He framed me for his mistress’s miscarriage, but the moment she confessed six years later, he saw the horrific scars his silence caused.

I didn't answer him.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

With slow, mechanical movements, I pulled the torn flaps of my t-shirt together over my chest. I reached down, untied my grease-stained apron, and wrapped it around my shoulders like a shawl to cover the ruin of my body.

"Are you satisfied, Mr. Ellison?" I asked. My voice was chillingly calm, completely detached from the horror exposed to the room. "Can I go back to washing dishes now?"

Daniel stared at me, his chest heaving, his hands shaking so violently he had to ball them into fists. His eyes were wide with a profound, staggering horror. He looked down at the scrap of torn fabric in his hand, then back at my covered shoulders.

"Who... who did that to you?" he breathed, his voice cracking. "The prison reports... the warden’s monthly briefs... they said you were in solitary for your own protection. They said you had medical care."

"They lied," I said simply. "Just like she did."

I glanced down at Natalie, who was still on the floor. For the first time in six years, Natalie wasn't acting. Her eyes were fixed on the scars peeking through the gaps of my apron, and her face was sheet-white. She had paid for those attacks. She had sent the money through shell companies to ensure I would never leave Danbury alive.

She had never expected Daniel to see the finished product.

"Daniel..." Natalie whimpered, trying to pull on his trouser leg. "My arm... it hurts so bad... we need to go to the hospital..."

Daniel didn't move. He didn't look down at her. He stood there, staring at me as if the entire universe had just violently inverted.

"Clara," he whispered again, stepping closer, reaching out a trembling hand toward my shoulder. "Let me see. Let me help you—"

"Don't touch me," I said, stepping back into the shadows of the kitchen. "If you touch me, Daniel, I will kill myself right here on this floor. And you'll have to explain that to the press, too."

The sheer coldness in my eyes stopped him dead. He froze, his arm hanging limp.

Maeve shoved past him, holding a broom like a spear. "Out! All of you, get the hell out of my diner before I call the channel four news crew! Get out!"

Natalie’s guards helped her to her feet. "Mr. Ellison, we have to go. Miss Reed needs medical attention."

Daniel allowed himself to be pushed toward the door, but his eyes never left me. They were haunted, shattered, filled with a sickening, churning dawn of realization.

As the Maybach pulled away into the rain, I sank onto the milk crates beside the industrial dishwasher and pressed my forehead against my knees.