Page 276 of His To Erase

If he thinks I’ve given up, maybe he’ll let his guard down. Maybe I’ll get five minutes alone. I just have to stay standing long enough to survive this part. Then I’ll find a way to burn it all down.

The man clears his throat and continues with a line of legal bullshit I barely register. Something about signatures and transfer of rights and full consent of mind and body. I could laugh.Consent. That’s rich.I feel like the second I sign that document, something in me will splinter. But I don’t exactly have a choice.

He’ll take the paper, shake the man’s hand, maybe even pour himself another drink. And I’ll be carted upstairs like an afterthought—an inconvenience in heels—tossed into some gilded bedroom with blackout curtains and too much gold trim.

Maybe—if I’m lucky—he’ll leave me there until morning.

I glance sideways, and that’s when I see a single candle—burning low on the dresser behind the table. I remember that candle. I remember lighting it once, a hundred years ago, before I knew what monsters smelled like when they smiled. And just like that, something cracks open inside me.

I was smaller then—my hands still unsteady, and my fingers were too clumsy to strike the match clean on the first try. The world around me was still soft in a way I didn’t fully understand yet, like it hadn’t decided to be cruel. It was my birthday. I remember the sound the match made, that sharp rasp followed by the hiss of flame catching. The air smelled faintly of sugar and smoke.

I didn’t know what grief was yet. Not really. But I understood enough to know no one else was going to fix it. And maybe even then—at that age—I already knew no one was coming to save me. That if I ever wanted more, I’d have to go out and get it myself.

The memory hits like a flare and for one suspended moment, everything else drops away.

I blink once, taking a deep breath. The edges of the room blur, but the clarity inside me sharpens like a blade. My hand moves before I can second-guess it, reaching for the pen with a grip that feels too steady for what I’m about to do.

I wrap my fingers around it and in one quick, ruthless motion, I drive the tip straight into Frank’s wrist.

He makes this awful sound—somewhere between a yell and a grunt—and stumbles back, blood already soaking through the cuff of his fancy-ass shirt.

The lawyer yelps like he just realized this isn’t part of the script. Chairs scrape. Boots move. And then the guards are on me.

One of them yanks me back by the shoulders so hard my breath snaps out of my lungs. Pain blooms along my spine, but I don’t stop watching Frank.

He lunges, and yeah—I knew this was coming. This is the price. But at least this time, it’s mine to pay.

I’m shoved down, and someone pins my shoulders to the floor while the pen is yanked from my grip with a twist so hard it jerks my shoulder, and I cry out.

Frank stands above me, his wrist stained dark now, blood soaking through the cuff, dripping past his knuckles. His hand twitches at his side as his lip curls.

“I gave you everything,” he says crouching down beside me. “A second chance at a life you didn’t earn. And this is what you give me in return?”

He looks at me and there’s nothing there. No warmth, no love. Just pride and hunger dressed up like something close to affection—enough to fool someone who doesn’t know better. At this point, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to punch myself for ever thinking he had a soul.

“I didn’t ask for a second chance,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask for you.”

The guard holding me stiffens, but doesn’t move.

Frank leans in closer, lowering his voice to something only I can hear. “You keep mistaking my generosity for weakness.”

I meet his gaze, and I don’t blink. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

His expression changes and that’s when I know I’ve won something, because he stands slowly, pressing his fingers into the blood at his wrist. Then turns to the officiant and motions lazily with the same stained hand.

“Do it.”

“I—I can’t,” the man stammers. “She’s not in a fit state. She’s bleeding, and?—”

“I said do it,” Frank snaps.

The guards drag me back to the table with a fresh pen.

“Fine,” I rasp. “I’ll do it.” They pause. Even Frank freezes for a half second before he recovers. I lean forward, calm as ever. “I’ll sign,” I say.

Frank frowns. “What?”

I smile, and something in my eye must make him second guess himself, because he takes a step back. The lawyer looks confused and the guards glance at each other.