The window seat was empty. I sat down, enjoying the river breeze on my face. Across the water, city lights shimmered on the surface, breaking into a rippling field of gold.
The first bite of tiramisu melted on my tongue. Sweet, cloying cream collided with the bitter kick of coffee liqueur. I close my eyes.
Damn, this was good. So this was what it felt like to truly be alive.
The comments went quiet for a moment before slowly appearing again.
[She's eating so seriously…]
[Why do I feel oddly sad watching this?]
[She only has ten days to live. If I were her, I'd want one last good meal, too.]
[But seriously, is Blake really just going to let her run around like this? I don't believe that.]
I didn't believe it, either. So when my phone buzzed and Blake's name flashed on the screen, I wasn't surprised at all. I picked up but didn't say anything.
"Anna, where did you go? I'm really worried about you." His voice carried a trace of exhaustion.
"I'm eating."
"Come home, Anna." His tone softened. "We both need to cool down, so I promise I won't bother you tonight. You can take the guest room, and we can sit down and really talk tomorrow. How about that?"
It was such a familiar script.
For six years, each time I got upset, this was how it went. Blake would gently and patiently coax me step by step back into the cage. Then, everything would go back to the way it was.
"Blake." I stared out at the river. "Do you remember my senior thesis performance in college?"
He went quiet for a moment. "Why are you bringing that up now?"
"I played a woman who was locked up. In the end, she burned the whole house down… and herself with it." I dug my spoon into the cake. "Back then, you said I was too extreme in the act and that no one in real life would be that stupid. But I get it now. She wasn't stupid. It was just that the fire was all she had left."
Blake's breathing grew heavier on the other end of the line. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying…" I finished the last bite of cake. "For the next ten days, I'm going to live my own life. Don't look for me, and don't bother me. Don't use my family to threaten me. If I'm still alive in ten days…"
I laughed. "We can go back to playing your game."
…
I checked into the most expensive presidential suite in the city, swiping the supplementary card Blake had given me.
Onscreen, the comments kept coming.
[The presidential suite? She really knows how to enjoy herself.]
[Using Blake's money to stay in such an expensive hotel. This is iconic.]
[She's only got ten days. Let her splurge.]
I dropped my suitcase by the entryway and sank into the bathtub filled with rose petals. The countdown pulsed in my head. 8 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes.
I had eight and a half days to go.
My phone was eerily silent. Blake didn't call me again, which, honestly, wasn't like him.
Later that night, as I lay on the huge bed, I read the comments.
[Is she really just going to sleep? She's got nerves of steel.]
[What's Blake doing? Looks like he's tracing her phone location.]
[Honestly, this feeling of being watched at all times is smothering.]
I was just drifting off when I heard a brutal kick against the door. I jolted upright.
The chat exploded.
[What the heck was that?]
[Someone's breaking in!]
[Is it Blake?]
[I'm freaking out right now!]
Before I could react, the door slammed open with a heavy bang. Blake stood in the doorway, his bloodshot eyes burning like he was beyond furious.
"Joanna Yarrow." His voice was hoarse as he took one deliberate step after another toward me. I instinctively clutched the collar of my bathrobe.
He stopped in front of me, his shadow completely swallowing me up. "Where's Keira?"
I was taken aback. "What?"
"Drop the act." He seized my wrist in a crushing grip, making pain shoot through me. "Where did you take Keira? Answer me!"
"I don't know what you're talking about—"I tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold.
