Over the next few days, I became the picture of silent obedience. Whatever they told me to do, I did without resistance. Without complaint. I even drank the hormone-laced juice on my own, unprompted.
Madge reveled in the thrill of tormenting me.
Only Everard frowned now and then, a faint unease surfacing in the back of his mind.
"Madge, don't you think Iris has been a little too well-behaved lately?"
Madge barely glanced up from admiring her fresh manicure. "So what?"
"She's been beaten into submission. What else can she do besides obey? She can't even slit her wrists without the housekeeper stopping her. Her children are gone. She's got nothing left but to live off our mercy for the rest of her miserable life."
Everard considered this for a moment, then let the warmth of the woman beside him dissolve his doubts. He exhaled.
"You're right. She couldn't make waves even if she tried."
For the entire week that followed, Everard pretended to be away on business while he and Madge worked their way through every themed hotel in the city.
They were having the time of their lives.
Then, on the seventh night, Everard's phone rang. And rang. And rang.
He answered with an irritated snap. "What is it?"