Chapter 2

Dinner was eaten in near silence.

The only sounds were the faint clinks of forks and bowls.

"Claire, have some ribs. The rib steak used to be your favorite — whenever I made it."

I poked at the piece of meat with my fork. My stomach turned for no reason I could name.

"I… I don't really want anything too heavy," I said, trying to deflect.

"Be good. You're too thin — you need to eat." His voice was still soft, but there was something underneath it that left no room for refusal.

I instinctively glanced toward my parents, hoping one of them would bail me out.

But they both kept their heads down, mechanically picking at their spaghetti, not to look at me even once.

"Mom, Dad — why aren't you having any?" I asked carefully.

My father's hand jerked. His fork clattered against the table with a sharp ring.

"His hand slipped." My mother quickly picked it up, her voice stretched tight as a bowstring. "We're eating. We're eating."

The unease inside me kept growing.

After dinner, Sebastian walked me back to my room.

"I've been cleaning it every day," he said, pushing the door open and turning on the light. "Everything's exactly the way you left it."

I squinted, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness.

The layout was the same — that much I could tell. But the smell was wrong. It wasn't the fir-wood perfume I always wore. It was something faint and foreign, like medical disinfectant mixed with some kind of chemical.

"What's wrong?" He noticed me hesitate.

"Nothing. Just tired."

"Get some rest, then. I'm right next door — call me if you need anything." He pressed a cold kiss to my forehead, turned, and pulled the door shut behind him.

Click.

The sound of the lock catching.

I stood there, cold all the way through.

He had locked my door from the outside.

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