The next morning, the sunlight was too bright, cutting through the heavy velvet curtains like a blade. I stayed in bed for a long time, the silence of the penthouse feeling heavy and unnatural. Beside me, the silk sheets were cold. Jason was already gone.
I sat up, my head throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache that seemed to pulse in time with the fading mark on my cheek. On the mahogany dresser, someone had left a plate with a neat turkey sandwich, the edges of the bread already curling, and a small bowl of sliced fruit. I ignored it, my stomach twisting at the sight of food provided by my jailer. It felt like bait in a trap. Everything in this room, from the Egyptian cotton to the overpriced art on the walls, suddenly felt like the bars of a cage. I looked at the sandwich again. Was it l
