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mansion, and I’d learned the hard way not to argue with anything he told me to do.
    He’d never hit me, because he needed to keep up appearances. He was always concerned that he appeared to be the loving husband, and bruises would argue that fact. But he would do other things to punish me. He’d take every computer, magazine, book and television out of the bedroom and leave me locked in there for days with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Or, he’d deprive me of food when he thought I was gaining too much weight.
    Once, he’d left me there for three days with nothing to eat or drink. Just when I’d thought I was going to die from starvation, he’d returned from wherever he was, asking if I’d learned my lesson yet. I was too weak to fight then, and after a while, I just learned it was easier not to fight at all.
    Instead, I paid attention. I watched him and learned who his friends were. I took notes, copying down his schedule and eavesdropping on his conversations. When he showered or slept, I’d look at his phone and rifle through his emails and text messages.
    That’s how I’d discovered what he was really up to. He was extremely careless, really. He’d left a paper trail a mile long and I couldn’t believe that he was so arrogant that he thought he couldn’t get caught. But the secrets he had on all the men he sold the girls to were so big that he seemed to be confident that that was enough, I guess. And it was. So far, he’d gotten away with every despicable act he’d had the nerve to pull.
    I knew he wasn’t counting on me rebelling after all these years. He thought I was comfortable with this situation. He thought that the threats he’d made to kill the one person I loved the most was still enough to keep me in line.
    He thought I’d only grown weaker over the years.
    I couldn’t wait to show him how wrong he was. I couldn’t wait to bring him down, to show him how much he had underestimated me, to show him that I wasn’t going to just sit by and let him get away with taking away my life, with killing my father, with raping hundreds of innocent girls.
    Revenge was going to be so fucking sweet.
    But we weren’t there yet.
    Right now, I was still locked in this prison of luxury with him and Travis and I still needed to get away before I could taste the first delicious bites of revenge.
    I walked into the closet, eyeing the oversized Coach bag that held the few things I was taking with me. It wasn’t much. A few pairs of underwear, a change of clothes and a pair of sneakers. I couldn’t risk taking a big bag with me to the doctor’s appointment or it would tip off Travis. I had to pretend everything was normal, as best as I could.
    “Don’t forget we have that charity dinner tonight at the Governor’s Hotel. Wear that black dress I bought you last week. Put your hair up and don’t wear that god-awful whore red lipstick you wore last time, either - you looked like a fucking slut with that shit smeared on your mouth.”
    “Sure, Royce, whatever you say,” I called from the closet, a small smile forming on my face. The idea of never having to sit across the table from this asshole again at some fake charity dinner was enough to make me kick up my heels in joy.
    “Be ready at six sharp. The limo will pick you up here and I’ll meet you there,” he said. He left without a word, the faint clicking sound of the door closing the only indication that he’d gone, other than the oppressive heaviness that followed him everywhere disappearing from the room. I let out a huge sigh of relief, picked up the Coach bag from the floor of the closet and walked back out into the bedroom.
    I sat down on the lush king-sized bed, looking around at the eggshell wallpapered walls that had imprisoned me for so long, and for the millionth time since I’d placed that call, wondered what life had in store for me after today.
    Everything was going to be different.
    I’d slowly stolen little bits of money from