Page 97 of The Oath We Give

My heart stops, and time stills.

Panic’s razor-sharp claws sink into my chest and squeeze tightly. I remind myself that Lilac is with Regina today at the hair salon, that she is safe, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught of fear.

I listen to Ian tell me the police are already there, but his voice is starting to drown out. Nothing is safe anymore—not the four walls of my home that were meant to be a sanctuary from all the chaos.

Reality returns with her swift, cold hands, reminding me that this is not my family. That I am not an actual wife, and there is a man out there who refuses to let me go.

Nothing good is ever real. Not for me.

Not forever.

Book made for [email protected]

TWENTY-TWO

HURT PEOPLE

CORALINE

What usedto be a curated safe haven for me has been turned into a twisted reflection of the turmoil that lives in me. Every inch of this place is now a reminder of how much I have to fear. I’d allowed myself to drift too far from the plan. Had let Silas pull me further into him and away from danger he could not protect me from.

Stephen Sinclair has ripped through my apartment.

I can feel his presence everywhere. His malice lingers in every smashed dish. Unhinged possession exists in every shredded piece of fabric. Black paint splattered across every wall is marked with his fingerprints.

As I wander through the ruins of my home, the smell of Old Spice makes my eyes burn. He has seeped into every memory I created here, contaminating the life I’d built after him just because he could.

I barely flinch as I step over a pile of broken glass, walking toward my bedroom while Lilac talks in the background to Silas. Their voices are static, white noise.

The door creaks open with a screech. I refuse to cry, not with people here, but when I see the state of my room, I’m tempted. Not from sadness but the wrath that is boiling in my stomach, overflowing into my veins.

All of my current projects are demolished. Slashed, burnt, and wrecked beyond saving. The feathers from my pillows are spread across my broken bed. My clothes had been ripped from their places, torn and soaked in paint.

But it’s the single canvas resting on an easel sitting atop the chaos that seals my fury.

Written in red acrylic paint across a piece I’d already started, a piece that used to look starkly familiar to Silas, is Stephen’s scrawly handwriting. The newspaper clipping of our marriage is nailed to it, with a note beneath it.

He will never rid your body of my memory. If you’re in me, then I refuse to leave you. You’ll never escape me, Circe.

“Cora?” Lilac’s soft voice echoes behind me.

I am blinded by rage, red seeping into my vision from every corner. I can only feel the anger pounding through my veins, beating in my ears, pumping through my heart.

Did he not take enough of me in that basement? He had to remind me that I still had a heart, just so he could destroy the last bit of it.

There is a roaring in my ears, so intense that it nearly blinds me.

It wasn’t enough to take just a part; he had to have it all. With callused hands, he broke my ribs one by one, ripping the foolish organ from my chest cavity so he could feed on it.

He was never going to fucking stop, not until he devoured me whole. Until all of me once again belonged to him, even if I wasn’t alive.

I remember the night when I pleaded from the rooftop with Silas on the phone. When I begged to go back and die in that basement, left so empty I didn’t want to live. All I wanted was for it to take what was left of me and leave my body in the harsh earth to rot in peace.

I suppose the stars were listening that night, and they had granted my wish.

“Hey.” I feel Lilac’s gentle hand on my shoulder. “We can still salvage some of these things. I know it looks bad—”

“Don’t touch me,” I grunt, ripping my arm from her touch. I don’t bother turning to see the sadness ripple across her face. I don’t have the energy to make her feel better right now. “Leave me alone.”

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