Chapter 4

My father' s face contorted with fury. Before I could react, he lunged forward and snatched the lab report from my hand.

"Where did you get this?" he snarled.

Then, his hand came up and he slapped me, hard, across the face.

The force of the blow snapped my head to the side. My cheek stung, a sharp, burning pain that radiated through my jaw. The shock of it was even worse than the pain. He had never, ever hit me before.

"Mark!" my mother cried out, but there was no real concern in her voice. It was the sound of someone worried the neighbors might hear.

"Don' t you ever go through our things again!" my father yelled, his face inches from mine, his eyes blazing with a terrifying rage.

Tears of pain and outrage welled in my eyes. "You lied to me! You put me in danger!"

"We did not!" my mother insisted, stepping forward. Her expression wasn' t one of guilt, but of pure annoyance. "We were protecting you! And him! Do you have any idea the scandal this would cause if people found out? A man like Rick Miller, with his reputation?"

"I don' t care about his reputation!" I shouted back. "I care about my life! You have to tell people! He needs proper medical care, not me!"

"We are handling it," my father said, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet tone. "And you are going to do as you' re told. This conversation is over."

He turned to leave, dismissing me as if I were nothing.

"No," I said, a new resolve hardening inside me. "It' s not over. I' m not going. And I' m going to find out what you' ve been doing with his money."

That hit a nerve. Both of them froze.

"I' m leaving," I declared, turning toward the door. "I' m going to a hotel. I' ll figure things out from there."

I reached for my purse on the entryway table. My wallet. My keys. My ID.

It wasn' t there.

I looked around frantically. "Where' s my purse?"

My mother gave a small, tight smile. "I put it away for safekeeping. You' re not in a state to be running off on your own, Chloe. You' re hysterical."

They had hidden my things. My ID, my money, my car keys. They were trapping me here. The walls of my own home were closing in, turning it into a prison.

My anger deflated, replaced by a chilling wave of desperation. I looked at my mother, trying one last time to appeal to the woman who had raised me.

"Mom, please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Just tell me the truth. Why are you doing this? I have a right to know what' s going on."

She looked at me, her face cold and unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something-pity, maybe, or regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

She turned her back to me and picked up my suitcase.

"Get in the car, Chloe," she said, her voice flat and devoid of any warmth.

My father stood by the door, blocking my only exit. His expression was a silent threat. There was no way out. The last shred of hope that this was all a terrible misunderstanding died inside me. My parents weren't just manipulative; they were cruel. And they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.