He could feel the tears of relief that Reece Corrigan was dead forming and he wanted her to know that he understood, that he was glad Reece was dead, too. Adrian remembered Angela’s face tangled among the brush and how she had trusted him then. He could get her to trust him again. He hoped she could see everything he was trying to convey.

Angela stumbled forwards into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. He held onto her tightly; he wanted her to know that she was safe from that man, that he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

He turned his head slightly to see Imogen. The look on her face was of complete fear. She didn’t trust that he had a handle on the situation. He knew Imogen thought he was going to fall, that she thought she was going to lose him. He had done that. He knew he had to make a change. He couldn’t put her through that again.

Chapter Eighty-One

Six weeks earlier

He comes into the bathroom and watches me as I shower. I try to shield the parts of myself that I don’t want him to see. He removes his robe and climbs into the cubicle with me. Behind me, he kisses my neck and pushes me against the tiles. I draw my arms into my sides and wait for him to finish whatever it is he is doing.

He washes himself and then leaves. I continue washing, even though the water has gone cold. I scrub hardest at the parts where his body touched mine.

We have lunch together and he watches me eat. I feel like no matter what I do, he is watching me, even when I am alone.

After lunch, he suggests we go to London for a weekend away. I can go shopping and he can catch up with some business partners there. I smile and nod. I don’t need any more clothes, but it’s better just to accept his suggestions or he gets angry.

I never quite know what will make him angry and so it’s better just to say yes to everything, or at least not to say no. I try not to look at the clock on the wall. He has already told me he is going out later on, so all I have to do is play happy families and wait. He will be gone soon enough.

I keep my gaze fixed on my book. My eyes scan the text and I turn the pages at the right times, but I can’t tell anyone what this story is about. I am thinking about something else entirely. I am thinking about escaping.

I wait for ten minutes after he has left to make sure he is gone. I keep my book in my hand the whole time in case I have to get back into character.