Page 143 of Piggy

“Don’t.” His voice rasps. “Pray I don’t get out of here, Charlotte. Because if I do...” He leans in, eyes burning. “I’ll shut that fucking mouth of yours for good. Then you’ll know the real me.”

I shiver, because the person I am facing is not a boy, not a rebellious teen, and not even the man I fell in love with.

This man?

He’s the danger that lawyer warned me about.

My instincts scream:Hurry. Run. Now!

Chapter 42

Charlotte

I lost it when I visited Grayson. I mean, really lost it. But I am trying to forgive myself. It seems impossible, though.

He still talks to her.Meghan. The same woman who sent him behind bars. And yet, she gets his letters. His attention. His past.

Me? I get silence. Distance. A cold look like I don’t belong in his world anymore.

And then he says it, that Meghan can handle the truth. That she can handlehim. I didn’t know what else to do. Nod. Smile. Pretend it didn’t shatter my heart... it did.

Gosh, I wish I were better at staying calm. But when I feel everything, it’s like a storm. Loud, violent, and passionate. And I always end up causing the most damage to myself.

I really am a pig. Not because I’m ugly or fat or whatever people call me. Because I root around in feelings I should bury. Because when I get upset, I wallow, I grunt, I flail. I say things I can’t unsay. I ruin everything.

And seeing him again?

It wasn’t just how damn gorgeous he looked. It was his presence. That cold, untouchable gravity. The same hands that once held me like I was breakable now curled into fists. The lips that once kissed me like I was sacred now speak only cruelty.

And our fairytale... it didn’t end with just heartbreak. It ended with him threatening to kill me.

That’s the last thing he said.

Not I love you.

Just pray I don’t get out.

But it’s late. I’m home. Tired. Need to focus.

Dinner’s simple. Mac and cheese, frozen nuggets, and half a watermelon. The kind of meal you throw together when your nerves are fried and your heart’s still somewhere behind bars.

Atticus eats on the floor, watching something on his tablet. Wilbur snorts through his food outside, little tail wagging like an excited dog.

I drag myself to the bathroom, peel off my clothes, and step into the lukewarm shower, even though I don’t want to. The water hits my skin like tiny punches. I scrub quickly, harshly. Then towel off, slip into a tank top and shorts, and flop into bed.

The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, doing nothing to cut the thick, wet Florida heat. My sheets cling to my legs. The room is quiet, peaceful, and finally, I close my eyes.

Creak.

I freeze.

My eyes snap open.

That wasn’t the fan.

Was it?

A softer creak. This time closer.