I watched from the other side of the deck, clothes dripping, knees raw from the polished wood. And through the tears in my eyes, I saw it. Just for a second. Margaret’s mouth twitched. Not in pain. Not in panic. But in a smile. She was pretending. The cough that followed was exaggerated. Mournful. Weak. The perfect little performance.
Hakeem let out a choked breath and pulled her into his arms the moment she started sobbing. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
My chest burned. Not from jealousy. Not even from rage. But from the weight of truth—that I would never win against a ghost.
He looked at me like I was the infection in his perfect night. Like my very existence had ruined everything.
“You humiliated her,” he said.
“She jumped,” I croaked. “You saw it, she jumped herself.” But it didn’t matter. Margaret whimpered into his chest again, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Her voice cracked, shaking.
“Hakeem… I was so scared…”
That was it.
He stood up slowly. Turned to his guards.
“Strip her down.”
I flinched. “No! Wait, Hakeem—”
“Do it.”