Page 34 of The Oath We Give

The very last words he ever spoke to me.

“You’re mine, and I will come back for you, Circe. I will always come back to you. You belong to only me.”

Someone brushes my shoulder as they pass by me, making me blink. I take a second to remember where I’m at, what I’m doing. The buzz of people mingling fills my ears, and I refocus my attention on the people filling my studio that I’d had converted into a showcase for the occasion.I blink through the fog, wiggling my toes in my heels, trying to feel the ground of my present beneath me.

I focus on the buzz of people mingling in my ears, the bodies swirling around my studio put on display for their enjoyment. I smell the endeavors being waltzed around on silver plates.

I’m okay. He’s not here. I’m okay.

That text message I received the other day has made it more difficult to remain in my present-day life. My nightmares have gotten worse, and the flashbacks that appear out of thin air have returned.

The little work I’ve accomplished over the last two years have drifted away. A flutter in the wind. One text from someone pulling a dumb fucking prank, and I’m ripping at the seams all over again, busted open and scooping up my insides with bleeding hands.

I stand here in this room full of people, letting them admire my work, letting them admire me, wondering if deep down, they can all see the shame. If they can see how weak I am, how silly and stupid I feel for falling in love with my captor.

These people who write articles speculating about what happened and beg for excessive interviews, they judge me. As if they know what it was like, as if they could have lasted for two seconds of the torture I endured.

None of them know what it took to survive. What my body did to make it out alive.

“This piece is stunning, Coraline.”

I flinch as a soft hand touches my elbow, my head turning and shoulders relaxing once I recognize the familiar face.

Hedi Tenor.

A heartbroken mother from a neighboring town. Her only daughter, Emma, was one of the many girls rescued from my father’s shipping containers after Stephen was arrested.

However, Emma’s story was not one of rescue and joy. She could only hold on for three months before the extent of her injuries took her life in a cold, quiet hospital bed. It was in her memory Hedi created Light.

It’s an organization that is dedicated to supporting survivors of the torturous sex ring run by the Sinclair family for decades. The Halo is responsible for thousands of trafficked, missing, and murdered women. But Light, they help provide resources for families and survivors.

Housing, free therapy, group counseling, financial advisers. Any struggles they may face while trying to integrate back into society, they help with.

“Two hundred thousand dollars seems a little steep, doesn’t it? I mean, the work is incredible, but golly, that’s a big price tag,” She crinkles her nose, blissfully unaware of the wealth in the room around us as she lifts a flute of overpriced champagne to her lips.

At least, I think it’s champagne. I know nothing about this gala except for my work being sold. I let Regina’s planner handle the entire event. It’s not like any of this mattered to me, anyway.

Once a gritty warehouse dominating the street corner with its industrial facade, I’d worked for months to transform it, evolving it into an art studio that allows creativity to breathe. A haven for artists.

I’d left the exterior alone, liking the weathered charm of the brick. I glance up at the original exposed steel beams on the high ceilings that blend well into the large wall of windows I’d had put in, wanting as much natural light as possible.

Concrete floors are polished with a smooth finish, and splatters of paint from a previous class still decorate the ground. The planner had done good, moving the sturdy worktables of supplies, easels, and drawing boards. The walls of the warehouse are adorned with my art, organized for guests to weave through the space. They even redesigned the small corner that was once a cozy lounge filled with vintage couches and armchairs into an elegant space.

It’s sophisticated, upscale, pompous.

Everything I hate.

“Some rich asshole already paid double.” My lips tilt at the corners. “For all of them.”

Ponderosa Springs’ high society are all in attendance, along with my stepmother and father. How could they miss an event like this? Coraline Whittaker, the survivor, selling her paintings in a one-time-only private showing?

Too good for the rumor mill and deep pockets to pass up.

Hedi’s eyes widen. “There are twelve works of art here. There is no way I can let you donate this much money. You have to keep some of it for yourself.”

I pin her with a hard stare. “You can, and you will.” I cast my gaze around the room briefly at all the people with their designer clothes and noses in the air. “Don’t feel guilty about taking money from these people. I assure you, it’s much better off in your pocket than theirs.”

They use their money for drugs and blackmail, spending countless dollars on new yachts and escorts. At least this way, I have some control over where that money goes.

---