After we returned from the celebration banquet, it was as if I had become a different person.
I didn't cry. I didn't protest. And I no longer resisted with silence.
When Ian told me to eat, I ate.
When he told me to take my medicine, I took it. When he spoke to me, I answered.
My replies were always the same. "Okay." "That's fine." "No problem."
I became impossibly obedient, docile, well-behaved. Ian seemed pleased with the change.
He believed Leland's sudden appearance, and that threat involving the psychiatric ward, had finally forced me to face reality.
He believed I had been completely tamed. And he let his guard down.
There was even more warmth on his face these days.
He started acting like a proper husband, concerned about my daily routine.
He remembered what I liked to eat, what I didn't. He told me stories before bed.
When he caught me staring out the window, he would wrap his arms around me from behind and ask what I was thinking.
I would only smile and say nothing. I was thinking that if, in my previous life, he had shown even half this patience and gentleness, maybe I wouldn't have died so miserably.
But there were no ifs.
That day was Jemma's birthday. Ian threw her an extravagantly lavish party right here, in the very villa we lived in.
Before the banquet, he came into my room holding a velvet box.
"Margot, this is for you," he said gently.
I opened it. Inside was a diamond bracelet, glittering under the lights.
"Do you like it?"
"I do."
I nodded.
"Tonight, play a piano piece for me, ok?" he said, watching me closely, expectation flickering in his eyes. "Just like the first time we met."
My gaze dropped to my right hand, still wrapped in thick bandages. I smiled.
Playing the piano with a ruined hand.
It was humiliation. And a public declaration of ownership.
He wanted the world to see that even after he destroyed what she cherished most, she still wags her tail for him.
"Sure," I said, my smile widening. Ian froze for a split second, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.
He was delighted. He bent down and kissed my forehead.
"Margot, I knew you'd be good."
I looked up at him and smiled.
"Ian, Thank you," I said.
Thank you for finally giving my weakness back to me.
Thank you for leaving me with nothing left to lose.
And thank you for preparing such a grand funeral.
Late at night, the rain poured down in sheets.
Outside the window, the shadows of the trees thrashed wildly in the wind.
I curled up in the corner of the bed, hugging my knees. The searing pain in my wrist kept me wide awake.
Suddenly, a faint, dull thud came from the balcony.
Before I could react, a dark figure, carrying the chill of rain, forced the lock on the floor-to-ceiling window open.
"Who—?" I gasped, panic surging.
A scorching hand clamped over my mouth.
"Shh. It's me."
The familiar voice was tight with restrained breathing.
It was Leland. He was drenched, water dripping down the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes bloodshot.
"What are you doing here?!" I shoved him away, lowering my voice, my whole body trembling. "There are cameras everywhere! Ian will kill you! Get out, now!"
"The surveillance is down."
He didn't move. Instead, he grabbed the back of my head, forcing me to look at him.
"Margot. Listen to me," he said as he pulled out a SIM card and pressed it into my icy left palm. "Three days from now. Jemma's birthday banquet. I'll have my people extract your mother. As soon as we succeed, you won't have any weaknesses left."
My pupils shrank.
"Really?"
"I swear it on my life."
He wiped the tears from my face, his gaze turning ruthless and unyielding.
"That day, do whatever you want. If you want blood, take blood. If you want fire, burn everything. Whatever happens, I've got you."
I watched his silhouette disappear into the rain-soaked night, my fingers tightening around the SIM card.
The fear inside me faded. In its place rose an absolute resolve I had never felt before.
This time, I was going to win.
