Delilah’s Pov

I dressed like I was walking into my own execution… black, fitted, something with a spine. If I was going to make my captor an offer he couldn’t refuse, I’d look impeccable doing it.

Days had passed here. Or weeks. Time had a habit of slurring in places like Verret’s house. Hope thinned, but it never broke.

I still mapped escape routes in my head while brushing my hair. I still imagined Malric storming through the gate like a god with teeth. For now, imagining was the only thing that didn't make me ache.

The maids fussed that morning as if their lives depended on starching tablecloths. I...