I tried to stand, but my legs were weak, uncooperative. I stumbled, grabbing the chair to steady myself.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Just tired. Been sleeping in my car.”
Her eyes softened with understanding rather than pity. “Let’s get you some water and find somewhere more comfortable to talk.”
I followed her down a narrow hallway, hyper-aware of how close she walked, how the overhead lights cast sudden shadows that made me flinch. My skin felt too tight, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
“Have you eaten today?” she asked as she held open a door to a small conference room.
I couldn’t remember. Had I? There’d been a granola bar somewhere in the glove compartment of the ancient Honda I’d bought. I might have eaten it. Or maybe that was yesterday.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
She placed a bottle of water in front of me. “I have some protein bars in my desk. Let me grab one for you.”
Before I could protest, she’d stepped out. I took a shaky breath andtried to focus on the room. No windows. One door. Neutral beige walls. A watercolour print of a seascape that had faded to pastel ghosts against paper.
The water bottle was cool against my palms. I tried to unscrew the cap, but my hands were trembling too badly. I set it down, shame burning through me.
I couldn’t even open a water bottle. How was I supposed to stand against Marcus? Against the empire he’d built on charm and money and carefully constructed lies?
The door opened again, and I startled so violently I nearly fell out of the chair.
“Sorry,” Natalie said, approaching slowly, like I was a wounded animal. She placed a protein bar on the table. “Let me open that for you.”
She twisted the cap off the water bottle with a single smooth motion and pushed it toward me.
I took a deep breath. “I tried going to the police already. They didn’t believe me.”
She nodded, sitting across from me. “That happens more often than it should. But that’s why I’m here.”
I took a sip of water, letting it cool my raw throat. “He has my cat,” I whispered. “Buster. He won’t give him back. Uses him to try to make me come home.”
The words hung in the air between us. Home. It had never been home. Just a beautiful prison with expensive furniture and calculated cruelty.
Natalie’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes hardened. “Mr. Lajeunesse—Alex, if I may—I need you to know that what happened to you wasn’t your fault.”
A strangled sound escaped my throat—half laugh, half sob. How many times had I told myself that in the weeks since I’d fled the hospital? How many nights had I curled up in the backseat of mycar, whispering it like a mantra that never quite took hold?
“Marcus has connections,” I said instead. “Money. People who owe him favours.”
“And you have the truth,” she replied simply.
I looked down at my hands, still trembling against the tabletop.
“Is that enough?”
She didn’t answer immediately, and in that pause, I heard the truth. It might not be. But it was all I had.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” she said, opening a folder. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. For Buster. For the broken person I’d been that night. For whatever remained of me now.
“His name is Marcus Delaney,” I began, my voice stronger than I expected. “And three weeks ago, he almost killed me.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the scratched surface of the conference room table as I spoke, unable to meet Natalie’s gaze.
“After I got to the hospital, I was… pretty messed up. Broken ribs, concussion, internal bleeding.” My voice sounded hollow, distant, like it belonged to someone else. “The doctors said if I’d arrived an hour later…”
