Page 200 of The Professor's Wife

A familiar knife lay between us, glinting faintly in the dirt.

Tristan’s blade. He must have fought him and now…now he was groaning behind me.

My stomach clenched with fear as I realized Oliver had done what he always promised he would: he had found me.

The night felt eerily still as we faced each other. His words weren’t needed; the threat had already come true. He held that gun tightly in his grip, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he aimed it at me.

I tried to breathe, tried to think, but I was caught. There was no way out. Even if we’d laid in that camper, Oliver would have broken through.

The days had led up to this.

The inevitable end.

And Oliver—

He looked nothing like the man I had once known. His eyes were feral and unhinged.

We stared at each other in the pale light. Taking each other in. His eyes drifted over my large shirt and barely there shorts, my bare legs now bruised up and filthy. I didn’t have to hear him say the word whore—I felt it and trembled in response.

Even in the dim glow, I could see he was badly hurt too, blood staining his side, his breath ragged. Blood flowed steadily down his arm, down his hand, along the gun, and to the ground. I stared at the growing puddle between us, knowing he had only so much of it in him.

“You thought you could run,” Oliver rasped, his voice low, almost broken. “But I warned you I would always find you. There is no escaping me. I know you. I remade you, Daisy.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. I wanted to scream, to fight, to reach Tristan, but my body felt frozen, as though Oliver were holding me in place just from his stare alone. Oliver’s gaze mortified me; his hatred so sharp it seemed to cut the air itself.

Time stretched, unbearable. Tristan groaned again, and it sounded off. I flinched toward him, but Oliver’s dark presence made me hesitate.

“It’s your fault he’s going to die,” Oliver grunted just then, his face growing paler under the moonlight. “It’s always your fault, Daisy, can’t you see that already?”

Tears slid down my cheeks. “Oliver…”

He hovered there, shaking, like he could hardly stand. The blood continued to rush out of him, and he winced, but his eyes narrowed on mine like the pain didn’t matter. He needed me to do what I always did: plead. I would have gladly done what he wanted if I knew it would make a difference.

But I didn’t have any hope.

I knew already that Oliver was here to deliver on his promise if I ever left.

If he couldn’t have me, no one could.

I saw the full shape of his attachment then: he needed to win, even if none of us survived it.

He’s going to die, too.

And he only cared that I go down with him.

There were no more words. I shook my head, tears blurring my vision as he raised the gun and fired.

He collapsed to the ground straight after.

My chest was on fire, every nerve screaming. Pain radiated through me, sharp and unrelenting.

I pressed my hands against the wound, a cry tearing from my throat as they came away slick with blood. Too much blood. The world tilted, spinning out of control, and I staggered backward. Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision.

As I fell, my arms reached out instinctively, desperate, as though grasping for a hand that wasn’t there. Blackness everywhere—

My vision returned.

My arms were still outstretched.