Page 25

Dinner was my idea. Though I made Lilith think it was hers.

The long table was set for four. Like a family gathering instead of what it was.

Her father sat at the head of the table, same as always.

Posture stiff, eyes alert. Two of his men were stationed just outside the dining room like the boogeyman might show up.

I sat at the far end, napkin folded over my lap, wine untouched.

I had twenty of my men stationed around the house, waiting in case I needed them.

Lilith sat between us, twitchy and distracted.

She kept looking at me. Not looking—staring.

I continued talking where I left off.

“I called you because she’s been off lately,” I muttered to her father, like she wasn’t right there. “Maybe you can talk her into taking her meds.”

Lilith’s fork clinked hard against her plate. She didn’t speak. Just looked at me, wide-eyed.

“She thinks you’re going to kill me and says she can’t save me if they have her moving in slow motion.”

“I know he is,” she snapped, eyes wild, lips trembling. “He’s going to kill you. I feel it.”

“Enough,” her father barked.

Lilith stood abruptly, her chair scraping the hardwood as she walked toward the kitchen. Her movements were stiff. She didn’t look back.

Her father watched her go, then turned to me.

“If you leave her,” he said slowly, “I will kill you myself. She’s the only reason you’re still breathing. You’re her husband. Fix her.”

I didn’t respond. Just nodded like a loyal husband would.

Lilith came back a few minutes later, barefoot and calm. Her face was blank. Her eyes weren’t. They were glowing.

She moved behind her father’s chair. Rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Daddy, I love you.”

Steel flashed in her hand, catching my attention.

“I love— ”

She moved her hand in one swift motion, slicing clean across her father’s throat. Cutting off his words.

A sound like gargling filled the room. Blood spattered the white tablecloth. His wine glass tipped, spilled like a second wound. A drop of blood landed on Lilith's cheek. She didn't wipe it away. Let it sit there like a tear.

She kept screaming.

“He’s mine! He’s mine! You don’t get to hurt him!”

I pushed my chair back hard enough to topple it. My voice broke through the chaos.

“Call the ambulance! Now!”

Guards burst through the doors. One grabbed Lilith and disarmed her. She didn’t fight. Just kept screaming.

“You won’t take him from me! You’re dead now!”

Blood soaked the floor beneath her father’s chair.

One of the guards crouched low, checked for a pulse. Shook his head.

“He’s gone.”

The room fell quiet except for the ragged sound of Lilith’s breathing. She looked hollow now. Empty. Spent.

“Fuck, this is bad,” the guard muttered, glancing at me. “He indulged her every want and she killed him.”

I didn’t speak.

Two officers were the first to arrive. I told them what happened.

“Tell the ambulance to take her to a facility,” I said when the EMTs arrived. “Not a jail. She needs help.”

I watched as Lilith was strapped to the gurney, eyes glassy. As they wheeled her toward the exit, she turned her head sharply.

“Priest,” she whispered.

I paused.

“Priest—please, don’t let them take me.”

I stood there a moment longer. Let everyone in the room see the sadness on my face. Let them believe the concern, the heartbreak.

Then I followed the gurney. Walked past the one that held her dead father. I climbed into the ambulance behind her after she was loaded.

I took her hand. “I’ll always be here for you.” I lied.

She smiled.

And I smiled back.

Like a loving husband should.

Like this wasn’t exactly what I’d spent six months planting seeds for.

It started small. After she saved me at the safe house, I decided to lean into being the perfect husband. I brought her flowers, a new ring. I told her I loved her enough that it didn’t matter that we couldn’t have sex. I made her friends envy her.

Then I started making little comments, never direct. Never too much.

“I don’t trust your father,” I told her once, while stroking her hair in bed. “You know he’s going to kill me, right?”

She didn’t believe me at first. But I didn’t need her to—not right away.

Then came the doubts.

“He’s watching me,” I said one night, pacing the kitchen, tension in my shoulders. “Everywhere I go. I think he’s waiting for the right moment to take me from you.”

I fed her paranoia.

“You’re better without the meds,” I whispered one afternoon, brushing a kiss to her temple. “They dull you. Mute who you really are. You don’t need them. Not with me.”

She nodded and clung to me like I was her anchor .

Weeks passed.

And every time she took a step further into the dark, I was there, steady and reassuring, telling her she was going in the right direction.

“You’re not crazy,” I’d say. “They just want you to think you are. Your father wants to control you.”

When she started skipping doses, I didn’t stop her.

When her father scolded her for doing the crazy shit she did, I defended her—just enough to keep her loyal, not enough to draw suspicion.

I let her think we were in it together. That I was on her side. That she had to protect me from him.

I knew she would snap eventually.

And that no one would blame me when she did.