The words stayed with her through the rest of the evening.

Victoria came home, tired and talkative about the dinner meeting. Elena sat at the kitchen island and gave the right answers at the right times while the declaration moved under her skin like a second pulse. Marcus’s voice—I love you—replayed every time she shifted and felt the bruises, every time the faint remaining heat of him between her legs reminded her of the study, every time her mother looked at her with ordinary affection and saw nothing of what had been said behind the locked door.

She went to bed early. Sleep did not come. The house settled around...