Page 55 of Inheritance
He stood, slow and stiff. Caroline blinked at him.
He stepped toward her.
“You think you’re special? You think you’re the one he’ll keep?”
Her mouth opened.
He didn’t let her speak.
“I’ve seen girls like you,” he snapped. “Dozens. Maybe more. The ones who start off shaking in the corner, then start defending him like he’s some misunderstood prince.”
He pointed at her, then let his arm drop.
“He gets tired of all of you eventually. And one morning—you will be gone. No explanation. No goodbye. Just like the rest.”
Her face drained of color.
“He wouldn’t,” she whispered.
Sal stepped even closer. “He would. He has.”
Her lip quivered. “You’re lying.”
He jingled the keys in her face. “Where do you think these came from?”
She crossed her arms, gripping her elbows, trying to shrink into herself.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, but the edges of her voice shook.
“The truth is the truth, whether you believe it or not.”
Sal watched her for another heartbeat, then turned back to me.
“Maybe I…” His voice had lost all its edge. “I missed a key. Put one in backwards.”
He dropped back down to the floor like gravity had taken hold of him. One by one. Again, he tried to free me with shaking hands.
Caroline hovered near the wall now, her face tight with worry. She wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t yelling. She looked… conflicted.
“He’s not a monster,” she said, more to herself than to us.
“Then why are you chained to the floor?” Sal barked over his shoulder.
She didn’t answer.
“I know you think this is love,” I said, voice quieter now. “But love doesn’t look like this. It doesn’t feel like this.”
She let out a sob, and for just a second, I saw her—not the delusional girl chained up in a room, but the one inside her head. The girl who believed her love was inherently enough to make an evil man good. The girl who had to believe it, to survive.
It hurt to look at her now, so I didn’t.
Sal gave one last twist of the key and let his hand drop.
With a strangled noise, he flung the whole ring of keys across the room. They clattered against the wall and skidded across the tile, scattering in all directions.
He sat back, panting, hands braced on his knees.
He shook his head, then met my eyes. Mouth open like he couldn’t figure out how to tell me I was fucked.
