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I close the door and try the other door.
It’s locked. This door must lead to the rest of the house.
“Think, Annalise, think,” I whisper to myself, desperation clawing at my chest. My fingers dance over the locked door, as if I’ll be able to find a way out. But it’s solid, unyielding—just like the men who brought me here.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, fear rising like bile in my throat. I can’t shake the image of my daughters’ terrified faces from my mind. What if they’re in danger? What if I’ve made everything worse by trusting Cassius?
I never should have told him the truth. Even if something had happened to me, at least they would have been safe.
“God, what have I done?” The weight of my decision presses down on me like a vise, threatening to crush me beneath its burden. I should have never let my guard down.
The lock clicks, taunting me. It’s mocking my every failed attempt to break free. I grit my teeth and try again, using a hairpin to pick the lock. My hands tremble, sweat trickling down my forehead.
“Think, Annalise,” I whisper to myself, pausing to wipe the sweat from my brow. “You’ve done this before.”
I used to pick locks when I was younger. Sometimes, it was the only way I could check on my mother who would come home drunk and lock herself in her room. I learned how to do it with a card first, and a hairpin later once I’d bent all the cards I could get my hands on.
After I moved out, I never thought I’d have to use the skill again, but…
Still, the door doesn’t budge.
I can’t stop trying though. I love them too much to just sit here and do nothing.
“Damn it!” The hairpin slips, scratching my finger. Blood beads on my skin, but I barely notice.
Who will take care of them? Who will protect them? The questions race through my mind, each one more frantic than the last.
“Let me out!” I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. I pound on the door, each strike echoing through the room and resonating deep within me. “Please! Let me go back to my children!”
Silence is my only answer, and a sob rips its way through my chest. I slide down the door, defeated, burying my face in my hands. Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them.
“Annalise, you fool,” I berate myself, choked sobs punctuating my words.
The room seems to close in on me, smothering me in darkness and despair. My heart races, and my breath comes in ragged gasps, as if I’m drowning. And all the while, the terrible thought pounds inside my head like a drumbeat:
My girls aren’t safe.
12
ANNALISE
The quiet stillness of my room shatters as the door creaks open, sending a jolt through my body. As I sit up in bed, my heart races with apprehension. A maid enters, her arms laden with a tray of food that sends wafts of delicious scents into the air. She pauses once she makes it inside, taking in my disheveled appearance, and her eyes widen in surprise.
This is the first person I’ve seen since I’ve been locked up in this room. Usually, when I wake up, there just happens to be a tray of food by my door—food I’ve yet to actually eat.
Maybe she’ll have some answers for me.
“Miss Tryst,” she stammers, quickly recovering her composure. “I-I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Come in,” I say, trying to sound calm despite my pounding heart. The tension in the room is palpable as she approaches cautiously, the delicate silverware on the tray clinking together like chimes.
“Your breakfast, Miss Tryst. The chef has prepared a fine spread for you,” she murmurs, glancing at me before averting her eyes.
Breakfast is the last thing on my mind.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling with fear and concern. “Tell me, are my children safe?”
The maid hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she glances at my pleading expression. She swallows hard, then diverts the conversation in a breathless voice. “Miss Tryst, you must be famished. Please, try some of this delicious breakfast.”
