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Judah was his.
He knew it.
That was all that mattered.
Warren Graves was the kind of man who, while he didn’t have a fatherly or nurturing bone in his body, believed in heirs and passing on his twisted empire to the next generation.
The scariest part for me was worrying that he could take my sweet, perfect, angel of a child. And turn him into a monster in his own image.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Warren snapped when I turned away from him in the hall.
“To get my shoes,” I reminded him, waving down at my sock-clad feet.
“Be quick,” he demanded, glancing at his phone.
If I wasn’t, one of his henchmen would be in my doorway, leering at me in the way they all did. They weren’t supposed to touch me. But I didn’t really think that Warren would give a damn if they did, so long as I was physically able to continue to take care of our son.
Warren’s house was an immense structure made of all white everything. Floors, walls, tile. The only color, if you can call it that, were the window casements and dividers, which were all black.
Even Judah’s room was all white, save for the bedding and toys I’d insisted on buying, spouting off things about brain development that I was mostly sure were factual. And I didn’t particularly care if they weren’t.
My room was a few doors down from Judah. Though, technically, I never slept there. I slept in the glider in Judah’s room. Or, on occasion, on the floor.
My nearness to my son was my only protection in this house. And I knew, with each passing day, my usefulness to Warren as Judah’s mother was waning.
What then?
A bag over my head?
A shot to the skull?
Or would he want to be really up close and personal for it? To wrap his hands around my throat until his fingers went white, watching me as I struggled for breath, then as the life left my eyes.
He would want to watch me suffer.
Because for just about two years, I have had something that no one else ever had before.
Power over him.
Albeit a small amount of it.
But it ate at him.
We both knew it.
I closed the door behind me, releasing my shaky breath. I wouldn’t let him see that weakness. But I will admit, it was still there.
I lived in absolute terror, day and night. I might do a good job pretending I wasn’t for Judah, who deserved a happy mom, and in front of Warren, because I wouldn’t let him see my fear.
But I was afraid.
All the time.
My room was much like the rest of the house. Oversized. All white. From the walls, floor, window treatments, and bedding, to the dressers and the bathroom. Though, I rarely ever went in there. I chose to shower in Judah’s bathroom. Close to him. Safe with him.
It was a sad state of affairs when you only felt safe because of your toddler child.
It wasn’t forever, I reminded myself as I slipped into my shoes, and made my way into the bathroom.
