"Faith, looking at you now... taking everything like a doormat..." His lip curled. "It makes me sick."
He kicked me aside and turned back to the sofa, wrapping his arm around the woman who'd been watching the show. Isabella Pruitt. Young. Stunning. Looking exactly like I did when I first married Joshua.
Isabella giggled, her body shaking with theatrical laughter. Her voice must have been sweet—I watched Joshua's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"Young Master Sawyer, is Big Sister blaming me? Maybe I should leave?"
She made a show of rising. Joshua pressed her back down with one hand, his gaze still fixed on me like a blade.
"Her? Without me, she's a walking corpse. Give her ten times the courage, and she still wouldn't dare blame you."
He jerked his chin toward the door. "Faith, get back to your room. You're an eyesore."
The command in his eyes was clear. *Get out.*
So I stood.
Blood still trickled from my ankle, warm and wet inside my shoe. I forced myself to walk steadily.
I returned to the master bedroom. Once, it had been filled with laughter.
Now, it was an ice cellar.
I closed the door. The world went completely silent.
Well. Not completely.