Page 64 of Inheritance
She ignored me as she padded her face with a beauty blender that should have been replaced a year ago, then finally spoke.
“Ivan called me a couple hours ago. He wants to see me. And you’re going to help make that happen.”
I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Her defiance filled the room.
“No. That is not happening.”
I stepped backward, nearly tripping over the overstuffed suitcase.
“What’s the suitcase for?” I didn’t need to ask. But I had to hear her say it.
She didn’t flinch. Her eyes locked on mine. “If you won’t help me, I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ve had plenty of time to think, Sophia. You think I just sat in here crying for days, waiting for someone to save me? No. I’ve been saving myself. And I will—with or without you.”
“Then go,” I said, folding my arms. “See how far you get before someone stops you. You’re not getting past the guards. You can’t even walk straight.”
Her face faltered. But she didn’t back down. “If I stay, I’ll lose my mind.”
“Then talk to your family. But I’m not helping you sneak off to meet the one person who already hurt you.”
She turned back to the mirror.
I watched her, unsure if I’d just made things worse—or done the only thing I could. The weight of her choices hung in the room. I wasn’t going to carry it for her.
“I have to tell Gabriel what just happened,” I said, turning toward the door.
Her hand shot out, curling around my wrist. She yanked me back. We both went down—arms tangled, rug sliding beneath us. I landed on top of her.
My hands braced against her shoulders. Her breath came in sharp bursts. Eyes wide.
“You promised,” she hissed, voice raw.
She writhed beneath me. I didn’t let her up. “I didn’t promise shit.”
Her knee pressed into my thigh. One hand clawed at my shirt.
I gripped her wrists and shoved them above her head. “Stop it,” I snapped, breath close to her cheek. “You’re acting insane.”
She didn’t answer. Just stared—glassy-eyed, breathing fast. I felt her heartbeat against mine.
“I’m not going to be a prisoner here while he’s out there waiting for me.”
I pushed off her, standing.
“God, Caroline. You aren’t a prisoner here. Youwerehis prisoner.”
She stayed on the floor, breathing hard. Face turned away. Hair falling in her eyes.
Then she looked up—quiet. Almost sheepish.
“You’re right. I’m sorry for being so dumb.”
She climbed into bed, brushing aside tissues and pillows, curling up under the covers.
“Will you blow out the candle?” she asked softly.
