Shit.

I did not like him calling me Anna.

Whatever that meant, it couldn’t be good. Escalation. It sounded so scientific, so analytical. Now that I was face to face with it, it was chilling. Whatever loose grip William had on reality, it was sliding away from him.

“I want to hear it from you,” I said.

His eyes warmed, his lips curling in a gentle smile. “She never understood, Anna. She thought if she could get you to tell her where the child was, she could retrieve him and the three of us would make a family together. As if I could ever accept her as my wife. As if I’d want that bastard child.”

Confusion swept through me. Didn’t he want the baby?

“I thought the baby was yours,” I said.

“I would have taken him then, Anna. I told you that. We could have married, told everyone he was early. But once you married James, had children with him, there was no way to bring the bastard you birthed back into our lives. Better to leave him wherever Maxwell put him.”

“You don’t know where he is?” I asked.

“The only one who did was Maxwell. But Marissa didn’t believe you. She was furious about it. She said you slapped her and she lost her temper. Shot you, then James when he came for her. Killed you both by mistake like the stupid bitch she is.”

Marissa. I couldn’t picture it, couldn’t imagine the woman I barely remembered having so much anger in her for my mother that it erupted into murder.

“And Uncle Hugh? Aunt Olivia? Was that Marissa, too?” The murders had been so much alike we’d always assumed the killer had been the same person.

William's eyes wouldn't meet mine. They fixed on the candles on my bedside table, the white wax dripping down the brass holder, streaming to the carpet below.

Slowly, he said, “That was a mistake."

The grief in his voice, real and raw, tore the breath from my lungs. "Why?" I cried. "Why kill them?"

“Because they knew," he roared. "They knew all of it, Marissa let something slip—probably on purpose, the cunt—and they knew. They were going to make it public, tell the investigators, sully your memory by telling everyone you'd had a bastard child. Tell everyone you'd rather give your baby up than marry me."

A fresh wave of horror washed over me. "You killed Uncle Hugh and Aunt Olivia to protect your reputation? To avoid gossip?"

He slammed his fist down on his knee and shouted, “To protect you. To protect your memory."

Forgetting his delusion that I was my mother, I said, “She was dead. She was dead, and you killed two people just to stop a little gossip."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I loved you, and you ruined everything. You and that fucking brat you gave up. All those years, even at the end with Maxwell, working so closely together, he refused to tell me where he hid the baby."

"You were working with Maxwell? At Sinclair Security?" I couldn't keep track, wasn't sure what was fact and what was William's version of the truth.

He let out a condescending laugh. "Of course not. We had other business. Things had slowed down at the firm. They were edging out some of the older partners in favor of young blood, but I will not be dismissed." He slammed his fist into his knee again in emphasis. "Maxwell had some… opportunities. Unsavory, I'll admit, but profitable. We were spending a lot of time together at the end, but still, he wouldn't tell me."

"Did you kill Maxwell?" I couldn't help asking.

"Of course not," he said, as if the question were ridiculous, obviously forgetting that he’d just confessed to murdering my aunt and uncle and covering up the murder of my parents.

“The business with Maxwell,” I said, slowly, putting pieces together as I spoke, “the unsavory people…is that where you got whatever you used on the cameras?”

William gave me a sly smile but didn’t answer.

“But you've been looking for the baby all this time," I said. “Even though you don’t want him?”

"He's a loose end." William leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, a sweet, gentle smile spreading across his face. "I didn't understand until your sixteenth birthday. She called you Annalise, but she might as well have given you her name. You are her. Just like your mother. Made for me. And I realized, Anna was lost to me, but I could have you."

Bile rose in my throat. I pressed my back into the headboard of my bed, revulsion driving me as far from William as I could get.

I inhaled slowly, fighting for calm.

I needed to keep him talking, needed to buy myself time.

Time for Riley to find me.

I realized, in the midst of this madness, that I had no doubt he would. By now Riley must know I was missing, and he would never give up, never stop. He was coming for me; I just had to hold on.

He’d been right. I hadn’t trusted him. I hadn’t seen that he’d lied for the same reason I’d run all those years ago. Because he was afraid to trust me. Afraid I’d turn him away, exactly the way I had. We’d both been wrong. Both been too afraid to be honest. Too afraid to believe.

I needed another chance. I had things to say to Riley, and I was not going to let William Davis steal Riley’s love from me the way he’d already stolen so much. William didn’t want me dead. If I could keep him talking, keep him distracted, I might be able to find a way out of this.

“That’s why you started sending me things? Because you wanted us to be together?”

"I knew you'd understand my flowers," he said. “I chose them so carefully, collecting them from here and there. Anna was the one who taught me what they meant. I knew she would've taught you. All I had to do was claim you like I should've claimed her. I waited. I was patient. I gave you time. Even let you travel, see the country, sending you flowers along the way to remind you who you truly belonged to. I’m not angry about this game with Riley. I knew what you were telling me."

"What was I telling you?"

"That you were ready. You weren't going to marry him. He's so far beneath you he isn't even worth considering. But you've never grown out of that teenage rebellion. Teasing me. Taunting me. I understand you better than you understand yourself, Anna."

William rose to his feet and walked to the end of the bed, looming over me even from several feet away. I was defenseless, and there was nowhere to run. The candlelight flickered in his eyes, illuminating the twist of emotions. Love and anger and lust.

I swallowed hard, tasting vomit in the back of my throat. A bulge distorted the front of his gray flannel pants, and I went dizzy, lightheaded with panic.

I would die before I let him touch me. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live, but I wasn’t sure I could live through that. My eyes raced around the room, searching for a weapon, but there was nothing. It was a child's room. Stuffed animals and hair bows wouldn't protect me from William.

Desperate to keep him talking, to keep him away from me, I asked, “And your son? What are you going to do when you find him?"

William leaned forward, bracing a knee on the end of the bed. “He shouldn’t exist. I’ll get rid of him," he said, calmly. “And you and I can start anew. We'll have our own baby after we’re married, just the way we were meant to all along."

“You’re fucking insane,” I whispered. William only laughed, a low, satisfied sound. He thought he’d already won. In his head, we were as good as married, my belly already round with his child.

I twisted to the side, gathering myself to lunge off the bed when he moved to block me, laying one hand on the comforter, then the other, crawling up the bed toward me. I kicked out with my bare foot, my heel glancing off his shoulder as he dodged me.

A grin stretched across his face, manic, exhilarated by the chase.

His hand closed around my ankle and yanked, dragging me down the bed and spreading my legs. I kicked with the other foot, catching him hard in the ribs. He let go of my ankle and let out a low, “Oof," before lunging to close his hands over my hips and pull me down the bed.

I rolled, twisting, flailing my arms, reaching for something, anything. My fingers closed around a pillow, and I swung, the pillow bouncing uselessly off William, careening into the air, knocking candles across my dresser to the floor.

He pinned me to the comforter, his breath hot on my cheek as he whispered, “I’ve always loved your spirit. This time, I'm going to break you, Anna. And when I'm done, you'll belong to me. Finally."

Light flashed in the corner of my eye. I looked to see flames climb the curtains on either side of the dresser, spreading in seconds to devour the ceiling, jumping to the swag on the other window, flowing across the carpet from the candles on the floor.

For a frozen moment, I watched in horror before I registered William's erection pressing into my leg, growing harder as I twisted against him, fighting to push him off.

His hands were on my jeans, yanking at the button, his weight holding my torso immobile. My legs kicked uselessly, my heels bouncing off the bed, toes jamming into his shins. He couldn't get leverage to pull my jeans off and still hold me down. He tugged at the denim, first over one hip, then the other, baring my skin inch by inch.

The smoke detector screamed a high pitched wail, first in my room, then in every room, the sound filling the house like the heavy smoke from the fire. I’d seen a grease fire once in a restaurant where I’d waited tables, knew how fast the flames could move. The future had narrowed to minutes if we didn’t get out of this room. Out of this house.

My heart thudded, my body wild with panic, arms swinging, legs kicking. I caught him with a punch to the cheekbone, and he reared back, freeing me just enough to scramble to the side of the bed. With a roar he lunged over me, dragging at my jeans, pulling them almost off one hip.

My arm flailed, fingers reaching, desperate for one last chance, for something, anything. I couldn’t see. The air burned my lungs. The tip of my finger grazed cold metal, and my heart surged.

Forgetting my jeans, I dug in my feet and pushed another inch toward the side of the bed, my fingers closing around the candlestick. I let myself fall limp, let William turn his attention back to dragging off my clothes and then I swung.

The candlestick struck him in the temple, and he toppled onto his side, his hand reaching for me as he fell. I rolled in the other direction, tossing the candlestick toward the open door, stumbling to my feet, coughing in the thick smoke as I yanked my jeans back up with both hands.

Running for the safety of the hall, I scooped up the candlestick and took off, William's footsteps pounding behind me.