f on the arm of the sofa. I pressed a hand to my forehea

de in an instant, his concern sharp

d, my voice weak. "

Back to a time before the gilded cage, before the broken promises of one

cess. My parents, both architects, had just sunk their life savings into their dream project: a sustain

' designs were structurally unsound, a lie manufactured to cheat them out of their dream. The legal battles bankrupted us. My father, broken and defeated, had a h

s working three dead-end jobs, my art supplies gathering dust, the fire i

of place amongst the peeling paint and cracked linoleum. He

reamble, no condolences. Just a cold, hard fact. "He took every

corporate espionage, about psychological manipulation, about how to wear a mask so perfectly it became a second skin. He had me study Alexander

one of our sessions. "He wants to possess them, to control them. To get to h

world. I painted with a frantic, sorrowful energy that critics c

at the art on the walls. He was looking at me. His gaze was electric, obsessive. He saw the talent, but he also saw

t I agreed to be his, the door to the cage slammed shut. The manipulation and psychological abuse started almost immediately. He isolat

cold, deliberate act. I had sketched a bird taking flight, a sim

calm as he pinned my hand to the table and brought his fist down. The pai

alized into a diamond-hard certainty. I would n

ck to the present. Alexander was holding a glas

p," he said, his h

ess my soul. The plan was in motion. The fake illness, the first step in the final phase of my

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