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My stomach flips.

He watches me squirm, eyes narrowing like he’s savoring it.

“You always thought you were too good for me,” he murmurs. “But look at you now. Right where you belong.”

I don’t scream.

I don’t cry.

I look him dead in the eye and say, voice like steel, “Eddie is going to kill you.”

That smile falters, just for a second but it’s enough.

The second Randy’s smile twists, something cold slithers through my veins. It’s not surprise. It’s not even fear, not fully. It’s recognition.

This—him—is exactly who he’s always been. I just didn’t want to see it before.

“You look different,” he says, tilting his head, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to reassemble. “More color in your skin and you changed your hair. Thought you didn’t care about that stuff when we were together.”

I stay silent. I don’t tell him I have more color because I’m eating better, and I’m finally able to step outside and enjoy the outdoors now I’m not his slave. I want to, god do I, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

He gestures to the tattoo on his shoulder—the one I convinced him to get after our breakup. My little revenge. A reminder to everyone exactly who he is. Now it’s something else entirely. Covered. Blurred out by some amateur blackwork job.

“You think that was funny?” he sneers. “Telling me it was a couples thing while laughing behind my back? I trusted you, Laney.”

I stare at him, defiant even with my wrists bound and skin burning.

“You treated me like a joke, Laney,” he spits. “And after everything I gave you. After everything I put up with.”

I laugh. Bitter. Sharp. “Put up with? You mean like when you made me pay your rent while you sat on your ass playing video games?”

“I was between jobs,” he growls.

“For a year.”

“I treated you like a damn queen!” he explodes, standing abruptly. “I let you stay in my place. I told my family about you!”

“Right,” I shoot back. “And they hated me because I didn’t know how to cook for ten people on Sundays. Because I didn’t ‘know my place’ because they worked me to the bone and it still wasn’t enough. Because you told them I was the problem every time we fought.”

He paces now, fast, jaw clenched, fists flexing at his sides. “You owed me loyalty. You owe me.”

“You controlled me,” I say. My voice is shaking, but I don’t stop. “You made me believe I was lucky to have you. Like I couldn’t do better. You ran me down until I didn’t even recognize myself.”

“I loved you!” he shouts.

“You cheated on me.”

His mouth curls into something ugly. “You were cold. Distant. Like touching me was some goddamn chore.”

I flinch but stay still.

“Every guy does it,” he says, waving a hand. “Grow the hell up.”

“No,” I say, eyes blazing. “Real men don’t cheat. Real men protect. They don’t tear you apart to feel bigger.”

He narrows his eyes. “You talking about that country music star prick?”

I don’t answer. He knows.