finally pulled out a black turtleneck, the kind that covered me up to my wrists and throat. Then a pair of thick trousers that fell all the way to my ankles. I dressed slowly, taking my time, making sure every inch of me was hidden. The fabric pressed against the mark on my neck, and I felt it there constantly, like something burned into me.
I checked myself in the mirror before leaving the bedroom. I looked the same. Same face, same hair, same quiet version of me wrapped in modest clothes. No one woul
