Garrett sits on the edge of the mattress. "Ellie," he whispers, his voice dripping with practiced warmth. "Wake up, sweetheart."
Elliana opens her eyes. Her stomach violently churns, but she forces the corners of her mouth up, stretching her lips into a groggy, sweet smile.
Garrett holds out a crystal glass of water and two small, white pills. "Dr. Evans sent over the new imported multivitamins. Time to take them."
Elliana stares at the white disks resting in his palm. The tips of her fingers turn ice-cold. She doesn't move.
Garrett's hand drops a fraction of an inch. He adjusts his left cufflink with his right hand. His eyes narrow, scanning her face. "Are you feeling alright, darling?"
The shift in his tone is subtle, but the threat is palpable. She is being tested.
Elliana immediately pouts, rubbing her right arm. "I was drawing for six hours yesterday. My wrist is killing me."
She reaches out, picking up the pills. She places them on the center of her tongue, takes a large gulp of water, and tilts her head back. Her throat bobs in an exaggerated swallowing motion.
Garrett's shoulders relax. He smiles, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead.
He stands and turns his back to her, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows to pull back the heavy drapes.
In that three-second window, Elliana uses her tongue to push the pills from the roof of her mouth. She brings her hand to her lips, swiftly spitting the damp white disks into a crumpled tissue she had hidden in her palm. She balls the paper up tightly and shoves it deep into the pocket of her silk pajama pants.
Garrett turns around. "Cristina is flying back from Paris tomorrow. We need to pick her up at JFK."
Cristina. The final piece of the logic puzzle locks into place. Cristina had stolen Colin from her. Garrett had swooped in immediately after.
This marriage is not a romance. It is a prison. A cage built to keep her sedated and far away from Colin.
A tremor starts in her hands and rapidly spreads to her shoulders. She is shaking with pure, unadulterated rage.
Garrett crosses the room in two strides. His heavy hands clamp down on her shoulders. "Why are you shaking?" His voice is low, dangerous.
Panic spikes in her chest. She looks up, forcing her eyes to widen. She lets out a breathless laugh.
"Garrett! I just remembered! A Hollywood studio emailed my agent this morning. They want to buy the film rights to The Prairie Fire!"
She uses the physical tremors, channeling her rage into a mask of overwhelming excitement.
Garrett's grip loosens. The suspicion in his eyes melts away, replaced instantly by a dark, calculating gleam of greed.
"That is incredible news," he says smoothly. "But Hollywood contracts are a nightmare. Let my legal team handle the negotiations. I want to protect you."
Bile rises in her throat again. She nods eagerly, looking up at him with wide, dependent eyes. "Yes, please."
Garrett checks his Rolex. "I have a crisis at the firm. I need to head back down."
He walks to the door, pausing in the hallway. "Brenda! Make sure my wife eats a full lunch."
The elevator doors slide shut.
The smile drops from Elliana's face. Her features turn to stone.
She walks into the bathroom and locks the door. She turns the sink faucet on full blast.
She pulls the damp, slightly dissolved pills from her pocket. She wraps them carefully in a tissue and shoves them into the hidden zipper compartment of her makeup bag.
She opens the mirrored medicine cabinet. Rows of amber bottles stare back at her.
She reaches to the very back, pulling out a bottle of generic, over-the-counter calcium supplements she had bought months ago. The chalky white tablets are nearly identical in shape and texture to the sedatives. She dumps the remaining prescribed pills from the current amber bottle into the toilet and flushes them away, replacing them with the harmless calcium tablets.
She grips the edges of the marble sink, staring at her pale reflection. She swears to make them pay.
