The darkness was different this time. It wasn’t the absence of light but something more sinister—something alive. Leah floated in its grip, weightless, untethered. It whispered to her, curling around her like cold fingers, coaxing her to let go. But something kept her anchored. A faint sound. A voice that didn’t belong in the void.

  She wasn’t dead.

  Her eyelids felt like lead as she forced them open. The world bled back into existence in slow, murky pieces. A dim light flickered above her, casting elongated shadows that twisted across the walls like reaching hands. The air was thick, stagnant. A metallic scent clung to her nostrils, coppery and sour. Blood. Her own, maybe. Or someone else’s.

  Then she felt it.

  Cold metal against her wrists.

  Panic surged through her as she tried to move, but her arms wouldn’t budge. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as she jerked against whatever held her down. Shackles. Rusted iron, wrapped around her wrists and bolted to the wooden chair beneath her. Another set pinned her ankles.

  She wasn’t just trapped.

  She was bound.

  Terror clawed its way up her throat. The last thing she remembered was Derrick’s voice, his touch, the sharp sting of a needle piercing her skin. Now, she was somewhere else. Somewhere worse.

  The room was small, windowless. The walls were bare concrete, cracked and damp. The only furniture was the chair she was chained to and a table against the far wall, cluttered with surgical instruments that glistened under the weak light. A row of glass jars lined the shelf above, their contents murky and unidentifiable. Leah’s stomach churned at the sight of something floating inside one of them. A ringed finger, swollen and gray.

  A wedding ring.

  Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She had to think. She had to get out of here.

  Footsteps.

  The sound was distant at first, echoing from beyond the heavy metal door in front of her. Then they grew louder. Closer.

  Leah forced herself to stay still, to slow her breathing. If Derrick saw her panic, he’d enjoy it. She couldn’t give him that.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The door creaked open.

  Derrick stepped inside, his silhouette framed against the dim light spilling in from the hall. He wasn’t dressed like the man she had married. No polished suit, no charming smirk. Instead, he wore dark jeans and a plain button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shirt was speckled with something dark. Something Leah didn’t want to name.

  His eyes gleamed as they locked onto hers. “You’re awake.”

  Leah didn’t respond. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she refused to let him see her fear.

  Derrick stepped closer, his fingers trailing over the instruments on the table. He picked up a scalpel, turning it between his fingers as if admiring its craftsmanship. “You know, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  Leah swallowed hard. “Then let me go.”

  Derrick chuckled, shaking his head. “You still don’t understand, do you?” He set the scalpel down and leaned against the table, arms crossed. “You were supposed to be different. You weren’t supposed to dig. To question.”

  Leah’s jaw clenched. “You were supposed to be my husband.”

  A flicker of something passed over his face. Annoyance? Amusement? It was gone too quickly to tell.

  “I was your husband,” he said. “And I took care of you. I gave you everything. But you ruined it.”

  Leah’s fists clenched against the cold iron. “I ruined it?” Her voice wavered, but her fury burned through the fear. “You murdered them.”

  Derrick sighed, shaking his head as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. “They were ungrateful. Just like you.”

  Leah’s breath caught. “You’re going to kill me.”

  Derrick pushed off the table and took slow, deliberate steps toward her. He crouched so they were eye level, his fingers brushing over her cheek. Leah recoiled, but there was nowhere to go.

  “I don’t want to,” he murmured. “But I can’t let you go, either.”

  His hand slid down, wrapping around her throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just a warning.

  Leah’s body went rigid, every nerve screaming. “Please,” she whispered.

  Derrick studied her, his grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. His eyes darkened, something almost… regretful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  “You should rest,” he said, releasing her.

  Leah sucked in a desperate breath, coughing as air rushed back into her lungs.

  Derrick stood, smoothing his shirt as if nothing had happened. “I have a lot to do.”

  He turned and strode toward the door. Panic surged through Leah, raw and desperate. She couldn’t let him leave. Couldn’t let him come back when he was ready to finish what he’d started.

  “Derrick,” she called, her voice shaking. “Wait.”

  He paused but didn’t turn around.

  Leah’s mind raced. She had to stall. Had to think. “You… you don’t have to do this.”

  A chuckle. “Oh, Leah.” He glanced over his shoulder, his smile cold. “I already have.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Leah was alone again.

  The shackles bit into her skin as she pulled at them, tears burning behind her eyes. She had to get out. Before he came back. Before she ended up like the others.

  Her gaze flickered to the scalpel he had left on the table.

  Close. But not close enough.

  Leah took a slow, shaky breath and steeled herself.

  She would get out.

  Even if she had to drag herself through hell to do it.