Chapter 2

In the kitchen, I went through the motions of making the tea. My hands were steady as I sliced the lemon and measured the honey, but my heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

My phone, tucked in my pocket, vibrated silently. I glanced back toward the living room. They were talking, their voices a low murmur. I pulled the phone out and saw the text from an unknown number.

The plan is in motion. Seven days. A car will be waiting.

It was from Holt' s assistant. Hope, fierce and bright, surged through me. Seven days. I just had to survive for seven more days.

I quickly deleted the message and slipped the phone back into my pocket just as Declan walked into the kitchen.

"Who was that?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes were sharp, suspicious.

I stiffened, my back to him. My mind raced, searching for a plausible lie.

"It was the caterer for the engagement party," I said, turning to face him with a placid expression. "Confirming the menu changes."

His shoulders relaxed. The suspicion in his eyes faded, replaced by a soft, possessive look that used to make me feel cherished and now only made my skin crawl.

"Good," he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. "I don' t want anything to go wrong. It has to be perfect."

He pressed a kiss to my temple.

"I was worried for a second," he murmured. "I thought... I don' t know. I can' t stand the thought of you leaving me, Emily. You know that. I' d fall apart."

I had to fight the urge to flinch away from his touch. I looked at our reflection in the polished steel of the refrigerator. He looked like a devoted lover holding his fiancée. It was a beautiful lie.

He was so arrogant, so certain of my love and loyalty. He' d used that love to chain me to him, to excuse his cruelty, to make me complicit in my own suffering.

Not anymore. This time, I knew the truth. His "love" was a sickness, a selfish need to possess, and I was done being his cure.

"I should take this to Christie," I said, my voice carefully neutral as I gently extricated myself from his grasp. It was a small act of defiance, a physical representation of the distance I was putting between us.

He let me go, a frown briefly touching his lips before he smiled again.

"Of course. Don' t keep her waiting."

I carried the tray into the living room. Christie was lounging on the sofa, looking perfectly at home. She watched me approach with an unreadable expression.

I placed the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her.

"Your tea, Dr. Howard."

She picked it up, took a delicate sip, and then made a face.

"It' s a bit too sweet, Emily. Could you add more lemon?"

Her tone was patronizing, as if speaking to a child or a servant. It was a deliberate provocation, a test.

In my first life, this was where the fight would have started. But now, I just nodded silently.

"My apologies."

I took the cup back to the kitchen, squeezed in more lemon juice, and returned. I set it back down in front of her without a word.

She took another sip.

"Now it' s too sour." She sighed dramatically, setting the cup down with a clatter. "My throat is very sensitive. I suppose it' s too much to ask for a simple cup of tea."

I could feel Declan' s eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. I could feel the anger, hot and familiar, rising in my chest. I wanted to throw the scalding tea in her smug face.

Instead, I took a deep breath. I reached for the sugar bowl on the tray, took a clean spoon, and scooped up a small amount of sugar. I held it out to her.

"You can add as much as you like, Dr. Howard," I said, my voice flat. "That way, it will be perfect for you."

It was a small, passive-aggressive act, but it was enough.

Christie' s eyes widened, first in surprise, then in fury. She turned to Declan, her face instantly crumpling into a mask of hurt and betrayal.

"Declan!" she cried, her voice trembling. "Did you see that? She' s being rude to me. After all I' ve done for you!"

She stood up, her hands clenched into fists.

"I can' t stay here! I try so hard to help you, to manage your condition, and your fiancée treats me like this! If she' s going to be here, then I' m leaving! You can find another therapist!"

I almost laughed. It was her favorite move. The threat to leave. It always worked. Declan was terrified of being abandoned, terrified of his own mind without her to "manage" it.

I opened my mouth to defend myself, to point out the absurdity of her complaint.

"Declan, she was the one who-"

"That' s enough, Emily!" Declan' s voice was sharp, cutting me off.

He stood between us, his back to me, facing Christie. His whole posture was protective.

He turned his head, his gaze cold and hard.

"Apologize to Christie."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at him, incredulous. He couldn't be serious. He had seen the whole thing. He knew she was lying, provoking me.

"What?" I whispered.

"I need her, Emily," he said, his voice lowering, taking on a wheedling tone he used when he wanted to manipulate me. "You know I do. My recovery depends on her. Just... for me. Please. Apologize and we can move past this."

He was asking me to swallow my pride, to validate a liar, all for his own selfish needs. It was always about his needs.

I remembered a time, years ago, before the accident. Someone at a party had made a rude comment about my dress. Declan had overheard. He' d calmly walked over, dressed the man down with a few quiet, cutting words, and then led me away, his arm a warm, protective circle around me. He had been my knight in shining armor.

Now, that knight was demanding I bow to the dragon.

The love I thought I still harbored for the man he once was died a final, painful death in that moment. It crumbled into ash and blew away, leaving nothing but cold, hard resolve.

He didn't love me. He didn' t even respect me. I was just a possession, a familiar comfort he was willing to sacrifice for a new, more useful one.

Fine. I would play the part. For seven more days.

"You' re right," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. I looked past him, at Christie' s triumphant face. "I' m sorry, Dr. Howard. It was my mistake."

The words felt like poison in my mouth.

I couldn' t stand to be in that room for another second.

"I' m feeling tired," I said, turning away. "I' m going to go lie down."

I walked out of the room, not waiting for a response, and fled up the stairs, the sound of Declan' s soft, placating voice soothing his precious therapist following me all the way.