Leah had never known true fear until now.

  The shackles bit into her wrists, the cold iron pressing against raw skin. Her arms ached from struggling, but it was useless—she wasn’t getting out. The chair beneath her creaked every time she moved, the only sound in the suffocating silence. The dim light overhead flickered, casting erratic shadows that danced along the cracked concrete walls. The room smelled of dampness, rust, and something foul—something rotting.

  Her breath came in shallow gasps as she listened, straining her ears for any sign of him. He had left her alone for what felt like hours, but she knew he wasn’t gone. Derrick never truly left. He was waiting, watching, savoring the moment. The anticipation was his weapon, and she was drowning in it.

  Then came the footsteps.

  Slow, deliberate, each step echoing off the walls. Leah’s pulse hammered against her ribs. The heavy metal door groaned as it swung open, and he stepped inside.

  Derrick.

  He looked different from the man she once thought she loved. Gone was the polished, charming exterior. His shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms smeared with something dark. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, sharp with amusement.

  He closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. “How are you holding up, darling?” His voice was soft, mocking.

  Leah swallowed hard, refusing to answer. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

  Derrick sighed, shaking his head. “Still stubborn. I always liked that about you.”

  He crossed the room, dragging a wooden chair from the corner and setting it down in front of her. The scrape of wood against concrete sent a shiver down her spine. He sat, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

  “You know,” he mused, “this could have been different.”

  Leah clenched her jaw. “You mean if I had just played the perfect wife?”

  Derrick smirked. “Exactly.” He leaned forward, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She jerked away, but there was nowhere to go. His fingers lingered, tracing the outline of her cheek. “But you had to dig, didn’t you?”

  Her breath hitched. “What did you do to them?”

  His smirk widened, but he didn’t answer.

  Instead, he stood and moved toward the metal table against the wall. Leah’s stomach twisted as he picked up something—a knife. The blade gleamed under the dim light as he turned it slowly between his fingers.

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  “You know,” he said conversationally, “I read once that fear is more powerful than pain. That anticipation is worse than the act itself.” He glanced at her, his smile widening. “Would you agree?”

  Leah’s body went rigid as he stepped closer.

  He knelt beside her, the blade tracing the curve of her arm, featherlight. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured. “The dread. The helplessness.”

  Leah forced herself to keep breathing. He wanted her fear. He fed on it.

  The knife stilled at the base of her wrist. “I could do it now,” he whispered. “End it.”

  A single tear slipped down Leah’s cheek. “Then why don’t you?”

  Derrick’s eyes darkened. “Because I’m enjoying this.”

  The knife moved again, trailing down her arm, across the fabric of her shirt. He pressed just hard enough to let her feel the edge. Not enough to cut. Not yet.

  Leah bit her lip, willing herself not to scream.

  Then, without warning, he plunged the blade into the arm of the chair beside her.

  The sound of metal sinking into wood made her flinch violently.

  Derrick chuckled, standing. “See? You’re already breaking.”

  She glared at him, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat. “You won’t win.”

  His smile faltered just slightly. Then he exhaled, shaking his head. “We’ll see.”

  He stepped back, retrieving something from the table—a syringe. Leah’s veins turned to ice.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Derrick tapped the side of the syringe, watching the liquid inside. “I told you to stop asking questions. To stop looking.” He met her gaze. “This is your fault.”

  She thrashed against the restraints, panic overtaking her. “Derrick, please—”

  But he was already moving toward her.

  Leah screamed.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed after that.

  The world was a haze, her mind slipping in and out of darkness. She was weightless, untethered. Sounds drifted in and out, distorted, like she was underwater. She thought she heard Derrick’s voice, low and distant. Thought she felt hands on her skin, the cold bite of metal against her arms. But she couldn’t fight, couldn’t move.

  When she finally resurfaced, the pain hit her all at once.

  Her wrists burned where the shackles rubbed against raw skin. Her head throbbed, her mouth dry and sticky. The taste of something bitter clung to her tongue. Her stomach twisted violently, nausea rolling through her in waves.

  The room was unchanged. The same cracked concrete walls. The same flickering light. But something was different.

  She wasn’t alone.

  A shape loomed in the shadows. Watching.

  Derrick.

  He was seated in the same chair as before, arms folded, his gaze heavy. “You’re awake.”

  Leah shivered. Her body felt heavy, like she was sinking into the chair. Whatever he had given her was still in her system.

  “What… did you do to me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  Derrick tilted his head. “Nothing permanent.” He stood, crossing the room. “Just enough to remind you who’s in control.”

  She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “You’re a monster.”

  He sighed, crouching beside her, his face mere inches from hers. “And yet, you married me.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I didn’t know.”

  Derrick’s expression softened, just slightly. “No,” he murmured. “You didn’t.”

  For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, he stood abruptly, stepping back. “I have things to take care of.”

  He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “You should rest.”

  Leah’s heart pounded as she watched him go. The door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place once more.

  She was alone again.