|Carmella|
I exhaled sharply, my breath echoing in the confined space like a small rebellion against the suffocating silence.
Three days. Three damn days locked in this wretched cell.
The passing hours had blurred into one another, but my mind refused to stagnate, even as my body remained chained to this small corner of Marcus’s domain. In that time, I’d uncovered two critical truths.
First, Marcus only came at night. His appearances were methodical, predictable, as if his twisted need for control demanded a rigid schedule. The deliberate timing of his visits betrayed him, revealing the cracks in his calculated facade.
Second—and far more surprising—was the identity of the person delivering my meals. She wasn’t just another of Marcus’s pawns. She was one of mine.
Martha.
