Page 111 of The Last Housewife

“What are you talking about?” Don snapped.

I kept my attention on her. “It’s all going to come crumbling down. Everyone’s going to know exactly who Don is, and what he’s done. All the Paters are going to jail.”

She blinked. “They’ll know about me?”

“They’ll know he exploited you,” I said quickly.

“Rachel’s murder,” Don said softly. “If they find out, the police won’t look kindly on that.”

“I had to do it,” Laurel choked out. “But I’ll rot for it.”

I shook my head. “No, they’ll see you were manipulated.” What she’d done was horrible, but it wasn’t really her fault—none of this was. She’d been coerced by her conditioning. Yes, she had agency, but she was also a victim. People would understand.

“Laurel,” Don said, and though his voice was silky, she flinched. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

She nodded, chin bobbing fast.

“And you’re mine?” he asked, voice deepening. “Body and soul?”

She choked out a yes.

“Stop it. You don’t belong to anyone, Laurel.” I was so close to her now.

“Put the pugio to your throat,” Don said, and both Laurel and I froze.

“What?” she whispered.

“Show me how obedient you are. Show me why I should love you more than anyone.”

I watched the words snake inside her, flip a switch—and to my horror, Laurel tipped the black blade to her throat.

“Stop,” I cried.

“Drop the ax,” Don said to me, “or she’ll slit her throat.”

“She would never.” I was so close to the staircase, to escape. I edged forward.

“Do it, Laurel,” Don urged, and she drew the knife against her skin.

“No!” I threw the ax to the floor, where it clattered. For all I’d witnessed, I’d never imagined Don had this kind of power.

“Good.” His eyes flicked from the ax to me. “Now get on your knees.”

I looked at Laurel. Terror and sadness radiated from her, but I couldn’t tell who she was scared for, what she was mourning. I could’ve sworn there was an apology in her eyes, but the truth was, I couldn’t read her. Not after all this time.

I dropped to my knees on the cold basement floor.

Don stepped closer, until we formed a triangle. “My first girls,” he murmured. The music cut out above us, and a deep voice rang out, the voice of a triumphant politician.

“We’re not yours,” I said and spit on his shoes. “Never.”

He looked at his feet for a moment, then up at me. His jaw tightened; I could see his fury, his outrage at being denied. He turned to Laurel. “Kill yourself.”

“Wait.” I lurched, almost toppling. “I’m on my knees.”

But Don wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was staring at Laurel, who was trembling, paler than ever. “You told me I was what gave your life meaning, didn’t you?”

She nodded, a tear falling down her cheek. She was too vulnerable, too indoctrinated. I could see her thoughts twisting.