I scrambled to my feet, the motion causing me to feel slightly dizzy, but I steadied myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in nothing but his shirt.
“Do you have some sweatpants or something? Since it looks like I’m stuck here.”
He studied me for a beat longer than was comfortable. I braced myself for more questions, more probing.
But then he nodded. “I’ll get you something.”
I watched him retreat, the concern in his gaze still lingering in my mind.
But that didn’t change anything.
He was still my captor.
I couldn’t afford to make the same mistake I did with Victor.
Not again.
I needed to keep my wits about me.
And find some other way out of here.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry
I shut my office door behind me with more force than necessary. The latch clicked into place with a metallic finality that did nothing to quiet the storm inside my head.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the expression in Ariana’s eyes when I restrained her.
It wasn’t anger or defiance.
It was panic. The kind that roots in your bones and drags you under like a riptide.
She claimed she was claustrophobic.
My gut said there was something else beneath that reaction.
I replayed the events of the past few days, my mind focusing on one thing in particular.
The bruises. Faint shadows along her legs. The fingerprint-shaped marks on her throat.
What if there was more to it than I originally believed? What if the bruises on her legs weren’t from her escape attempt? What if the marks on her throat weren’t from some breath play with her husband?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting against a headache I felt forming. When I opened my eyes again, the screens above my desk came into focus, flickering through security feeds.
Except the largest screen.
It still displayed the paused frame I’d pulled from Sarah’s last video. Her face turned to the wind, dark hair whipping across her cheek, the horizon glowing behind her like firelight. She looked untouchable in that moment. Unbreakable.
If I needed a reminder of my purpose, this was it. Nothing else mattered right now. Not Ariana’s bruises. Not the sound of her voice cracking under pressure. Not the way she watched me like she was trying to decide if I was a threat or her salvation.
I had to believe it could all be an act. I refused to fall into her trap.
Not when Sarah deserved justice.
Not when Victor walked free.
Resolved in my purpose, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the duffel and made my way back to the kitchen. Ariana sat on the floor, petting Cato like he washerdog. I tossed the pants at her.
