After Ian left, I locked the door immediately.
On the third day, I made the call. It rang only once before being picked up.
"Margot?" Leland's voice was low. The background was noisy, as if he was in the middle of giving orders.
"It's me." I took a deep breath. "Ian wants me to play the piano."
"Hah, he's dreaming," Leland said with a cold laugh. "I've already taken care of things on your mom's end."
"Good." I hesitated, then said, "Leland, there's something else."
"Go on."
"I need you to deal with a few things here."
I scanned the room that had imprisoned me for so long, my gaze landing on the piles of luxury goods stacked everywhere.
"Make a list of all the designer bags and jewelry Ian gave me. Sell them."
"What do you need the money for?" Leland sounded confused. "If you're short on cash, I can give you."
"It's not the same."
I looked out at the pitch-black night beyond the window, my eyes resolute.
"Use all the money to make anonymous donations to charities supporting victims of domestic abuse. I don't want to owe him a single cent. And I don't want anything tied to him left behind."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Leland was smart. He understood.
This was me severing ties with my past cleanly and completely.
"Alright, I'll take care of it," he said at last, his voice softening slightly.
"And," I tightened my grip on the phone. "I need alcohol. And explosives."
"Okay. I'll get them in."
His tone turned serious instantly, "High-concentration alcohol. It'll be disguised as cleaning supplies. You'll find it in the storage room next to the second-floor banquet hall. The micro detonators will be hidden in the false bottom of the gift boxes, exactly as you asked."
His breathing grew heavier, as if he were forcing down his worry.
"Margot, are you sure you want to go this far? What if—"
"There is no what if," I cut him off. "Tonight is Jemma's birthday banquet. I want to give myself a proper funeral." I'm going to turn here into their hell."
Dead silence filled the line.
I knew what he was worried about. Fire and water don't discriminate. If things spiraled out of control, I could die too.
"Margot," he finally spoke after a long pause, his voice hoarse and vicious.
"Remember what I told you that night. If you want to go crazy, I'll back you. My people will be waiting outside. No matter what happens, you will walk out alive."
"If you die in there," he snarled, "I'll make sure the Wade family never rests in peace.
"Okay," I replied softly as my eyes burned. "I'll live." I promised him.
After hanging up, I started packing, though there wasn't much to pack at all.
Nothing here ever belonged to me.
I took off the expensive nightgown Ian had bought me and changed into the only thing I had brought with me.
A red dress. The color of blood. The color of fire.
I stood before the vanity and looked at myself in the mirror.
I put on heavy makeup, deep red lips, sharply winged eyeliner. It was seductive yet unfamiliar.
Before the banquet began, Ian pushed the door open.
He was dressed in a white suit, with a pale pink rose, Jemma's favorite, pinned to his chest. He looked every bit the polished gentleman.
"Margot," he said as he walked up behind me, frowning slightly at my reflection in the mirror.
"Why are you wearing red? Jemma is wearing pink tonight. You'll stand out too much."
"Red brings good luck."
I turned around and straightened his slightly crooked tie with my left hand, my movements gentle, like a devoted wife.
"And red wards off evil," I added.
Ian paused for a second, then laughed. Confidence gleamed in his eyes.
"I knew you'd be sensible. After tonight, I'll arrange the surgery for your mother," he said, grabbing my hand and pressing a kiss to it, his gaze full of fake tenderness.
"Margot, from now on, let's live properly. Forget everything in the past."
"Sure. Let's forget it all," I said with a smile, though the warmth never reached my eyes.
My fingertips brushed against the pulse at his neck, strong and steady.
One shallow cut, and warm blood would come pouring out.
But I held back. That would be too easy for him.
I wanted him to fall apart at the height of his triumph.
"Ian," I said suddenly.
"Hmm?"
"Do you believe in karma?"
Ian chuckled. "Why ask that all of a sudden? I only believe in making things happen."
"So do I."
I took a step back, my smile widening, sweet, and faintly unsettling.
"That's why I prepared a gift for you and Jemma. A gift you two will never forget."
Ian frowned slightly, sensing something off about me tonight.
But he was too arrogant.
He was certain I was broken, certain I could no longer escape him.
"Alright," he said. "I'll be waiting."
As he turned and walked away, the smile vanished from my face.
In its place came a cold that sank deep into my bones.
Wait for it, Ian.
The gift would be your funeral march.
