Page 87 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir

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Dead bodies they claim are hers.

Graves.

Ruined settlements.

I stare at the images, expressionless.

“You’re not even blinking,” he says, annoyed. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It would,” I say. “If you were better at lying.”

His smile fades.

Another one brings me food from the outside.

Fresh bread.

Warm.

The smell alone makes my stomach clench.

“Just answer one question,” he says. “One. And this is yours.”

I look at the bread.

Then at him.

“You’re going to eat that in front of me anyway,” I say.

He hesitates.

Then does exactly that.

I watch him chew.

I don’t speak.

My body changes over the years.

Muscle hardens, then thins.

Scars overlap scars.

My joints ache in the cold.

Sometimes my hands cramp so badly I have to pry my fingers open one by one.

They never give me enough sleep.

They never give me enough light.

They never give me enough time to forget where I am.

But they also never get what they want.

One night, a guard stops outside my cell longer than usual.

“You know,” he says quietly, not unkindly, “you could make this easier on yourself.”

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