Jameson ignored her. “She just ran and ran. But then she tripped—she broke her leg. It was brutal.” Hetsked, shaking his head as though disappointed by the memory. “I hit her over the head. Over and over again. She never saw it coming.”
Lilia’s entire body shook with fear and grief. Her vision blurred with tears, her breath shallow and ragged.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”
Jameson stopped pacing, turning to face her. His expression was almost serene now, as if he had found peace in his confession. “I can’t do that, Lilia,” he said softly, almost lovingly.
Lilia’s legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, her hands covering her face as sobs racked her body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Jameson crouched down in front of her, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek. She flinched at his touch, her entire body recoiling from him.
“You remind me of her, you know,” he whispered. “So defiant, so full of life. It’s what I loved most about her.”
“Stop,” Lilia whimpered, her voice broken. “Please . . . stop.”
But Jameson didn’t stop. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re perfect, Lilia,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender. “So beautiful.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. She was trapped.
And then, in the distance, she heard it—a faint sound, barely audible over the pounding in her head.
Sirens.
And then a faint pinch.
Hope surged through her, but it was quickly smothered by the overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to consume her. She fought to keep her eyes open, but her body felt heavy, her limbs weak and uncooperative.
“What . . . what—” Her words were slurred.
Had he drugged her?
“Shh,” Jameson whispered, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. “It’s almost over.”
Lilia’s vision darkened, the edges of her world fading into nothingness as the sound of the sirens grew closer. She fought to stay awake, to stay alive, but the darkness was too strong, pulling her down into its depths.
The last thing she heard was Jameson’s voice, soft and distant, as he whispered, “Sleep now, Lilia. It’s going to be okay.”
And then there was nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lilia awoke in a white, sterile room, the beeping of a heart monitor the first sound that registered in her mind. The air smelled like antiseptic and something metallic. Her eyes fluttered open, her vision blurred and hazy, the bright lights overhead making her squint.
She blinked slowly, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her limbs felt heavy, weighed down by a bone-deep exhaustion. Her throat was dry, and when she tried to swallow, it felt like she was choking on sand. There was a dull ache that throbbed throughout her body, and it took her a few moments to realize she was in a hospital bed.
For a brief second, she couldn’t remember how she got here. But then it all came crashing back—Jameson, his hands on her, his confession, the sickening sound of his voice whispering in her ear. She tried to sit up, but pain shot through her chest and her head pounded, forcing her back down.
A sharp intake of breath caught in her throat. She was alive. Somehow, she survived.
“You’re awake.”
The voice was familiar but distant, like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. Lilia turned her head, her vision still swimming as she tried to focus on the figure standing by her bed.
It was Augustus. His usually cool expression was now twisted with concern, his hair disheveled like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had been crying.
She wanted to ask him what happened—how she ended up here—but all that came out was a croak, her voice weak and raspy.
“Hey, take it easy,” Augustus said, pulling a chair closer to her bed and sitting down. He reached for the small cup of water on the bedside table and held it out to her. “Here, drink.”
