Chapter 1

Sophia Lee, her face pale on the tiny phone screen, claimed the soundproof booth for her game stream turned into an oven.

"Jack, I was trapped. For minutes. The air... I couldn't breathe."

Her voice, usually sugary sweet for her thousands of followers, was now a fragile whisper meant only for him.

Jack Miller, my Jack, listened, his knuckles white on his phone.

His jaw tightened.

He ended the call.

His eyes, when they found me, were cold. Colder than the Chicago wind whipping outside our apartment window.

"This is your fault, Emily."

I flinched. "What? Jack, I wasn't even there."

"Sophia said you were jealous. You've always been jealous of her."

He advanced on me. I was six months pregnant with his child. Our child.

My hand went to my belly, a useless shield.

"She said you might have... tampered with the booth's ventilation. Made it 'unsafe'."

"That's insane, Jack! Why would I do that?"

He wasn't listening. His rage was a storm, and I was directly in its path.

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

"She was scared, Emily. Terrified. You know she has a delicate constitution."

He dragged me towards the spare room, the one mostly used for storage.

In the corner sat an old steamer trunk, a relic from his grandmother. Dark, heavy wood, bound with brass.

"You're going to feel what she felt."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Jack, no. Please."

He yanked open the trunk. The inside was dark, smelling of mothballs and old dust.

"Get in."

Tears streamed down my face. "Jack, the baby. Think about the baby."

"You should have thought about that before you decided to hurt Sophia."

His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion I recognized.

He pushed me. I stumbled, my swollen belly making me clumsy.

He forced me down, folding my legs, my arms.

The space was too small. My body screamed in protest.

"She was in a hot, stuffy room for ten minutes, maybe more. You'll get double."

He slammed the heavy lid down.

Darkness.

Complete, suffocating darkness.

I screamed his name. I begged. I pleaded for our child.

The only answer was the click of old latches, then the distinct sound of a belt being pulled tight around the trunk, followed by the metallic snap of a padlock.

"You need to learn, Emily," his voice, muffled, came from outside. "This is how you learn."

I clawed at the lid, my nails scraping against the rough wood.

Air. I needed air.

My lungs burned.

The baby. My baby. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen.

I cried out, a raw, animal sound.

He didn't answer.

I heard his footsteps fading away.

He left me there.

Locked in.

Buried alive in his anger.