Genevieve

The car arrived at exactly 8:00 PM. I had spent the last three days staring at my phone, waiting for a message that never came, only to have a black sedan pull into my driveway without a single heads-up. It was typical Arthur. He didn’t need to check if I was ready; he knew I didn’t have a choice.

I climbed into the back seat. The driver didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him. My heart was doing the same frantic thudding it had at the gala, but this time the fear was ...