Chapter 3

They held us for five days in a damp, windowless room.

I don't remember all of it. The men were brutal. They wanted information I didn't have, confessions to crimes I didn't commit. They wanted to break me.

The worst part was Leo. He didn't understand what was happening. His fear was a constant, high-pitched hum in the small room. On the third day, one of the guards got angry at the sounds he was making. He shoved Leo hard.

Leo' s head hit the concrete wall with a sickening crack.

After that, he was silent. The light in his eyes went out. When I tried to hold him, he didn't respond. He just stared at the wall. The doctors would later tell me he had the cognitive function of a small child. He would never speak again.

The day after Julian won the election, the door to our room opened. Julian stood there, dressed in an expensive suit, looking like the powerful senator he now was.

"I'm so sorry, Elara," he said. His voice was smooth, practiced. "It was political necessity. I had to make a choice."

He secured our release. He moved us into a secluded guesthouse on his new, heavily secured estate in Washington D.C. It was beautiful, a gilded cage. He told me he was protecting us, keeping us safe.

He was hiding us.

A month later, he married Isabelle Vance. She was a wealthy socialite, the daughter of a powerful corporate lobbyist. Their wedding was on the cover of every magazine. He told me it was a political alliance, a marriage of convenience. He swore he loved me.

I stayed. For Leo. The estate had the best doctors, the best therapists. I clung to the hope that they could help him. I clung to the ghost of the man I thought Julian was.

I was a fool.