Page 139 of The Professor's Wife

He was lying.

That couldn’t be true.

Yet when I looked at him, at the calm expression he was giving me, I realized it was.

“Oliver?”

I felt my heart splinter, the pain so intense it was like being slowly cut in half.

The betrayal was so unexpected.

“Who are you?”

He smiled, and it chilled me how alive he looked in that moment.

“I am your husband, and now your mentor. And you will be my perfect wife.”

I began to shake uncontrollably.

“Oliver, please. Please tell me this isn’t real. Tell me this is a dream. Please, Oliver. Please don’t be real.Please.”

“Reality is subjective. You’ll learn about it very soon.”

I cupped my ears, shaking my head. “Oliver, stop. Just stop. Just let me go. Please, just stop this.”

“You will stay here,” he continued, ignoring my pleas. “You will be given one glass of water each day for the next three days. The lamp beyond your reach will eventually die. The one beside you is yours to control. Use it carefully. This room, as you’ve noticed, gets awfully dark without light.”

I leaned over quickly and tugged at the chain, panic rising. “This isn’t real—”

“You will read the texts I’ve given you, and you will answer my questions when I return. If you fail, the lesson will be extended. You will learn through experience that suffering is how understanding takes hold.”

“This isn’t fucking real.”

“I want you to succeed,” he said. “I want you to become the best version of yourself. I should have begun these lessons sooner, but I mistook your submission for understanding. That was my mistake.”

I stared at him.

“I promise you, Daisy, you will be enlightened by the time we’re done. Because I love you. Because you are it for me. Because I don’t want anyone else.”

I heard nothing.

Accepted nothing of what he was saying.

I glared at him, spitting out, “Oliver, don’t you fucking dare do this! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! This is fucking abuse, Oliver! I will never forgive you!”

Unperturbed, Oliver leaned closer.

“Don’t think of me as your abuser,” he whispered. “Think of me as your mentor. Seneca failed Nero. I won’t fail you. You will learn Plato. You will learn Seneca. You will become perfect.”

He tossed a worn book onto the ground beside the lantern and turned to leave.

I started shouting at him. I called his name, swore, tried to kick even though everything hurt when I did.

Oliver didn’t look back.

The door shut behind him, and the lock clicked loudly as the flickering lamp cast its taunting glow just beyond my reach.

I screamed until my lungs were raw.