Still sealed. Still mine. Still real.
I pop one of the real pills from the sample pack and swallow it dry.
Then I look at Cole's pack, still lying in the sink where I dropped it.
He thinks he's clever. Thinks he's playing a game I don't know about, moving pieces on a board I can't see.
He's wrong.
I pick up the fake pack, pop out one pill to flush down the toilet, and set it back on the counter, exactly where it was. Corner aligned with the tile edge, his arrangement, not mine.
Let him think I took it. Let him think his plan is working. Let him wonder, in a few weeks, why nothing has changed.
Figure out the rules before you decide how to play.
My reflection stares back at me. Pale, shaken, but with something harder underneath. Something that looks almost like the woman I used to be, before Adrian taught me that dangerous men always win.
They don't always win. Sometimes they just think they do.
I turn off the bathroom light and go to face the day.
An hour later, I'm trying to hold myself together.
The kitchen smells like coffee and scrambled eggs, and Chesca chatters about her spelling test while swinging her legsunder the table, and everything looks normal if you don't know what to look for.
I know what to look for.
Cole stands at the counter with his own mug, watching me over the rim the way he always watches, patient, assessing every micro-expression I can't quite control.
Except now I know what he was doing at 3:07 this morning. Now I know what kind of man stands in my kitchen making small talk while his fake pills sit upstairs on my bathroom counter.
I hold his gaze. Let him see that I'm awake, that I'm present, that whatever he thinks he's getting away with, I'm paying attention.
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away. Just watches me with those dark eyes that give nothing back.
Does he know I know? Can he tell?
No. He thinks you're just tired. He thinks you're processing last night, the sex, the rejection before that. He has no idea.
Good. Keep it that way.
"Mamma?" Chesca's voice cuts through. "You're not eating."
I look down at my plate. The eggs Cole made sit untouched, slowly cooling into something unappetizing. I haven't been able to make myself take a single bite, the thought of putting anything he's prepared into my mouth makes my stomach turn.
"Not hungry, tesoro." I force softness into my voice. "I'll eat later."
"Mr. Cole didn't eat either." She points her spoon at him, milk dripping onto the table. "You're both being weird."
"Grown-up weird," I say. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"That's what you always say when something's wrong."
Dio, when did she get so perceptive?
Cole's mouth twitches. Almost a smile. I want to throw my cold coffee in his face.
"Nothing's wrong, bambina. Just tired." I stand, kiss the maple syrup off her cheek, fasten the clasp of my father's medal around my neck. The cool silver settles against my collarbone like armor, like a promise.