Chapter 2

During the first month after being locked up, I hadn't learned yet.

Back then, I would cry, curse, bang my head against the wall, and scream Tristan's name in the isolation room until my throat bled.

Later, I stopped screaming.

Not because I'd come to terms with it, but because electrical currents passed through my temples and I forgot why I was screaming in the first place.

The instructor called it "behavioral cognitive correction."

It took me a long time to understand what that meant—

It meant turning someone who could cry, make a fuss, and love into someone who couldn't cry, couldn't make a fuss, and couldn't love.

Actually, it wasn't that difficult.

After enough pain, you learn everything.

In the car on the way back, Nora sat on Tristan's lap.

She looked at me, her eyes carrying that familiar concern—light and airy, like a cat appraising a mouse with its claws pulled out.

"Susie, how were these past five years for you inside?"

I stared straight ahead, hands resting flat on my knees.

When I didn't answer, Nora waited a moment, then her voice became even softer. "If you hadn't hurt me back then, Tristan wouldn't have gotten angry and sent you there. Don't blame him."

Five years ago, I would have lunged at her and torn that mouth apart. But now I just sat there.

Tristan glanced at me sideways, his tone turning cold. "Nora is talking to you. Did all that etiquette training go straight down the drain?"

I still didn't speak.

Suddenly my chin was gripped, the force making my bones ache.

Tristan forced me to look at him, familiar irritation in his eyes. "I told you to speak."

It hurt, but compared to having my mouth sewn shut at the academy, it was nothing.

My mouth had been sewn shut three times.

The first time was for talking back to an instructor. The second time was for crying out loud. The third time was for calling Tristan's name in the isolation room.

When the needle pierced through my lips, I trembled all over from the pain, but couldn't make a sound.

After they removed the stitches, I learned not to open my mouth carelessly.

"Mr. Kingsley, you haven't given me permission to speak."

I looked into his eyes, my voice soft. But Tristan froze.

He stared at me for a long time, so long that even Nora's smile grew stiff.

Then he released his grip and laughed coldly. "Fine. Now you can answer Nora."

I turned my head and smiled at Nora—a standard smile, showing exactly eight teeth.

"Miss Parker, I won't be angry. You're the only person Mr. Kingsley truly cares about."

I meant every word of that statement.

At the academy, the instructors showed me photos of Tristan and Nora together every single day.

In the photos they looked so happy, like a perfect couple.

At first, when I saw them, I would feel heartbroken, tremble, want to tear the photos to shreds.

Then electrical currents would pass through my temples, and I'd briefly lose all emotion. Over time, I stopped crying.

The instructor called it "desensitization therapy."

I thought she was right. After seeing something enough times, it stops hurting.

But for some reason, his expression grew even darker.

He furrowed his brow, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Susie, is this passive-aggressive tone your way of resisting?"

"I'm not."

I lowered my head further. "I only learned... how to be a proper Mrs. Kingsley."

Tristan froze for a moment.

Nora watched this scene from the side, her voice gentle.

"Tristan, as long as Susie knows she was wrong, don't be so harsh with her."

He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly laughed coldly.

"Fine. I'd like to see just how long you can keep up this act!"