I stand at the window, my palms flat against the cold glass. The drapes have been pulled aside, and I watch fluffy snowflakes swirling in the air on the other side of the thick glass. Some are sticking to the window pane. My heavy, swollen eyes peer through the flurries with longing. From here, there is nothing but an endless sea of snow-covered trees. It seems Judson’s—or rather, Damien’s—house is isolated.

I swallow a sob as my memories take me back to Oaklow, the day I rode my bike through the rain from Millie’s Book Corner. I remember being desperate to get out of the rain. Now, stripped of my freedom, I would give anything to be out in the rain again.

I step away from the window and return to the bed, where I perch on the edge, my head on my knees. My deep breaths do nothing to calm the storm within me.

I barely slept all night, thinking of ways to escape and hitting a brick wall over and over. The windows are barred, the door is locked, and I’m bound to a psychopath by marriage vows I can’t recall saying. Whichever way I look at it, I’m trapped.

But I refuse to give up my freedom. I’m not his possession. My life is my own. By letting this man into my life, I got myself into this mess. And I’m determined to find a way out before he breaks me.

As the sun’s rays push their way through the cloudy sky and make the snow sparkle, I make a decision. I will play along, for now.

He wants me to trust him, so I’ll have to fake it. I’ll say I did some thinking and am ready to be his wife. He’d be a fool to believe me, but I have to try. I’m his weakness—perhaps by being what he wants, I’ll be able to find my strength.

I lift my head and gaze at the table. The plates from yesterday are still there, but every morsel of food is gone. He hasn’t brought me anything else to eat. If I don’t want to die of hunger, I better do something soon. Too bad it isn’t so easy handing myself over to a psychopath, even in pretense.

I push a hand through my tangled hair and gaze into a random corner of the room. “If you want to talk, I’m listening.”

I count the seconds in my head, waiting for him to respond. By the time I hit sixty, sweat is trickling down my spine and my stomach has tensed to the point of pain. He doesn’t trust me. What if he keeps me locked up for days without food? Thanks to the bathroom faucet, I won’t die of thirst, but how long can a person go without eating?

I keep my eyes fixed on the far corner of the room, my face expressionless. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on inside me. I won’t give him more power than he has already stolen from me. I won’t beg.

I wait for about an hour before speaking again, to a different corner of the room this time. I wish I knew where the damn cameras were hidden. Then I wouldn’t feel as though I’m talking to myself. I imagine him on the other side, watching me, waiting for me to surrender to him.

“You want an apology? Is that it? Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my behavior yesterday. I was in shock, okay? I was angry. That shouldn’t surprise you.” I bite my lip and close my eyes briefly. “I’m fine now. You can come in and talk to me.”

Another hour passes, and he still hasn’t responded to me. I curl up under the covers, trying not to hyperventilate.

Finally, after an interminable amount of time, I hear footsteps outside, faint at first and then louder. Then I hear nothing but my heartbeat. I know he’s standing in front of the door.

I push back the covers, holding my breath. A surge of adrenaline shoots through my veins. I can’t do it. I can’t pretend I want to be here, that I want to be his wife. If he opens that door, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself from trying to escape.

I have to get the hell out of here. I don’t know how I’ll get off the property, but I won’t let him lock me inside this room again. Next time it could be days before he returns. My determination to escape gets me out of bed and pushes me across the room just as he pushes a key into the lock.

On my way to the door, I grab a wrought iron floor lamp and stand on one side of the door, back pressed hard against the wall. He doesn’t barge in, however. Perhaps he’s hesitant to enter.

The doorknob creaks as it turns. Drawing in a deep, silent breath, I tighten my slippery fingers on the stem of the lamp.

When he pushes the door open, my fear is replaced by blinding white rage, which injects me with the strength to swing the lamp as hard as I can.

My stomach drops when he ducks at the last second. But I don’t quit. A groan escapes my lips as I take another swing at him.

In a fluid movement, he grabs the lamp below the shade. He yanks it toward him, along with me, and his free hand grips the back of my neck, squeezing tight. I whimper. The lamp crashes to the floor. He draws me closer, so close I smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.

“Wrong move,” he hisses into my ear. “You shouldn’t have done that.” His forehead is pressed to mine, his eyes closed. When he opens them, I notice faint specks of gold glinting in his irises. I never noticed them before.

He yanks my head back by my hair, and I grit my teeth against the pain.

“You’re the one making a mistake. You can’t keep me here,” I manage to speak through my constricted throat. A tear trickles down my cheek. “You can’t.”

“Want to bet?” He gives me a sour grin that makes my stomach turn. “I thought being locked up would teach you a lesson. I came back ready to treat you well. I wanted to be a loving husband to you, but you had to do something stupid, didn’t you? Looks like you need another lesson.”

“What are you planning to do to me?” My voice cracks along with my serenity.

“What’s the fun in telling you all my plans?” He tips his head to the side and draws in a breath through his teeth, like a snake hissing. “Allow me to show you.”

As he drags me through the dim corridors of the house, I try to free myself, thrashing and kicking and trying to bite him. Eventually I’m too out of breath and exhausted to continue. We arrive at a door to what looks to be the basement, and without another word, he shoves me inside.

As I scramble to my feet, the door slams shut. He’s gone, leaving me inside the dark room. The darkness is so thick I can almost touch it.

Back on my feet, I’m panting and shaking uncontrollably, unable to hold myself upright. I feel around for something stable to lean on and find a cool, smooth surface—too smooth to be a wall. It feels more like glass. Whatever it is, I slump against it and wait for the wave of dizziness to recede.

Then the room is abruptly flooded with light. At first I’m blinded, but when my vision clears, I see the mirrors all around me. Even the door is mirrored. The blood drains from my face. I push myself away from the mirrored wall I’m leaning on and move to the center of the room. My head is spinning as I turn around, taking in my bright surroundings. The room is bare, not a piece of furniture in sight.

Dread punches me in the gut as the reality of what I’ve done hits me. I fold my body forward, hands on my trembling knees. I got what I wanted: I escaped the room he kept me in for days, only to end up in a proper prison cell.

I’m unable to stop the bile as it churns in the pit of my stomach and shoots up my throat.